The Pilots produce slowly unfurling mini-epics of languid acoustic driven drone pop. Along the way they manage to incorporate crisp beats, dusty slide guitars, xylophones, gentle electronics, and found-sound voice samples without ever sounding clumsily eclectic. Tracks like Bionic Man, Slow Coach, and Hungry Ghost are perfectly realised broadcasts from a place where Pavement never split up, they simply dropped the arch lyrics and decided to soundtrack a never ending summer instead.
However it's no coincidence that the album's title, The Plan to Reverse Time, sounds like a long lost fifties Hollywood B-movie, as a vaguely unsettling science fiction feel underpins everything the band do. It's there in track five 'Fred Astaire', a heartbreakingly beautiful xylophone driven lullaby that just happens to be laced with intentionally off-kilter vocal harmonies and some unidentified film dialogue warning of fires breaking out all over America. 'Creosote' also follows this template of paranoid loveliness, as it's jaunty indie-pop beat is slowly but beautifully corrupted by swathes of feedback, distorted whispered vocal lines and an extended coda featuring snatches of a Japanese girl talking- what about I'll never know, but judging by the rest of this album, it's probably something odd. Elsewhere tracks like 'Bulldog' and 'A Song that Reversed Time' eventually introduce white noise and static to the plaintive calm, but again it's done in such a subtle way that it seems like a perfectly natural and welcome diversion rather than a misguided indulgence. On the whole, the effect of their weird experiments within the world of the normal indie tune produces a feeling similar to some of David Lynch's best work- while what you're experiencing may seem pleasant and wholesome at first, there is always the sense of something not quite right, something darker lurking below the surface.
Counteracting the more surreal moments is the lead singer's completely unaffected and effortless voice (like a less Americana obsessed Tim Burgess) which keeps the whole affair within the realms of joyously listenable pop. What's amazing though is the fact that for an unsigned band, their album exists purely in it's own idiosyncratic world and displays a subtlety, confidence and uniqueness that belies their short-lived under-the-radar existence. While not instantly catchy, these songs will slowly burrow into your conscience after repeated plays and even though I've tried in this review, picking out individual highlights is difficult as the album flows perfectly as a complete thought with no weak links. If the band ever do reach the wider audience they so rightly deserve (their music's already been played by Steve Lamacq and XFM), I sense it will be through the word of mouth of some faithful cult followers, their reputation slowly growing until they control the population with their disarmingly skewed slumber-pop. As a bad guy in a fifties sci-fi movie might say, resistance is futile.
Review by Ian Viggars
www.pilotsofjapan.com
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It’s time to rejoice for all you fans of perfunctory German stoner-rock, because the new concept album from Shepherd is out now! “Concept Album”, you mutter under your breath, slowly edging out of the room… Wait, though. Hold on. Don’t go anywhere – at least not until I’ve had a chance to poke fun at some Goths. As concepts go, the ‘let’s write a song for each day of the week’ concept is pretty flimsy. Equally, my heart sank when I clocked the 66.04 running-time. (The thing is: if you’re trying that hard to get ‘the number of the beast’, then surely you can dredge up 2 more seconds from somewhere?) However, wait for the piece de resistance – the album has 8 tracks/days and consists of ‘Monday’, ‘Tuesday’, ‘Wednesday’, ‘Thursday’, ‘Friday’, ‘Saturday’, ‘Sunday’, and last, but certainly not least ‘Doomsday’! There’s a lunatic brand of genius at work here somewhere! Imagine Southampton’s answer to Lionel Richie – Craig David gurgling along with this little monster – “took her for a drink on doomsday…”
Anyway, shoddy concepts aside, what about the music? Half-sludgy, half-stodgy. Most tracks plod along tediously, and the high-point is ‘Friday’ which offers some nice sludge-drenched Sabbath-esque riffage. It’s easily the best track - purely because it’s an instrumental, and thus devoid of the singer’s “guttural” vocals (-he sounds like he’s been gargling with dog food). Just for the record: “Wednesday is a good day. For dying.” To be honest, I was actually thinking about going to the pub on Wednesday. Nevermind. Oh yeah, if anyone’s curious about what Doomsday will actually be like, I’m happy to reveal that it’ll consist of 14 minutes worth of torturous self-indulgent bollocks, 14 minutes of torturous self-indulgent silence and a rotten song. You’d better start praying straight away…
Review by Tom Leins
www.mainstreamrecords.de
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When I was asked to review this album I thought "Welcome to the World of James E. Cullen...hmmm that sounds posh". I pictured a swarf Hugh Hefner style character sitting by a fire, sipping port and mumbling eloquently over the sweeping chords resonating from his pianist's grand piano. Jesus was I wrong.
