Fionn Regan - The Shadow Of An Empire

It’s been almost four years since Fionn Regan released his debut album, The End Of History. Any questions about what he’s been up to in that time are answered with a single listen to its successor: he’s been growing some balls.

The End Of History was generally well received by the music press, but its whimsical, plinkety plunkety folk always felt a bit like a facsimile of a great album rather than the real thing. Regan’s soft, string-backed harmonies created moments of wonder, but the acoustic cleverness began to wear thin after a while.

There’s no chance of laying the same accusation at the door of The Shadow Of An Empire. This is an album that has contrast in spades, largely due to Regan having electrified his output, both literally and metaphorically. ‘Protection Racket’ opens proceedings like a statement of intent, all crashing cymbals and wildly jangling guitars. This song, like much of the album, sounds as though Regan has blended his Irish Wicklow mountains roots with a rich vein of American alt-rock heritage. Ryan Adams would be happy to claim ownership of many of these tracks, not least because Regan seems to have a much more dependable sense for a catchy melody.

The Shadow Of An Empire still shows many of the musical calling cards that were prevalent on The End Of History, but the clearer differences between light and dark make them far more effective. Regan retains his habit of threading lyrics laden with inference across repeated vocal refrains, but throws in changes of pace and a depth of expression that gives every song its own character; its own particular sensibilities.

None reflects this better than ‘Violent Demeanour’, which opens with acoustic picking and Regan’s melancholy, rolling vocal before switching to an on-off, piano-backed chorus. The second verse comes with soft electric guitar backing and the odd crackle of drums before the chorus is repeated with an urgent, shuffling percussion that gives it breath-taking pace. Meanwhile, Regan’s elegantly crafted lyrics hint darkly at social dislocation and trauma: “The institutions with the metal halls / Chain the mentally ill to destitute walls / The wards of state do not illuminate / The margins.”

Another hangover from The End Of History is a tendency to carry trebly chord patterns on a heavier, rhythmical bass line. It’s a trick used to powerful effect on ‘Catacombs’, the verses of which are built around a stepped, dropping lower refrain and a parallel teasing, intermittent acoustic riff that raises its head between lines.

Oddly, closing track ‘The Shadow Of An Empire’, from which the album takes its name, is one of the least engaging, relying on clunking piano chords to carry its classical folk vocal. The song’s musical repetition forces attention on the lyrics, which don’t quite rise to the challenge. While there’s compelling imagery aplenty –“On the sawdust / The circus band / I heard rehearsing on the Strand / By the lovers who understand / Every note must be planned” – it’s difficult to pick out exactly what Regan’s driving at, and the song drifts a little as a consequence.

But these are minor ticks on an album that sounds like a coming of age. Regan’s throatier, grittier style thrives when combined with his old feel for a tune, making The Shadow Of An Empire more listenable than its predecessor, without losing any of its intelligence and depth.

Cate le Bon - Me Oh My

With her vampish bowl-haircut and blackened eyelids, Welsh chanteuse Cate Le Bon could pass as the third member of Telepathe. Only sonically, she’s opted to eschew layers of stroke-of-midnight hypnotics for simple, stark compositions, taking the listener to intimate places and keeping firm hold of those achingly hipster credentials.

And who knew things were getting so morbid over the border these days? Me Oh My, Le Bon’s witching (half) hour, was recorded for mentor and Super Furry Animal Gruff Rhys’ Irony Bored label after she appeared on his Neon Neon side-project album, Stainless Style. But whereas the sleazy electro glide of the track in question, ‘I Lust U’, didn’t allow for the eccentricities of her Nico-imbued vocal or her urge to write about death and darkness, the fact she initially wanted to call this debut ‘Pet Deaths’ speaks volumes about what fascinates her most.

