Flaming Lips

The Flaming Lips have been around since the early ’80s, receiving more or less constant critical acclaim, if relatively modest commercial success. An early hit for the band, ‘She Don’t Use Jelly’, brought them into the spotlight, but it wasn’t until the late ’90s that they made their artistic breakthrough.

2002′s Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots represented a major shift in sound for the band, from indie rock to a fusion of folk, electro and psychadelica, and propelled them straight to the top of the alternative scene. Since then the band have had another, similarly successful album and have become known for their over the top and eccentric live shows.

This brief history is necessary to understand that rather than stick to what is clearly a winning formula, on latest effort Embryonic, the band have dropped a lot of their hit-making charm in exchange for something darker and more experimental.

The first thing to notice about Embryonic is that it is a double album. It’s also an album without any real concept or theme, another difference from previous releases. It features many collaborators, from Yeah Yeah Yeah’s front woman Karen O to MGMT. There’s even a rather strange collaboration with a German mathematician.

Stylistically, this album is far more abrasive; an unpolished and raw production in place of the cleaner, digital sounding songs characteristic of the band. The tracks are fairly sparse, often just a distorted bass and pounding drum kit, with strange sounds emerging from the darkened room I imagine this album being recorded in.

Due to the fact that this album is quite a long sonic experiment, with no real ‘hits’ to be found, it’s better to sum up as an overall piece, which I shall do now.

Embryonic is far too long. This album is 18 soundscapes, some creative and beautiful, some raw and powerful. Others are just plain boring. An example of creative and beautiful is ‘Evil’. This slow-mover features its share of evil sounds, but at its centre is a haunting piece of music, driven by an incredible atmosphere of unpredictability and the unknown, and featuring a breath taking vocal performance from front man Wayne Coyne.

An example of raw and powerful is ‘Worm Mountain’, the brilliant MGMT collaboration. For me this track is the album’s sound done right. Again we have a distorted pounding bass line, and driving percussion, but this time we have a catchy melody and a real feeling of energy. An album highlight for me.

There are other good songs, album opener ‘Convinced Of The Hex’ and ‘I Can Be A Frog’ featuring Karen O are other highlights, showcasing that above anything else, The Flaming Lips are a group of very eccentric and creative songwriters.

The album as a whole is interesting, but joins the ranks of yet another double album that should have been a single album. Wayne Coyne claims this is the band’s The White Album and maybe it is. But there isn’t enough engaging, memorable material to make it truly brilliant. It is definitely worth a listen, perhaps nothing more.

Broadcast and the Focus Group...

Broadcast have been at the centre of Birmingham’s quirky, quietly innovative music scene for a good few years, so it comes as shock to discover they’ve upped sticks and relocated to Hungerford, this mini-album marking their arrival among the Berkshire poppies.

Hungerford might appear safe territory to the uninitiated, prosperous M4 corridor commuter land, but there are forces at work here. Michael Ryan’s “I should have stayed in bed” killing spree granted the town a lasting, unwanted notoriety. Perhaps the dark side comes from sitting on the brink of the West Country, holding back the swirling myth that threatens to creep up the Thames Valley and swamp the home counties. Whatever is in the air, the place has given Broadcast a new, peculiar energy. Scanning the ether for sounds, they’ve succeeded in channelling an entire record, the sounds pouring out of them as a barely controllable transmission from a parallel place.

Collaborator The Focus Group is otherwise Julian House of the Ghost Box label, a long time friend of Broadcast’s James Cargill and Trish Keenan and a man with an insatiable appetite for electronic off-cuts, horror film soundtracks and what he describe as “retro-futurism”. Getting together with his friends has given rise to a rush of ideas, a so-called EP that’s actually 48 minutes long and features 23 tracks.

Witchery, radios and investigation are the touchstones for all the music here, the dark forces of the unknown combining with analogue technologies to speak to us in terrifying, rumbling tones, a psychic experiment gone off the rails.

The album begins with ‘Intro’ – toy piano scales and mechanical fluttering noises before segueing into the ‘The Be Colony’, the nearest thing to a conventional song on ‘Witch Cults’.  Trish Keenan intones “All circles vanish” like a medium in a trance, transmitting from the other side. Its delightful, eerie melody is something like psychedelic-era Beatles performing in a cave system.