When the album arrived I felt a great deal of fear from just looking at the sleeve artwork. It looks like something which The League of Gentlemen's Papa Lazarou would try and sell you. I didn't want to open it in case he popped out and accosted me. Scanning down the song titles was the final straw, now I was scared, so scared in fact I had shit myself. (See "I Got a Rare Poultry Disease", "When Johnny Found the Crack Pipe" and "Your Mom Smells Like Urine"). This is a collection of his songs from his various previous solo outings, however, to someone caught unawares this will sound more like an outtakes CD than a best of.
The sloppy guitar playing and at times ghastly singing will warm the heart of any Syd Barrett fan, while the ridiculous themes will instantly make you think of Tom Green. All this is bundled together with the lo-fi basement recording studio sound of an early Beck album. I love Barrett, Green and Beck so why don't I like this? I think I would have done but during it's creation it would appear a bus full of Hillbillies from Deliverance turned up and sodomised everything. Bastards.
One of the problems is I can't seem to relate to most of these tales but I guess I can see how somebody who farms chickens might. It kicks off with "Young Gay Monkey On Roller Skates". Which contains the evocative line "When he caught two monkey's engaged in an act that two male monkeys shouldn't do". Where they illegally downloading the new Oasis album via Bit Torrent? No.
You move from track to track hearing Charles warbling on about crack smoking kids and chickens walking the green mile. He also certainly looks at relationships through a very twisted telescope, a twisted telescope he probably stole or bought at a yard sale. While the intro to "Real Nice Fat Girl" actually sounds like somebody tuning his or her guitar you do have to love the sentiment behind it. By about track 9 you start to spot the Charles E. Cullen formula. Pick a weird song title, sing that song title word for word over a few hashed chords and Bob's your uncle (or your sister's wife's chicken feed importer in this case). I know this sounds harsh but you will find yourself loving the words but just wishing the guitar and even he would shut up. Maybe his work would have made better poetry or the mantra of a new breed of Hillbilly Buddhists?
Apparently he's a "recording artist, a chicken farmer (ahhhh that figures), renegade B-movie filmmaker, TV Producer, puppeteer, ex-civil engineer, occasional cross dresser, certified to handle explosives, collector of vintage cars and all round nice bloke". Listening to this CD you might be tempted to think he is spreading himself a bit thin. I think he is but there are lots of things to like about this album, you just have to stay around long enough to find them. Not an easy task when your good lady is stood at the door, bags packed threatening to leave unless you "turn off that crap".
"Hog" is a strange break in play, an instrumental. Written by Cullen's lead guitarist this song is a very enjoyable, almost melodic. "I Don't Really Like Her, But She Helps Out On The Farm" is touching, mainly because it is true. How many of us have ugly girlfriends we just can't shake because we know the reality without them. Not knowing how to turn on any other kitchen appliance other than the microwave, or which aisle the 'pebble dashed bog stain remover' is in at the supermarket. This song also contains the grim line "My house burnt down and my best friend said he hates me". He is brilliant the way he draws you in with simple chords and makes you think you can guess the next rhyming word but oh no you can't, no mortal could ever guess a Charles E. Cullen rhyme.
Rinsed in the beauty of improvisation this disgustingly real collection of songs can be both shocking and amusing. The thing is you just aren't sure if you are laughing with him or at him. If George Bush isn't enough to make you glad you don't live in America, hearing Charles E. Cullen will be. One final question. Having said all these negative things why do I keep sneaking out of bed in the dead of night and going for a secret drive with Charles E. Cullen blurting out of the speakers? Where do I drive? Well to the 24 hour Asda of course.....Now where the fuck is that Toilet Duck hiding this time?
Review by Jamie Boyer
www.heychuck.com/theespc
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In Paignton, hordes of undersized youngsters in oversized clothing stand in WHSmith flicking through bad magazines positively throbbing with excitement as they pore over glossy photographs of hair-gelled punk-pop juveniles before shuffling off for a quick wank underneath the skate ramp over the old copies of Kerrang that they found underneath their older brothers’ beds. “Rob Halford – Phwoaar! I’d love to slouch around in his trousers!” However, help is at hand – their new wank fodder has arrived in the shape of Same Day Service – three cool American punkettes with unsightly visible tattoos and everything… Their record is a bit like The Donnas going for a slumber party at The Ataris’ house. Not really my bag, but instantly more preferable than insipid punk-rock shit like Simple Plan and Good Charlotte.
