Morrissey blah blah legend blah blah The Smiths blah blah solo career blah blah downhill in the 90s blah blah but Vauxhall and I was quite good blah blah ambiguous sexuality blah blah comeback blah.
With the obvious preface out of the way, we can take a look at Years of Refusal. Opener "Something is Squeezing my Skull" is a perfect summary of the "Angry Moz" mode, with thumping beats, Fripp-esque quitar and cracked vocal scales. There is an immediacy in his delivery that seems quite fresh, perhaps brought on by lyrics that are now far less self-deprecating and much more bile-spewingly angry than they have been of late. Even the more personal pleas are directed at others- this is a good move, as it removes the much loved 'cloying' from the Standard Book of Morrissey Criticisms.
The biggest problem with the first half of the album is that too many songs sound like attempts at bombastic comeback singles. Part of this is due to the fact that three of them actually are ("I'm Throwing my Arms Around Paris", "That's how People Grow Up" and "All You Need is Me") and it is possible to get a little lost in the sameness of it all. A more careful listen does, however, reveal some early favourites. There must be a story surrounding the gorgeously bittersweet "When Last I Spoke To Carol", which details Morrissey's final conversations with the (recently deceased) titular Carol, whose birth date is given to be 1975- probably too young to even be an original Smiths fan. One can easily imagine the refrain "Life is nothing much to lose/It's just so lonely here without you" from "Mama Lay Softly on the Riverbed" being permanently etched in the minds of high school journal-keepers for decades to come. It is a strong first act, carried largely by renewed vigour on the part of our Moz, and an increasingly intuitive band who can now seamlessly turn Morrissey's fractured melodies into powerful songs. There is also a sense of structure here, which is something almost totally new for a solo Moz effort, a sense of ever-increasing tension and build up...
... and "It's Not Your Birthday Anymore" is the release. It is the fist-pumping, chest-beating, stadium-filling, climb-on-stage-and-hug-this-man-inspiring classic that "I have forgiven Jesus" and "Life is a Pigsty" almost were. A beautiful cocktail of tenderness ("the heart has a will of its own"), callous disregard ("Did you really think we meant all of those syrupy, sentimental things that we said yesterday?") and disturbing connotations ("It cannot be given/And so it must be taken")- crooned over melodramatic synths and crashing drums. Top Track.
After this we get the interesting character sketch "You were Good in your Time"- a quiet, string-soaked slow-burner, the also-ran rocker "Sorry Doesn't Help Us" before the "At Last I am Born"-esque bombastic closer "I'm OK by Myself".
It is good to hear the Pope of Mope inspired once more by something other than himself, his renewed enthusiasm for songwriting is infectious and will carry you through some of the weaker songs. A marked absence of the auto-pilot delivery that has marred much of his solo career is what makes this a strong album. Recommended.
Wolf Parade, Wolf&Cub, Wolf Eyes, Wolfmother, Holy Fuck, Fucked Up, Fuck Buttons, Girl Talk, Women, The Morning after Girls, not to mention the countless amount of ‘The’ bands. Now crystal is the new animal as we have: Crystal Castles, Crystal Stilts, Crystal Skulls and of course Crystal Antlers (which very strategically adds an animal part to the new band name trend).
Crystal Antlers are hard to describe. They’re essentially a psych-band with garage roots, but they don’t comfortably sit in a specific genre. They’re the type of band you’ll expect to shift and musically explore.
In 2008 Crystal Antlers released a self titled EP that emerged almost out of nowhere that proceeded to shake the lo-fi genre with exhilarating but never exhausting songs that begged multiple listens. In the song ‘Parting Song for the Torn Sky’ for instance, the bass guitar slowly builds, with the guitar feedback collectively building into an orgy of wah-wails and cacophonous spastic chaos. Lead man and bassist Jonny Bell ear piercingly screams that echoes through the speakers and washes all over the body. It is 7 minutes of pure bliss! Crystal Antler raped our ears (in a good way) with its thunderous organs and wailing guitars in 2008, one would expect they were preparing for something huge for their follow up LP Tentacles.
The good news is Tentacles is a fine record that boasts energetic tracks that prove to be ferocious and chaotic in nature. However truth be told, it never reaches to the level of its predecessor as it feels a little premature and comfortable.