A succession of unbroken minute-long tracks follows, called things like ‘How do you get along sir?’, ‘Reception/Group therapy’ and ‘You Must Wake’. We get a sludge of library effects slowed down to 33rpm.  A radio seems to flick through the stations picking up 20 seconds of surf guitar here, a choral recital from the underworld there, someone tuning up their harp, someone else attacking a zither with a fork, clashing, homemade percussion, and snatches of an unexpectedly beautiful oboe.

Trish Keenan sings on five of the tracks, playing the role of a medium or a soothsayer.  ‘I See, So I See’ was written in the British Museum, an explicit attempt to recreate lost ritual. ‘A Seancing Song’ is sung by her and the voices of the dead, through a din of knocking and ringing telephones.

On ‘Libra, the Mirror’s Minor Self’ Trish chants a high rhyme, while ‘Royal Chant’ has lyrics spoken over a sad, sad melody. It’s hard to make out the exact words because of a wash of echo, but there’s almost certainly something in there about tea leaves. It says a lot about the density of the album that, while this is pretty much the calmest track, there’s still space for a swanee whistle, some groaning, a music box, a gentle choir, and barking dogs.

In the second half of the album, the tracks become longer and less like snatches of overheard sound.   They acquire form and direction, as the jam focuses and takes shape. It’s leading us to a dark place.

‘Mr Beard You Chatterbox’ lurches into dark puppet theatre music played, no doubt, by a decrepit, leering street band for opium money. ‘Drug Party’ has free jazz drumming and what is surely a man moaning into a drain pipe, underwater. This is not the sort of drug party to wander into by mistake.

‘Love’s Long Listen In’ features a maniacally cheerful flute, soloing away to itself, and marching band in the dim distance floating over farmyard pig effects. ‘Ritual/Looking In’ is more blissed out, drums driving a soaring, ethereal drone accompanied by improvising pan pipes. It comes to an end with an Exorcist child voice, possibly coughing up ectoplasm.

The album roars to a close with a final medley ‘The Be Colony / Dashing Home / What on Earth Took You?’ which reprises track 2 while soaking it in distortion and smothering it in layers of mysterious sound.

And what a ride it’s been. This record has so much energy it threatens to run away with itself, but it seems churlish to complain about such enthusiasm. If you’re looking for cosmic horror, 70s tv soundtracks, library effects, radio serials, weird folk, English psych, schools tv and more you’ll find it all here.  If you’re not, lock your doors and windows and pray – Broadcast are coming to get you.

Maps

As my wife so often reassures me, issues with length are of no great concern and I’m guessing that Mrs James Chapman has told her hubby the same thing, though in Chapman’s case his problems arise due to an excess in length. The lucky beggar.

Though I trust and believe my wife, Chapman has sadly been led astray for Turning The Mind, Maps‘ follow up to Mercury Prize nominated debut We Can Create, is in desperate need of a trim at the musical barbers. Though there is nothing inherently wrong with a long album, there must be enough ideas present in the music to warrant it and across the 12 tracks delivered here, which run for an average of five minutes each, there’s just not enough on offer to get your teeth into. Current single ‘I Dream of Crystal’ is a perfect example. It’s one of the album’s better tracks with a Mew-esque opulence to its intro and a memorable melody to the chorus but once it reaches the three minute mark, it just retreads the ground it’s already laid, watering down the overall effect.

Turning the Mind suffers from further problems though, the most grating being Northampton based Chapman’s annoying habit of slipping into a forced quasi-American accent. It’s needless and not something I recall being particularly prevalent on We Can Create. There’s also an over reliance on vocal melody matching the background melody. This is a song mechanic which can be effective if used sparingly but Chapman milks the technique, robbing several songs of depth. When these issues occur in tandem as they so often do, the result is the dreaded filler track, of which there are many here.

With a final note on the negative, ‘Love Will Come’ is the album’s nadir. An approximation of a Chemical Brothers b-side with a Moby a-side, notably sticking out as a beacon of laziness amongst it’s good to so-so companions.