Review by Tom Leins
www.sdsrocks.com
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What The Kills used to have was something special and unique. Their sassy blues rock and all their on-stage vulgarity made them one of the most interesting and fresh bands in the world and what they managed to produce with “Keep On Your Mean Side” was outstanding. But unfortunately they seem to have contracted that hideous “shite second album” disease which seems to have knocked down a few of our favourite artists in the past few years. It looks as though the only thing now that can save the band, are their live shows, which we are proud to announce are still as good as ever.
With a majority of the songs sounding like the ones Karen O chucked in the bin during the writing stage for her next album for lacking in substance, The Kills are neither impressing nor moving anywhere quickly. Most recent single, “The Good Ones”, is the one true highlight of the record with its dance-ability and its catchy chorus. But that’s about as good as it gets folks.
“I Hate The Way You Love” part 1 inspires a moment of hope before part 2 kicks in and you wonder why on earth they felt the need to include it. Title track “No Wow” is about a minute too long as is “Sweet Cloud” which most definitely outstays its welcome. “Ticket Man”, a ballad consisting of just Alison (Mosshart, singer/guitarist) and a piano with boyfriend Jamie Hince playing a muted guitar over the top, is blatant filler with no real sense of purpose or presence.
The thing is, we know The Kills aren’t a bad band, they just happen to have produced a distinctly average album. But people aren’t going to give a crap and that’s the fact. They’re our favourite rock duo (The White Stripes are overrated, it’s about time we face up to that) and they don’t look set to fall from that position just off the back of this one record. 5/10
Review by Jason Edwards
www.thekills.tv
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"In the days before the Gilla Bruja came to my town, every night the sky turned blood red and reports of cattle mutilations came in by the dozen. Then, out by the old barn, near Miller’s Curve, I saw the beaten-up van come around the bend, leaving black smoke in the sky. Then I saw them unloading the amps and the blood-stained instruments…” It goes without saying that the music on cheeky death-metal scamps Gilla Bruja’s new album ‘Tooth and Nail’ is nowhere near as entertaining as the sleevenotes. Then again, what do you expect when the band-member credits include “negativity and insults” and “sound retarding noise”? It’s not as unbearable as you might think, actually so I won’t launch into my usual patronizing indie-kid routine – I’ll save that for the art-rock fakers who deserve it. Plus, Gilla Bruja have a habit of “taking the non-believers with them, leaving only the faint sound of their final screams” and that would be a real waste.
Review by Tom Leins
www.retributerecords.com
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Forget London and that silly Rhythm Factory where the only thing it seems to be able to fabricate is a bunch of skinny lads in tight jeans playing what sounds like the same song over and over again: Leeds is where it’s at. There’s a wonderful sense of community amongst the bands but that doesn’t mean that they all nab ideas off each other and come out sounding the same. The diversity that is shown on the CD is incredible. There are some incredibly dodgy moments but that doesn’t really matter because it’s just such a joy to see so many different musical genres being taken in so many different directions in the confines of just one city.
But perhaps it’d be best to start with the slightly less encouraging aspects of this glorious compilation. This Et Al’s “Catscan” is a fairly generic aggressive indie rock track with its moments of lyrical prowess but not much else. The Lucida Console are a distinctly average emo/hardcore outfit and Napoleon IIIrd just seem to be lacking something that ends up making them quite hard to listen to with any clear sense of like or dislike. And then there’s Robochrist with “Ghosttrainnosebleed”. It’s one scary mess of samples and crazy snyths that’s not necessarily bad just insanely bizarre and quite unsettling. None of the bands mentioned here are bad, that wouldn’t be fair to say at all, but they are the weakest of what is an incredibly talented bunch.
The Sunshine Underground thwack out “Commercial Breakdown” with enough synths and electronic drums that they put Radio 4’s recent efforts to shame. O Fracas’ “What Jim Hears” is jerky art punk without much vocal but with plenty of changes in their dynamics to create a mini rock orchestra of crescendos and diminuendos that infuse to create a potential dance floor hit. The Scaramanga Six and The Somatics present some very audible and genre crossing rock music both sounding like Radiohead at times but with The Somatics verging towards a more epic sound and The Scaramanga Six leaning towards a heavier, simpler one. The Terminals, iLIKETRAINS, I Love Poland and The Rebellion Threat Kills are nothing particularly life changing but they are well worth a look too.