From the first solemn line – “I fought the night and the night fought me” it’s a sometimes spooky sometimes melancholic tension that she weaves. Take the first few gentle, subdued bars of the title track, or the downright unsettling ‘The Terror of the Man’, which uses poignant repetition to claustrophobic effect. The lamenting ‘Burn Until the End’ starts off all sombre vocal and eerie acoustics before augmenting into a crashing wall-of-noise wigout, while ‘Sad Sad Feet’s sleepy backbeat sees the singer “headed for the black” in wistful, regretful mode

Throughout, Le Bon’s vocal manages to walk the line between smudged vulnerability and a clipped kookiness, albeit always treading an individual path. Charm, talent and credibility are three things the girl has in spades, so what’s so frustrating about Me Oh My is its complete lack of memorability and absence of focal points. While the beefy guitar of ‘Hollow Trees Home Hounds’ adds some meat to what’s so far a rather brittle skeleton and ‘Shoeing the Bones’ comes the closest to being an unforgettable song, there remains a complete lack of hooks or choruses. It’s palpable that Le Bon has got the goods, now she just needs to know what to do with them. Sadly though, you’d be forgiven for thinking that after a first listen, her moonlit world is a pleasant yet inanimate experience, and not one you’d desperately need to return to.

New Young Pony Club - The Optimist

I remember seeing New Young Pony Club whilst I was at university a few years ago when they were touring with the NME on the same bill as CSS and the Klaxons.  I was swept up on the nu-rave bandwagon and really liked their original, edgy sound. But then they sort of disappeared.

With only a hazy memory of their previous work (mainly ‘Ice Cream’), I was expecting more of the same; plinky-plonky ’80s electro, nu-rave pop – and their new album The Optimist delivers, but on a larger scale.

First track ‘Lost A Girl’ is, in true NYPC style, quite jerky.  On the first couple of listens, I thought the track had jumped.  It’s something that takes a bit of getting used to, and the erratic theme continues throughout the album, whether it be mid-track, or a more abrupt ending.

‘Stone’ is slower, stripped down compared to the other tracks.  In contrast, ‘We Want To’ is a an upbeat, almost anthemic track, with layered vocals and a brash bassline.  Likewise, ‘Dolls’ is a spunky song full of sparky lyrics such as “We think you’re strange/so you act like a stranger” and “I thought I had a brain/I don’t seem to have one”.

Conversely, ‘Before The Light’ has a haunting tinge to it; it starts with an electro drum beat, soon joined by a bass line (both in double time, a bit like Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’) that drives the song forward, before vocalist Tahita Bulmer’s echoey vocals come in.  Add piano chords and lyrics like “Don’t look at me now/look at my intellect/The things I leave behind/Like footsteps” before the vocal jumps between octaves for the chorus, and before you know it the song has sucked you in.

After a couple of listens to the album, I realised who NYPC reminded me of.  The ’80s beats, keyboards and almost dissonant vocals could be likened to Roxy Music – particularly on the opening track ‘Lost A Girl’.  This, and ‘Before The Light’, are the album’s beacon songs, but overall it’s a pretty strong album.

NYPC have evolved into a more mature version of themselves; the ’80s influences are still evident, but they’ve lost some of that nu-rave ‘in your face’ attitude.  That’s not to say they’ve lost their edge.  In fact, the entire album is quite edgy, and New Young Pony Club’s sound is still fresh enough to stand out amongst a lot of the mundane bands being played at the moment.

Screaming Maldini - Kookaburra Sings

Imagine Scouting For Girls built a time machine that took them back to around 1984.  Once there, they stole The Smiths’ youthful spirits and creativity, then returned via 1992, where they had a tutorial in time signatures from Dream Theater and a magic lesson from Paul Daniels.  Are you still with me?  If so, then you have a good idea of what to expect from Screaming Maldini’s ‘Kookaburra Sings’.

In general I have a natural aversion to the words ‘juxtaposition’ and ‘fusion’, but I am struggling to find any better words to describe the sound Screaming Maldini make.  The vocals are most definitely indie but the pristine production, brass and synth give the whole thing a very poppy, ska-like feel. And then you get the prog thing.   The odd time signatures (usually 5 or 7 beats in the bar) and bizarre chromatic circus-esque key changes, along with some rather zingy keyboard sounds, conjur up an image of a band as fascinated by dungeons and dragons as they are by rock n roll.