In the opener ‘Painless Sleep’, the organ flutters relentlessly to a pulsating drum beat and guitar line that builds to an unfortunately abrupt ending. ‘Dust’ fares better with its playful organ and dramatic bass line. Jonny sounds extremely comfortable as he barks in tune with the melody. In ‘Andrew’ the organ rings anxiously against Jonny’s vulnerable vocals that quickly diverge rhythmically with its busy drumming. ‘Memorized’ proves to be the highlight as it creates the near intensity of the previous EP. Then we have ‘Glacier’ which is a nice number, but it never feels entirely memorable.
By the middle of the record, it is apparent that they’re approaching their sound differently to their previous EP. While there are no misfires, most of the songs never build to the height of ‘Parting Song for the Torn Sky’.
If the EP was working up to an orgasm, then Tentacles is the pre-cum. Let’s see if the sophomore is the explosion I was expecting.
The French are perhaps the least confrontational people on Earth. Everyone who's ever tried to invade France has succeeded admirably - Bismarck, Hitler and Tina Arena all swept through Paris whilst the locals sketched each other half-naked and benefitted from universal health-care.
Phoenix are no different.
They're as non-threatening as Marcel Marceau at the Eurovision Song Contest. They're sugar-coated sponge-rock that leaves you superficially satisfied but softly discontent.
North Korea carried out a test-firing of a long-range ballistic missile on Sunday, putting a communications satellite into orbit. The satellite beamed 'The Song of General Kim Jong-Il' back to Earth and infuriated The United States, Japan and South Korea, provoking diplomatic outrage and risking all-out war. If only the "Kwangmyongsong-2" satellite had broadcast Phoenix's 'Lisztomania' instead, we may have already achieved world peace. The first song on Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is pacifying in the extreme. It's sublimely catchy and undeniably loveable. Phillippe Zdar mixes the song like he's making love to an eclair. The arrangement is smooth and velvety and Thomas Mars' vocals buoyant with saccharine air. The hook is syrupy and the chorus insistent. 'Lisztomania' is a flat out 100.
But what of '1901' - the single accompanied by its own neon-attack website and subsequent hype. When I was sent the link to '1901' a few weeks ago, I sat in complete disinterest as electro-soaked rifts washed over me. Mars' vocals are what saves this number. As soon as he begins his triumphant slaughtering of previously accepted conventions of English pronunciation, a sense of Abba-style foreign-ness sends you skywards. I understand every third, maybe fourth word of this song and yet the lyrics speak to me. Mars' almost yodels his way through some of the phrasing, but it works. And when '1901' hits the chorus (fallin', fallin', fallin') its joyous.
The rest is maudlin. 'Fences' is the love-child of MGMT and The Beegees. 'Love Like a Sunset' is painfully drawn out and 'Lasso' saves the second act with toe-tapping francophilia. Mars' asks "where would you go/ where would you go with a lasso?" Its charming nothings like these that erase any sensical meaning from the album.
Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is fairy-floss. It's a vacuum in which the only sound that can be heard is sickly-sweet and sometimes sour.
Justice, there’s scarcely anything journalistic or profound to say about them. They’re just a pair of cool mother fuckers. The point of difference though, is that Justice are a pair of cool mother fuckers who have the chops to back their chic. Their brand of elect-rock is untouchable.
Planisphere is a single song, severed into four movements. It was conceived to accompany Christian Dior’s Homme runway in 2008. It’s not difficult to envisage this authoritative hip-shaker, blaring as a broad shouldered Adonis struts down a runway in French furs. It launches with a swagger that is sustained for the duration. There’s Justice’s signature percussive slices and dices. There’s harpsichord too, adding a danceable sophistication. No one does artificial symphonies with a rock sensibility quite like Justice do. The harmonies are sleek, while the drum machines that underpin them are unruly.
Altogether, the four Planisphere movements last under 18 minutes. If you make it to “Planishphere (Final)” you’re in for a treat as a riotous guitar solo incites you to dust off your air guitar.
Fever Ray is not from our solar system. Karin Dreijer Andersson is an alien with a predilection for ominous electronic music. One half of Swedish duo The Knife, she engages in vocal gymnastics that can only be gawked at. Her voice is shrill and part of that constellation whose stars include Bjork and Kate Bush.
She’s a tuneful extra terrestrial looking for companionship. These inhuman impressions are only enhanced by opening lyrics “If I had a heart, I could love you”. Keyboards are spooky, drum machines are hauntingly nuanced.