Then there’s the cream of the crop. “Eight” by iForward Russia! combines many different influences in order to make a quite unique sound of jerky guitars, punchy vocals and brilliantly dancey rhythms. Baby Food give us a very eerie sounding but brilliantly original song called “Desperats”, which not only shows they need to head back to GCSE English, but that they are loaded with a dark potential that could see them becoming a massive hit. Things get even better with Buen Chico’s “I Don’t Care”, a wonderfully frantic song with glorious harmonies that’s brilliance is truly representative of the current Leeds scene. Being 747 ensure that The Smiths won’t be forgotten with their lyric heavy, jangly guitar pop. The Lodger are a special band who ought to be cherished. What they are creating just now is wonderfully crafted guitar pop that shows signs that they may have the potential to go anywhere they want and this particular song, “Unsatisfied”, is simply a gem to listen to. But the best song on the compilation lies in the hands of The Old House whose “You Told Me Something” contains echoes of 60s rock music intertwined with sounds that The Strokes would make if they’d just bloody cheer up a bit!
This is a compilation that not only contains some brilliant tunes but inspires hope and makes you realise that this country still has so much more to offer to the music world. There are literally hundreds of hidden gems lying all across the land and it looks as though Leeds has managed to find the majority of them.
Review by Jason Edwards
www.dancetotheradio.com
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“New Ams” by Recife is the sound of hippies re-discovering electronic music, which, strangely, isn’t actually a bad thing. (Especially if it stops Daft Punk making such awful records). Recife play occasionally over-wrought (but often-fantastic) prog-tronica. They blend dreamy vocals – a la recent French pop-exports Phoenix with moody post-rock soundscapes and Floydian flourishes. Highlights include: ‘The Name’, ‘On The Roof’ and ‘The Good Man’. If Pink Floyd weren’t dead, they may well be getting lost in the hyper-marche and making records like this.*
To continue my unnecessary and slightly offensive schoolboy analogy
– this is like Air getting a bollocking by Jean-Michel Jarre for
sketching Pink Floyd album covers in the backs of their exercise books
when they should have been listening to ‘oral tapes’ and drawing
cocks all over each other’s stuff like the rest of us. Their punishment?
Well, they’d probably be made to go into Room 12a and sit with those
camp boys who were always hanging around even though they finished school
three years ago.
Good work, still room for improvement. B-
*Before anyone writes in, Pink Floyd aren’t actually dead (except in a creative sense). Not unless they died in the night and have yet to be discovered by the maid…
Review by Tom Leins
recife.music.free.fr
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Back in the days of 'Brit Pop', when guitar bands desperately aped Oasis, one band was bucking this trend by trying to assert some individuality and kick back against the corporate sea of mediocrity. Despite several chart-hits and an ever growing live following, Silver Sun were amongst the sacrificial lambs dropped by their labels. Six years after the band's second album, 'Neo Wave', Silver Sun return to duty with 'Disappear Here.'
'Disappear Here' contains a sound not too dissimilar from the self-titled first album, but yet it also shows evidence of some growth both musically and lyrically. A mini pop-masterpiece, 'Silver Sun' fused together the high energy and riffs of pop-punk bands like Ash and Green Day, complex three part harmonies similar to The Beach Boys and the delivery of possibly the finest ever pop-punkers, The Undertones. If you prefer, it's McFly for adults. Although the slightly overlong 'Neo Wave' contained all the necessary Silver Sun trademarks, the band were maybe trying to be too much, too soon. Excessive production techniques and internal difficulties led to a slightly disappointing listen that didn't connect with the fanbase in the same way that the debut album did.
In contrast, 'Disappear Here' is an album that is built to be enjoyed in the classic Silver Sun style. This is how pop music should be made; ten tracks and it's all over in exactly thirty minutes as the band adhere to the three-minute template of the perfect pop record. It's impossible not to get that adrenalin rush you get from hearing boisterous guitar pop catchier than a dose of chicken pox. You just can't help but to want to dance to this record. Nowhere is this more evident than on the first single taken from the album, 'Bubblegum'. As the album opener this sets out the Silver Sun manifesto in three perfect minutes. The guitars crunch gloriously, while the melodies forcefully implant themselves in your brain. By the time the 'na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na' section kicks in it's sugar-coated power-pop heaven.