There is a good deal of proficiency here and it’s to be respected, as is Screaming Maldini’s drive to create something genuinely unique.  The mania of ‘Secret Sounds’ and ‘The Extraordinary’ is arresting, in a good way, and you find yourself tapping your foot (if you can keep time) and getting carried along quite nicely.  ‘The Albatross’ is the token slower, atmospheric tune and is has a haunting female vocal that is rather pleasing. ‘Miniatures’ is the most ‘proggy’ track on the album, but also has some really catchy hooks and a synth-reggae breakdown in the middle where they sing about ships. And then there’s the uplifting ‘I Know That You Know That I Would Wipe The Snowflake From Your Eye’. It’s the longest song title in the world… what’s not to like?

The risk Screaming Maldini run with straddling so many genres is in alienating them all – it’s all a bit weird for commercial mainstream tastes but is not broody or messy enough for the Emo indie fans and yet is probably too indie for the ska subscribers.  I therefore can’t see Screaming Maldini rushing to the top of the charts any time soon.  However I’d definitely buy a ticket to their gig:  if they have half the energy on stage as they put across on ‘Kookaburra Sings’, it’d be a good show.  Now where did I put my pink wizard hat?

Trouble Books - Gathered Tones

There is undoubtedly something magical about a great lost album. Even when you discount the dirty pleasure of indie snobbery, there is still something warming about a really special piece of music which you share with a small number of similarly enlightened souls. Ohio band Trouble Books’ last effort, The United Colors of Trouble Books was a thing of almost impossible beauty which fell squarely into that category, missed as it was by many. Given the delicate, unhurried nature of their sound, it is perhaps fitting that the acclaim for the band is starting to swell ever so gradually, including a recent spot in The Guardian’s New Band of the Day column, meaning their fanbase is starting very slowly to expand.

After The United Colors, Trouble Books had a hand in two more records in the last twelve months, firstly the Endless Pool EP and then offshoot project Talons‘ Songs For Babes. Both were similarly lovely, and served as excellent appetisers for the follow-up to The United Colors, Gathered Tones.

As we might have expected, it is quite simply wonderful. The record has a slightly fuller sound than its predecessor, but it sacrfices none of the delicacy Trouble Books have always exhibited. Gathered Tones feels like the soft trickle of rain against a window, while The United Colors was more like the very first sensation of drizzle in the air. Right from the outset with album opener ‘Ascending Kidney’, it is clear that the band have lost none of their deftness. About a minute and a half into the song, a guitar line comes in, devastatingly delicate, but all the more powerful for it, and this is the most perfect example of Trouble Books’ greatest strength. They can create the strongest of emotions from the most minimal of ingredients. This is a huge part of what makes them such a special band, giving them more substance in five seconds of music than some bands manage in an entire career.

The way the band structure the album has not changed from previous releases, and really, there is no reason on Earth why it should. The songs are still constructed from sleepy ambient textures, embellished with elements of noise, drones, and all manner of miscellaneous background chirruping. This is really why Gathered Tones, like all their other work, will stand up to any number of repeated listens. The ingredients might be sparse, but it’s very possible you will be too spellbound by the sheer elegance of it all to notice every minute detail, so there will undoubtedly be sounds you miss the first, second or seventieth time you listen.

More than anything else, what really elevates Gathered Tones above their previous best work is its evocativeness. Every song creates its own particular mood, one which you might instinctively associate with its subject matter without even noticing it. On ‘Abandoned Monorail Station’ for example, even before a glance at the song title, and before hearing the line “and debris swirls around me”, you might find yourself picturing a desolate, windswept platform haunted by a forlorn solitary figure. It’s a similar story on final song ‘Houseplants’, a wonderfully spacious piece which conjures up images of a sun-bleached room filled with blanched-leafed plant life. The lyrical content, as well as the music also helps to paint these pictures of an idyllic kind of reality, telling tales about subjects as diverse and commonplace as feeding fast food to stray cats, putting the bins out, and the downright inconvenient sense of timing death sometimes has.

With Gathered Tones, Trouble Books have raised their stock even further. Their prolific release rate would suggest that they have an inexhaustible supply of these dreamy little morsels, which is all the more lucky for us. It was difficult to imagine how they could possibly top an album as perfect as The United Colors, so it would be narrow-sighted of us to wonder how they could improve on this record. All we can do is wrap ourselves in its cosy glow and wait as patiently as we can for everything else they have in store for us.