So to the good stuff and thankfully there is some. As already mentioned, ‘I Dream of Crystal’ is nicely catchy despite the run time and the same can be said for the anthemic ‘Everything is Shattering’. The opener and title track is a solid start to the album with its gentle melody and swirly synths; it’s not trying too hard and is all the more likeable for it. ‘Die Happy, Die Smiling’ has a pleasing vibe and controls the balance between getting in your head and getting annoyingly stuck there. However, these semi highlights do not completely repair the damage done by the lesser points of Turning the Mind, which as a whole is a competent but unremarkable package.

The Xx

‘Islands’ is a brilliant choice of single for The Xx. Most of the tracks on their eponymous debut do not make much sense on their own, but ‘Islands’ makes its breakthrough brilliantly, the girl-boy vocals of Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim provide a superb introduction to what the band is all about.

It’s short and sharp, with lots going on despite its typically understated charm, and even contains the closest thing The Xx has produced to a hook, in the repeat refrain of “I am yours now…”, a typically heartfelt and bed-cuddly line that makes The Xx the perfect alternative lovers band.

B-side ‘Do You Mind?’ is no different to the rest of The Xx’s material, which at the moment shows an ability to remain consistently excellent, but in future might show them to struggle progressing their sound. It’s typically sexy, with Croft and Sim inviting the listener to come home with the pair of them, over untypically brash drums. Minimalism is the key to The Xx and at some point they are going to have to bring new things to the party. But at the moment, we should just settle for what they are giving to us, the finest music by a new British band this year.

As a gateway into the mysterious and wonderful world of The Xx, ‘Islands’ is majestic. But let’s hope they remain our little secret for now, yeah?

Boredoms

Calling this an EP is stretching things somewhat. In reality it’s one song, with four added remixes of varying quality and usefulness. It’s probably only defined as an EP as it’s far too long to count as a single.

To say veteran Japanese noise-rock cum post-ambience merchants Boredoms have had a varied career would be to do them an injustice. Super Roots 10 (confusingly, the ninth title in the series) is their latest release and it would be fair to say they’ve calmed down somewhat after 23 years of activity.

Gone are the trademark yelping and screeching and in comes calmly built ambience with experimental, Oriental tweaks. ‘Ant 10′ is the much-remixed track and the original version is an intriguing and enthralling proposition even though at pushing ten minutes it is far too long. Any feeling of immersion is long gone by the closing bars.

Only one of the four remixes serves a worthy purpose, with DJ Finger Hat’s version (yes, really) cutting almost half the length from the song and making it almost dancefloor-friendly with the tribal drumming enhanced and brought to the forefront. DJ Lindstrom’s version turns into a bizarre jazz-funk wig out that bears little or no resemblance to the source material, and Altz’ take is to barely alter it at all.

Baffingly the EP opens up with a track called ‘Super Root’, containing 38 seconds of pure silence. The cleverness is clearly lost on me.

Unfortunately, despite the always inventive experimentation, almost an hour of this is just too much, and by the end, Boredoms has well and truly set in.

The Xx

There’s a lot of hype currently encircling The XX, and quite justifiably so. In May they released their debut single, ‘Crystalised’. It was dark, mysterious and various other adjectives that connote “atmospheric”. It was an ultimately brilliant track that whetted the appetites of moody young trendoids everywhere.

Comprised of primary schoolmates Romy Madley Croft (vocals/guitar), Oliver Sim (vocals/bass), Baria Qureshi (keyboards/guitar) and Jamie Smith (beats/sampler), the London-based foursome are now unleashing their debut album, XX, a collection of oft lachrymose and lackadaisical, yet pacing tunage.

The opener, the aptly named ‘Intro’, gives the album a suitably atmospheric hue that permeates throughout. Production wise, it’s impeccable. The XX have opted to keep production duties within the band, an element that sets their debut apart from much of the indie fodder that’s currently abound. Sparse, yet distinctly crisp drum patterns play under muted guitar strings and subtle basslines.

The minimalist approach to instrumentation works to amplify what little is being heard. In this case, the vocals consistently stand out. Crossing over each other in smoky plumes, Oliver Sim employs a whispering sprechgesang technique – not dissimilar to Tricky’s delivery – where Croft’s soothing R&B tinged vocal embellishes the dead pan tones of the former. There’s angst and tension amongst the soothing and ethereal melodies. Supposedly many of the tracks were conceived at night, and it shows. ‘Fantasy’ is ambient, ‘Shelter’ is gloomy, like the long walk home after a shit night on pills. Croft frequently sings over a sullen guitar riff.