It is arguable that for the band to really make the leap into the big time, a little more variety might be needed. Whilst it is undeniable that front-man James Broad knows how to craft a classic pop number, as evidenced on the uber-pop of 'Jody' and 'Garlic', presenting these ideas with a little more variety seems to be more of a challenge. Although this gives Silver Sun a very distinct and recognisable sound, at times this makes the album a little too black and white. A clever running order adds depth and helps the album sound a little greyer while repeated play brings out subtleties in the material, as does the clever use of instruments you don't expect to hear like a chunky organ and a saxophone. The clever use of crowd samples also helps to give the album a sense of structure. The slower 'Can't Get You Of My Head' cuts between the fast paced 'Lies' and the Undertones inspired 'Found You In A Dream', while the excellent slow-paced number, 'She Wants A Puppy, She'll Have A Puppy' works well as the penultimate song and adds some variety before the album closes with the aptly named 'You Can't Kill Rock & Roll'. However, at thirty minutes you're never in danger of being bored by the record.
Hopefully the world will be ready this time around for Silver Sun's brand of high energy power-pop and this album will see the band back in the spot-light in 2005. As James Broad advises in the sleeve-notes, 'the way to enjoy this? - play it loud.'
Review by Nick Quantrill
www.silver-sun.co.uk
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the rest of us, it seems like a puzzling all-or-nothing move by someone you think might have considered a steadier career by now.
Chris Helme is a similar character, but you'd be forgiven for thinking "who?" as you're reading this, so let me explain. Helme was the guy plucked from obscurity to front John Squire's late nineties venture, The Seahorses. After the initial the novelty of being Squire's first band since the Stone Roses wore out, the Seahorses were eventually exposed as the terrible trad-rock guitar wank fantasy vehicle that they clearly were. Chris Helme's singing was criticized and he faded into nothingness, while Squire got off relatively scot-free, left to pursue an ill advised solo career (noticing a pattern here?). Squire's still spouting concept albums about Edward Hopper paintings to an indifferent public while his ex-band mate Chris Helme has come back with the Yards, and their self titled debut. So before we begin, let's make a point clear- this is a hundred times better than the Seahorses were (but then anything would be really).
At first, The Yards seem like no great departure. They deal in traditional rock with subtle hints of country and a creeping sense of psychedelica. It calls to mind worn journalistic phrases like "good honest song writing" and "passionate delivery", which let's face it isn't that exciting a proposition. However there are a few factors that put the Yards in a different league from their similarly trad inclined peers like the Stereophonics and Jet, one being the lyrics. It seems that Helme's troubled ride in the world of popular music has instilled him with a healthy anger- the most startling examples of this are the songs 'Crime' and 'The Devil is Alive and Well in DC'. Both attack Bush's idiotic political reign with impressive venom- 'Crime' features the line "it's for the good of all mankind" before retorting "that's bull shit, you got a lot of money and your old man is proud, keep on digging for the black stuff in the ground", while 'Devil...' lashes out at Bush's redneck supporters ("all you Texans stand in line, just a boy out for some fun, got my Stetson got my gun") and questions the plight of the young soldiers sent out to fight a bogus war ("all the wars are won, and you're telling me I gotta kill someone?"). It's a damn good attitude, even if the words are presented in a well worn retro-rock context. You can't help thinking that the Stereophonics wouldn't be as ridiculed as they are if Kelly Jones saved his venom for worthy targets like this rather than journalists and bands better than his.
Even the tracks not aimed at specific political targets are suffused with vitriol and it's tempting to think that some of it might be aimed at a certain Mr Squire. The first track is called 'Get Off My Back', which is kind of self explanatory, while 'On the Inside' states that the author is "way past caring" and warns his subject that "you can't touch me, you can't take what's on the inside"- it's clear from examples like these that Helme's knock-backs have made him stronger and more determined to win, as the gentle acoustic strum 'Superhuman' encouragingly says, "on your own again.you got through this one before, the older you get you want more". On top of all this, Helme's voice is on good form too. While in his previous band he struggled to hit the high notes, here he's singing to his own tune and sounds much more comfortable doing it.