These Are Powers - Candyman

Having been the bearer of ill tidings – that Liars’ Sisterworld isn’t the spectacular return to form we’ve long hoped for – it’s gratifying to know that there is a sisterworld out there, in which the long-departed rhythm section continue to excite, titillate and horrify. These Are Powers may not fill the Liars-shaped hole, exactly, but they aim to fill other ones you didn’t know you had. (Apologies for any lewdness… the press release has just informed me that the artwork is based on a fetishistic practice known as “sploshing”.)

For newcomers, These Are Powers would be Pat and Bill (on bass and beats) with Anna Barie (vocals), all of them manipulating electronics. 2.5 albums into their career, TAP are on a trajectory from one kind of filth to another; where the first album was a pummelling, post-hardcore, New York hellscape, with dirty production not far off Oneida and early Sonic Youth, the latest EP sees them delighting in slick sounds at once shiny and squelchy, synaesthetically evoking all the colours of a Britney Spears video, but without the tiresome predictability of mainstream pop. Lead track ‘Candyman’ takes a sped-up reggae beat, and sets Anna Barie yelping like Annabella Lwin from Bow Wow Wow. If only, you think, If only the lyrics were about drugs (like the classic Donovan song of the same name). Like licking a hallucinogenic toad, she sounds like she’s getting off on every fluid and excrescence leaking from her sugar-coated man/girl/lover.

Second track, ‘Gutterspaces’, slows it down and lets you savour the clear patterns of the melodica, like Moroccan palace architecture overhead, and then we’re back to the churning sleaze of ‘World Class Peoples’. The remixes are substantial re-workings, FYI, with added jungles of sampled sounds; more conventionally dance, for sure, but they might as well be new tracks. Maybe this is appealing because it takes that NYC-intellectual fascination with the sensuality of world music / Afro-Caribbean music, and instead of appropriating it and whitening it, or authenticating it with “actual native” collaborators (Gorillaz et alia), TAP parody the fetishization itself, to the N-th degree (like Beck on Midnite Vultures; like Prince; like Bow Wow Wow). With or without the inter-racial fantasies and projections of “sensuality”, These Are Powers really do make music you can feel, and that’s their achievement.

Midlake - The Courage Of Others

In the three and a half years since the release of what eventually proved to be their breakthrough record, The Trials of Van Occupanther, Midlake have seen the musical landscape shift in a manner which is unquestionably favourable to them. The sort of beardy, woodsy Americana they specialise in has swelled to a wider popularity with the successes of the likes of Fleet Foxes, Grizzly Bear and Bon Iver. It could reasonably be argued that the slow-burning success of Van Occupanther paved the way for these artists to reach mass acclaim. This has made The Courage of Others a much-anticipated album, all the more when you consider the lengthy wait we have endured for its arrival.

And really, there’s no doubt that it has been worth the tantalising wait. What they have delivered to us is a quite different record from Van Occupanther, but one which is ultimately an even more enriching and rewarding listen. It might be less immediately obvious than its predecessor (which in itself is hardly an instant hookfest), but the more it slowly seeps into your consciousness, the more spellbinding it is.

The 70s AOR influences which informed the last album have mostly been pushed aside, and have been replaced by a more folky feel. In similar fashion to Van Occupanther, it is steeped in an earthy, natural kind of imagery. This is immediately clear not only in the song titles, but also in the lyrics: “As the spring is made alive, the winter dies” and “Into the core of nature / No earthly mind can enter” serving as but two examples out of potentially dozens. The relatively sparse, and occasionally ghostly instrumentation compliments the lyrical themes beautifully, as does the hangdog vocal delivery of Tim Smith. The whole thing feels more intimate, and closer to the bone. Van Occupanther was a stroll through a crisp autumn morning, while The Courage of Others is akin to being lost in the forest as dusk descends.