We’ll avoid endless gush-isms. Some tracks are, well, quite tiresome. On occasion the endless gloom can become quite tedious. Alas, it’s not all late-night teenage misery-tinged. Close, but not completely. ‘VCR’ begins with a beguiling chime before what is perhaps the most upbeat-beat kicks in. Ok, so the vocals continue to bring a sullen tone to the table, but the chorus is quite nice. Then there’s of course the excellent ‘Crystalised’, it’ll have you coming back for more. The same can also be said of ‘Basic Space’, which begins with an odd drum pattern before bursting into what could arguably be described as a gloomy pop-song. ‘Islands’ is again stark, moody and irresistibly appealing.

Definitely a band to keep your eyes on. For a group this young they’ve produced an album well beyond their years. Wearing their influences on their sleeve yet combining such elements to create an unmarked sound. Like it this winter.

Fuck Buttons

If you like your music highly annoying, with eardrum-destroying piercing treble and far too many samples at one time, then you might actually be capable of liking the latest single from Fuck Buttons.

‘Surf Solar’ starts off sounding like your soundcard is broken, before layering up so many fizzy, distorted and irritating sounds that it feels like a child has gotten into a sample folder and gone crazy with a looper.

Okay, so maybe I’m just being harsh, the b-side, ‘New Crossbow’ is actually alright, mixing ambient synths with a pounding bassline, it’s ideal for either chilling out or dancing about like an idiot, depending how you feel.

I suspect that Fuck Buttons really should have released ‘New Crossbow’ as the a-side, either totally abandoning ‘Surf Solar’, or remixing it and filtering out that piercing fuzz at the top end.

Polly and the Billets Doux

Polly and the Billets Doux hardly make the sort of music that you’d expect from a Bristol-based four piece. You couldn’t really imagine most of Fiction, Half-Truths and Downright Lies sounding out of place in a blue-collar bar somewhere in the heart of the American Midwest.

The album starts out with the spirit, life and energy that you’d expect from a good barroom stomp. ‘Follow My Feet’ offers the sort of gravel-y vocals, the scrappy country guitar, and the erratic time changes that would draw a grin from even the coldest of hearts. Though admittedly tamer than the previous track, ‘To Be A Fighter’ follows, much in the same vein.

But then comes an unexpected turn in ‘Charmed’. There’s a sudden regime change, and a totally unprecedented attempt to tackle jazz. They unquestionably shine more as a country-rock collective than as a lounge jazz band, with the track coming off simply as a short-lived foray outside their true comfort zone.

‘The Cup And The Lip’ sees a definite about-turn back towards the world of rock, but here there’s an inclination towards classic rock as opposed to the country-influenced version that Fiction… so prominently began with.

It’s only at the point that ‘I Would Ask’ saunters in that attentions seem to wander elsewhere. Despite an interesting trading-off of vocal duties within the group, by this point it’s almost as Fiction… would work better an advertisement for their skills as some sort of session band. While each member is undoubtedly versatile in his or her role, and the band clearly has the ability to cover a plethora of genres, there is soon a feeling of this card becoming overplayed. Fiction… quickly becomes an exercise in applying the same tired formula to each genre, which unfortunately rarely results in anything more than a bland imitation of their influences.

It’s really more of the same from here on out, with the closing five tracks bouncing between country, blues, and rock, and while none of these tracks are as obtrusive as the jazz-y numbers that occupy the middle of the record (in fact, ‘Don’t Trouble Trouble’ almost equals the frenzied promises of the opening track), there is nothing here to inject Fiction with the interest and originality that it so desperately needs.

Although Fiction… clearly demonstrates Polly and the Billets Doux’s breadth and versatility as a band, it is this same scope that leads to the album’s overall lack of focus. While they do on occasion manage to capture frantic enjoyment that their music can offer (most notably within their county-rock guise), at the end of it all they come off less as multifaceted, and more as a band suffering from a serious identity crisis.