There are a few duff tracks on display here, 'Fireflies' being the main culprit. It's a mid paced affair that clocks in at six minutes plus, encapsulating an annoyingly long guitar solo and some lyrics culled from the book of Noel ("the stars are gonna shine tonight, according to my sisters and brothers"), but it's a minor diversion. What The Yards do isn't rocket science, but on the whole it's not that bad either, and while their Dad-friendly music might not be to everyone's particular taste (including mine), there will always be a huge market for anthemic everyman rock, the bonus being that with The Yards you get intelligent confrontational lyrics thrown in too. In short Chris Helme has produced an album to be proud of, and even if it doesn't capture the public's imagination (even though it has the potential too), at least it provides a previously rejected singer with a decent second chance.
Review by Ian Viggars
www.theyards.org
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Apparently you can’t read about Dead Meadow without the words ‘Psychedelic’ or ‘stoner’ being included in the first paragraph. See. This however is with some just cause, cos they’re fuzzed brand of slow rock’s closest comparisons appear to come from anything vaguely 70s related. Although these relations to the past are evident, there’s no way Dead Meadow could be mistaken for anything other than being totally of the moment. The sound throughout isn’t even a little bit ‘retro’ it just so happens the last time anyone veered in this musical direction happens to be quite a long time ago. However this ‘genre’ appears to wank on that little bit too much so you can’t tell when one song ends and the next one starts. This coupled with my impatience towards hearing something I really fucking like, means the skip button is over used, passing a few tracks hurriedly by after the first listen. Dead Meadow live are abrasive, loud and worthy of your attention. On record they appear to drift by with little impact.
Review by Barry Bennett
www.deadmeadow.com
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Soe Za's album 'Why Do You Do?' sounds fun to be a part of. Their musical talent is clear for all who take the time to play and listen to it. From the start of 'Brackish Waters' I had promising expectations for this band. They sound confident and fully aware of what makes good music. Jenny Robinson's vocals create a soothing effect over the sometimes experimental sounding compositions. They are diverse to say the least, and do not appear to aim to fit a market.
The sounds on 'Jack Jones' seem to draw on many influences, with great layering of instruments and an uptempo beat. Male vocals bless this track, as one of the better, more structured songs on the album. The lyrics are quite motivating and the overall feel is positive as it rolls into 'Downscale' and back to Robinson's vocals over a much more mellow track.
It would be hard not to compare Soe Za to some other great bands right now. They have got the right attitude in terms of primarily making music for themselves, and enjoying the process. The likes of Zero 7 and Bardo Pond come tomind while listening to 'They Glow at Night' and jazzy drumbeats on tracks like 'Genuflect' and 'Length of Rivers' allow for Floyd like imagination.
Their one downfall, I believe, is perhaps their over-eagerness to pack a song with too many parts and thus make it slightly disjointed. I found that this album had many great introductions and quieter areas that really showed what they're about, but a tendency to lose the plot, and not in a constructive manner, meant it was a bit disappointing and difficult to listen to. They clearly aren't here to try to change the world - I doubt that they have an agenda other than to enjoy what they do, which is great.
All said and done, I would recommend this album as it is all about expression and taking risks. Soe Za do just that and put it out there for your ears. I admire their bravery in experimentation and respect their unique style of music making - I only hope that more bands follow this approach in future. So take the risk and diversify your mind. Expect better things from Soe Za in the future. 2.5/5
Review by Daniel Silburn
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There seems to be something missing on each of the tracks. Opening pair, “Evacuate London” and “The Vein Jane Blues” lack excitement, diversity and impact. Although it must be said, what they lack in those departments they make up for in charm. There’s something intensely twee and quite sweet about what they’re doing, but still it doesn’t feel quite right. “Genius of Failure” shows much more potential with a better structure and lyrics which leads into “London is So Shy”: a very good track that is perhaps the sort of music that the band should try to create more of.
From then on things go back downhill with the sultry, emotionless “A Way of Being Free” and the very weak sounding “Cowboy of the Opera”. There is the occasional glimpse of hope on the demo, but these are overshadowed by the amount of music that just doesn’t do much for the listener and the, quite frankly, bores.
Review by Jason Edwards
www.the-composers.co.uk
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It's the Lithium Joe-inspired DIY attitude that informs this record. Whilst most acts signed to major label record companies are indeed signed for a very good reason, Paul proves that major label backing is not obligatory if you want to make exciting records that challenge listeners both musically and lyrically. It's quite tempting to expect a solo-album to head down the well-trodden singer-songwriter path, but this record contains far wider influences.