The strongest example of the album’s stunning mesh of mood and beautiful construction is probably ‘Rulers, Ruling All Things’, the record’s midpoint which swells gradually until the miserable air becomes almost uplifting. This gives way immediately to the only real example of any kind of tempo in the form of ‘Children of the Grounds’, which adds a rare splash of light. It’s quite telling that this happened to be one of the first songs written for the album, having appeared in live sets towards the end of Van Occupanther’s run while the rest of the album was written during the recording process. It is quite possible, had this not been the case, that The Courage of Others could have ended up being a completely different animal. Let us be thankful that it turned out the way it did, then, because it is quite simply a stunning record, certainly Midlake’s best yet, and one which will easily end up being one of the most evocative 2010 has to offer.

Archie Bronson Outfit - Coconut

You would never mistake a track by the Archie Bronson Outfit as a Bob Dylan number. Yet whatever the “thin, wild mercury sound” Dylan strived to create for all those years actually sounded like in his head – or on Blonde On Blonde, the record on which he felt he came closest to realising his musical imaginings in exterior reality – it’s a description that seemed equally fitting for this Wiltshire trio’s previous album, Derdang Derdang.

In tracks such as ‘Modern Lovers’ and ‘Got To Get (Your Eyes)’, it was frequently a fraught, claustrophobic affair that could leave listeners’ stomachs feeling tight and skulls tighter still. Guitar lines sparked, drum beats cracked, vocals cut through the air. It was a thrilling LP that seemed to capture the cold light of an overcast morning reflecting off smashed glass and shattered mirrors.

Four years on, the band’s third album, Coconut, still has both that exciting sense of knife-edge volatility and the bluesy roots that were evident on their debut, Fur. This time, however, it’s delivered in the form of a rather more solid, cohesive sound – and brilliantly so.

The fuzzy, psychedelic riff that opens proceedings in Magnetic Warrior, joined a few seconds in by a heavy bassline and a Caribbean beat, form a real statement of intent. Indeed, with first single Shark’s Tooth underpinned by a highly contagious military beat and ‘Hoola’ provoking involuntary shoulder-shuffles from anyone in its vicinity, this is a record that has a true groove about it.

‘Chunk’, a slightly sickly-sounding gloop of synth-beat, is unfortunately out of kilter with the rest of the album. But this is only one brief duff note, and it’s easily forgivable given the charming melancholy of ‘Bite It and Believe It’, the chilling undertones created by titling the warmest tune on the album ‘Hunt You Down’, and the driving force of ‘Harness (Bliss)’.

Joanna Newsom - Have One On Me

Reviewing the new Joanna Newsom record mere days after its release feels like a self-defeating task.  While all music writing is essentially various attempts to express the inherently inexpressible (and you can either fail well or badly), the sheer size, scope and intricacy of Have One On Me guarantees failure – at this stage, fans, musicians and critics are still just listening; there should be no writing – I should probably stop here. This is an album that unwittingly acts as a retort to the people who bemoan the speed at which music is consumed nowadays – it’s a triple album, composed largely on a harp, and the second track is an eleven minute song about a daddy long legs. You can’t blog Have One On Me; you can’t cherry-pick the singles and delete the rest. Welcome back, Joanna Newsom.

It’s been four years since Joanna Newsom released her last album – at the time, Ys was an enormous leap forward in song-writing, musicianship and ambition from her debut, 2004’s The Milk Eyed Mender, but now it feels kind of ordinary. One disc? Six songs? Pah – Newsom’s stepped it up another couple of notches this time around, and taken as a whole, Have One On Me combines the simple, intimate moments of The Milk Eyed Mender with the grandiose storytelling of Ys. That’s the wide lense, sweeping view of this album though – look closer, at a particular side or song, and the complexities of Have One On Me become glaringly apparent.

And this is how the album works, or how it seems to work to me at least – it overwhelms at first, but it slowly reveals its human side – its charms, its jokes, its moments of unexpected clarity – in little flashes initially, like holes appearing in this grand structure that gradually widen over time to let you in and see everything clearly, from the inside. ‘Good Intentions Paving Company’ is one of these moments – it’s lyrics could be read off the page like a poem, resonant as they with humour and affection, but they become even more poignant in the exquisitely arranged and paced song (all too often lyrics that look good on a page sound awful in song, and vice versa – Joanna Newsom is one of only a few musicians who get this balance right, along with Joni Mitchell or Nick Cave).