The Alexandria Quartet

Intriguingly-named, after the masterpiece by Britain’s-answer-to-Proust (that’s Lawrence Durrell, BTW), Norway’s Alexandria Quartet may not be as stately, literary, or narrative-focused as you’d hope, but with their squalling guitars and mellifluous strings behind hammered piano-keys, they leave similar fare by British acts in the dust.

More varied than Fanfarlo, and unhampered by the dreary lead-vocals of My Latest Novel, Alex Q (as they should so-o-o be abbreviated) push towards stadium-sized rock, like fellow Scandinavians, De La Mancha. Filling the breaks before a reprised chorus or solo with massively reverbed, long-held notes, it’s hard not to picture the music-videos for the bigger numbers in a desert-setting, or frontier-town. Of the better tracks, ‘Somewhere’ has a lovely, forlorn, Ryan Adams-at-the-piano feel to it (and similar vocal-tone), while ‘Get Lost in the City’ (at the other end of the spectrum) really should be sung by an entire stadium; the lead-guitar melody seems so familiar you’d think it’s already been a hit for Coldplay (after a course of steroids, though).

Obviously, Alex Q have English as a second-language, and the illusion that it’s their first (singing with perfect Received Punctuation that makes you despair of our piss-poor education) is actually possible because they’ve papered the cracks with clichés – a Bon Jovi-ism in one song (“shot through the heart…”), and a Velvets steal in the next (‘You Could Be My Mirror’ – same premise; arbitrary use of the subjunctive). Yes, ‘Montauk’ is named after the location of Eternal Sunshine’s first and last scenes, which tells you quite accurately that Alex Q are indie romantics, but the conceit of the song (to filch the romance but not the experimentation) reflects the band’s whole aesthetic. You’ve got the tunes, right? More experimentation, please. Whether there’s a connection between ‘Justine’ (the song) and Durrell’s novel (or De Sade’s) is hard to tell; with its Cult-ish darkness, it could be both, and in any case inspires one of their best moments.. Anyhow – have a listen. Like De La Mancha (named after Don Quixote), the hubris of the band proves endearing, rather than prickling; let’s hope they push themselves to the greatness they’ve claimed.

Ungdomskulen

There are a number of superficial factors one could mediate on when discussing the wonderful Ungdomskulen, possibly the best band to ever come out of Norway.

Firstly there’s the unwieldy, yet mysterious name (literally “youth school” in their native tongue). Secondly there’s their slightly unusual look: singer/guitarist Kristian Stockhaus combined enormous sideburns with tight green jeans when I last saw them and bassist Frode Kvinge Flatland sports a fetching quasi-Fu Manchu moustache. But discussing this any further would be getting away from the excellent music that they make. Imagine, if you will, the inaccurately-described ‘math rock’ of Foals, but stripped of all its joyless posing and made much more complex and interesting. Combine it with the progressive energy of King Crimson or Rush, the hard-hitting crunch of Fugazi and be sure to add in lots of body-shaking new wave goodness.

But presenting Ungdomskulen as a simple mix of other bands is to do them a disservice, for the beautiful noise they make, treading the line between chaos and control, is anything but a derivative mix. The drums are focused yet explosive when they need to be, Øyvind Solheim busting out impressive cowbell rolls when he needs to: check out the marvellous, aptly-named ‘Modern Drummer’ for evidence of this. The guitar can be smooth, spiky, enormous, or anything inbetween. Live Flatland played a baritone guitar, an unusual choice of instrument, which made the interplay between him and Stockhaus all the more dynamic and interesting. And as good as they really are on record, live is definitely the place to best experience them. When the band is having more fun than the audience, you know they’re doing something right.

However, until then you’ll have to make do with the records. Their second full length Bisexual came out this year, and is destined to become your favourite record of the year by a band that no-one else has heard of. Seriously, listen to the slippery, immediately catchy opening to ‘I Dunno’ and tell me I’m wrong. Then go and listen to the marvellously epic, punchy ‘Ordinary Son’ off their first album and tell me Ungdomskulen won’t dominate your listening for a week at least. It’s about time Norway had something better to represent its music scene than Black Metal or this year’s overrated Eurovision entry and, luckily, Ungdomskulen are just that. Listen now, or miss out.