'An Exile in Suburbia' is a record packed with small nods to a range of different artists and genres. Influenced by The Clash and Bob Dylan in spirit and atmosphere, it's mixed with the pure pop sound of 'Pet Sounds' era Beach Boys, before being dragged forcefully into the 21st century. From the pure pop acoustic sound of The Beatles circa 1964s 'A Hard Days Night' album, to the chiming guitars of Teenage Fanclub through to the double-tracking on the vocals used to create harmonies not unlike The Everley Brothers, these different influences and musical threads are blended together to produce something fresh and vibrant for 2005.
Whilst all the songs are incorporate only vocals, guitar and harmonica, you can be forgiven for thinking that you're listening to a full band performing. With no two tracks sounding the same, the scope of the material is stunning. Not content to merely craft catchy, melodic pop-tunes that you'll whistle for days like 'I Ain't Finished Yet' and 'A Silent Revolution', this record packs in a purely a-cappella number, 'The Autocue' and even a little nod towards dance music on the experimental 'Radio Interference.'
The disc's major strength is revealed within its lyrics. It's a real shame that they are not reproduced somewhere within the excellent sleeve artwork. Lyric writing seems to be a dying art, or at least an optional extra in the songwriters' toolkit. Instead of navel staring introspection this record deals with the bigger issues of personal politics and the way in which we interact with the wider world. From learning how to rationalise the past, to living in a media led age, through to the danger of not believing in yourself and your own capabilities, this is a record that has a lot to say about the way we lead our lives.
'An Exile In Suburbia' is a fantastic pop record that takes a variety of different musical ideas and blends them together to create a sound that is uniquely its own. There aren't many artists, period, who are capable of doing that. If you like your music to contain the old fashioned ideas of tunes, melodies and thoughtful lyrics, but still want to be surprised by what can be done with these simple ideas then this is the record to find them on.
Review by Nick Quantrill
www.joesolo.co.uk
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Anagram is the result of a mysterious alliance between singer Jessica Congdon and electro producer type bloke Eric Holland. Their roots lie in the pretensions of the art world, as both met while working on a film in Berlin, and since then their songs have apparently sound-tracked a handful of acclaimed, arty underground films. Without being too presumptuous, this kind of background should give you a vague idea of what Anagram sound like. Yes, it's a smoky, atmospheric, post trip-hop mixture of beats and un-striking female vocals, the type of which has flitted in and out of the lounges of thirty-something ex-clubbers since the early nineties, when Massive Attack unwittingly started the trend.
While I'd like to tell you that this album confounds that expectation and transcends the genre, it sadly isn't true. Musically it's occasionally satisfying- there is an impressively cold and minimal sound to the backing tracks of 'Qualify' and 'Jackrabbit', as guitars, bass, and synths are used sparingly to produce a sound akin to early 80's New Order, while on 'Dazzle' shoe-gazing guitars enter the mix with interesting results. The final track 'Un' begins with a devastatingly sparse and affecting piano piece underpinned with the sounds of falling rain and passing cars. However the song then sadly descends into a bland mush of coffee table-friendly beats and go-nowhere guitar melodies, which leads me on to the album's main downfall. While it strives to deliver atmospheric filmic 'soundscapes', it more often than not sounds dull and uninspiring, an unfortunate effect that isn't helped by the vocals. On the first track Congdon states that "I'll be on my best behaviour", when you kind of wish she wouldn't, as some vocal flair and unexpected passion is what Anagram need. Instead this sets the precedent for what is a dispassionate, restrained, and un-engaging vocal performance. While the aforementioned 'Qualify' is the best track musically, the lyrics and delivery are disappointing- halfway through the track Congdon ponders a dilemma ("What should I do? Should I take him home? We've both had too much to drink, but I don't feel like being alone") in a voice that sounds like an attempt at the detached robotic allure of the superior likes of Ladytron or Adult, but instead it sounds about as sexy as an invite to watch Robocop 3. No thanks. Elsewhere the lyrics are vague, speaking of snow falling, seeing friends and hearts being broken, still in the same voice that is just too wistful and tame, keeping the whole album firmly rooted in the dreaded arena of dinner party/wine bar music for dull people that work in the media sales industry. A glimpse at their website reveals that Anagram's main intention is to continue sound-tracking films and who knows, this music may work better coupled with some interesting visuals, but on it's own 'Songs from Far Away' sounds simply like background music with nowhere to go. Disappointing.
Review by Ian Viggars
www.anagrammusic.com
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