It is these moments that keep you coming back to this record at this early stage, as the songs still continue to take shape. There’s the section towards the end of ‘Baby Birch’ on the album’s first disc for example – the song builds for six and half minutes, punctuated sparingly with electric guitar and percussion before finally bursting open, where Newsom throws in the strange image of a skinned rabbit; the way she turns the title of ‘In California’ into a sequence of vocal ticks and noises, in stark contrast to the sublime string arrangement that undercuts the song; the understated power of ‘Esme’, with just her voice and harp, as it used to be; the way the bluster of ‘Does Not Suffice’ fades fittingly into an echo and a drone.

As daunting as it may seem at first, Have One On Me is difficult to shake off. The size of its ambition and running time slowly give way to a simple humanity at its heart, embellished with moments of poetic truth, great humour and bitter sadness. As 2010 progresses, Joanna Newsom’s album will demand and provoke much discussion, but Have One On Me is a record that ultimately rewards those who listen, rather than talk.

Race Horses - Goodbye Falkenberg

In these lands we traverse, we find certain regional musical similarities some would consider clichéd: the cheeky English, the dramatic and sometimes miserablist Scottish and the zany, somewhat psychedelic and slightly tongue-in-cheek Welsh. I’ve missed out the Irish because it’s saved me a further generalisation, and the risk of potentially alienating another nation for the sake of some tenuous regional cohesion. Race Horses, formerly Radio Luxembourg, being Welsh, of course fit snugly into their respective camp – and this is no bad thing.

Goodbye Falkenberg starts with a Mahler-influenced detuning of synth , leadingstraight into ‘Man in Mind’, a meandering sonic onslaught justifying their new moniker.  “Oooh”s come from every angle while glockenspiel and piano slide up and down, mimicking the obsessive madness overshadowing singer Meilyr Jones’ desperate pleas of “I’m ok!”. An abrupt outro is followed by debut single ‘Cake’, a heavily Beatles-influenced story of a good guy turned bad by a girl’s literal interest in sins of the bakery over that of the body. Delivered with typical humour and wit, “You’ve gotta talk with your whisk/if you wanna get a kiss” is just a snatch. Luckily it ends before any serious sploshing and then moves into ‘Pony’, drawn from a similar palette but with more lyrically longing. “I want to be your pony,” he yearn, and an all its absurdity it starts to sound more like early Of Montreal. ‘Tim I Wish You Were Born a Girl’ in particular could have had them part of the Elephant 6 collective.

It’s obvious that the Welsh language is as important to them as it is to their forebears, and as such, it’s skilfully introduced with ‘Cecen Magmu’ and ‘Glo Ac Oren’. Melding Welsh and English seamlessly in different sections as though you’d just misheard the preceding line, these songs are full to the brim luscious sweeping melodies and delicate harmonies. It’s an acid tinged piece of chamber-pop Syd Barrett would have been proud of.

The unmistakable triumph on this record is ‘Voyage to St. Louiscious’, a condensed epic with biting string arrangements Owen Pallet could have penned. It’s a picaresque piece with an almost Odysseyan longing for home (“I’m really quite sick of being so far away”) and separation (“Become one of your tears, and drop down every night, to be at your side”). The title of the album, Goodbye Falkenberg, supposedly relates to a sunk German warship and also a German sailor drowned at sea.

There are obvious singles – some of which have preceded the record’s release (‘Cake’, ‘Man in Mind’) – but it’s tracks like ‘Marged Wedi Blino’ that showcase what this band has to offer, all sombre melodies and searing delay distortion. As it is sung in Welsh, to me it could be about anything – and in my ignorance of possible humorous turns of phrase I can only compare it to the effect of Sigur Ros or Elizabeth Fraser’s primal delivery.

Recorded in various locations from recording studios to eco villages and parties, it’s as if the recording process had to fit around the haphazard spirit of their songs on a physical level. It’s not just their record label and the name that have changed. Wrench’s unsubtle production and Race Horses’ musical vision and ambition make a strong debut album for a band who on first inspection, could easily be dismissed as twee and whimsy.  They are both, make no apologies and back it up with charm, wit and a creative edge which ensures they’ll never be also-rans.