In “Dry and Dusty” she observes that “your hand, my hand, fits so easily”, as though she’s a celestial organism grasping another’s hand for the first time. “Concrete Walls” instils an unsettling claustrophobia, “I live between concrete walls”. Percussion loops in a downtempo fashion, while keyboards resonate hypnotically in the chorus.
In “I’m Not Done” drum machines clack and otherworldly synthesisers ring. “Keep the Streets Empty For Me” invokes a fear of crowds: enochlophobia. Karin sings the title over and over backed by a tense drumbeat. There’s a spacious atmosphere, instruments are employed sparingly.
Her debut record is unhurriedly paced and insular. It’s the soundtrack to an eye-opening journey through a ghostly galaxy.
The Horrors have undertaken a new direction. Here, they’ve channeled My Bloody Valentine, Ride and The Cure. One might dismiss Primary Colours as being derivative. However, the execution is solid. 10 songs, not a single one filler. The record was skillfully produced by Geoff Barlow of Portishead.
Kid-A ambience establishes the album before it does away with such a musical nicety. Drone-y guitars then impose themselves on “Mirror’s Image” and are littered throughout the entire LP. There’s no denying Primary Colours’ referential ambition, mimicking dirty decades past (“Do You Remember” recaps Ride’s career in under 3 and a half minutes). In addition, The Horrors have a somewhat “scene”/fashionable appearance (tight black jeans, black boots, black thin black skinny black anorexic), which could detract from any serious attempts at originality. But whereas Strange House was arguably a style over substance affair, Primary Colours is realised. You only need to look at the album cover. The image has been blurred beyond recognition, the members of the band (and their image) are undistinguished. The music has come to the forefront. On Strange House’s album artwork, The Horrors sat detachedly on a couch attempting to look too-cool-for-convention-school. They weren’t.
Primary Colours still has the signature Horrors’ gothic cathedral organ, like in the opening bars of “Scarlet Fields”. However, the organ is used musically this time around, rather than as a source of menace or horrific suggestion.
“I Only Think of You” stretches for 7 minutes, which by Horrors’ standards is particularly noteworthy. What’s more, the song slogs along with slow dejection. It’s chorus-free and stirs up an authentic misery. It’s one of Primary Colours’ strongest tracks and proposes a musical maturity.
Lead single (and closing track), “Sea Within A Sea”, is an 8 minute marathon of driving bass, far away guitar riffs and hasty drums. Bottles being smashed echo in the chorus and guitars flitter unpredictably. Top track.
The Horrors always had style and now they have substance.
“Who? Where? When? What? Why? Questions that need answers. Answers that raise more questions. I pick myself up out of the cold, hard, gutter. I usually land on my feet.”
Mercy Arms are as keen as mustard. Drawing from bands like The Smiths and Ride, they fashion sweeping songs for an era in which romance is waning. Thom Moore sings melodiously with a confident falsetto, Kirin J. Callinan wields his guitar like a monstrous noise maker, while bassist Ash and drummer Julian create the basis for Moore’s and Callinan’s talents to blossom.
There’s nothing pompous about their debut, it’s filled with 10 solid pop players. Perhaps the record lacks uniqueness, they follow their influences closely. However, their tuneful and genuine execution offsets this minor quandary.
“Half Right” sounds positively full-bodied. Every instrument is assuredly crisp. Julian Sudek swiftly and succinctly bangs at the percussion, while Callinan’s guitar melodies ring joyously.
Thom Moore’s vocals in “Footsteps” hush sweetly, “I can still hear your footsteps, treading lightly down the corridor”. The chorus is symphonic, bells and drums surge romantically.
Mercy Arms wrote a song for MIX 106.5 called “To Me Now”. “Kilby” quickly restores the record’s quality and thwarts any doubts that Mercy Arms are overflowing with cheese.
“Caroline”’s hushed-vocal/guitar-bellow verse looks something like this in print: “Take me dooowwn to-ward the shore-line in the night.” Guitar Pedal Noise: *BRRUUUGHHHHHHTTTTTTTT SGRAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH* “The sky, she sleeps but for a sin-gle dull light.” GPN: *GREEOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHARHHHHH* It’s a stark contrast, but it works. The heartbeat drumming is a nice touch too.
“Firing Line” invokes vivid imagery of trenches and warfare, “I often hear the call/ Of the infantry men as they fall/ To the depths of me”. It concludes with an epic guitar solo, grandiose and sprawling.
All's not lost, there are still musicians who endorse romance and uphold sincerity, thankfully.
FBR reviewsrecords and reels. All scores are out of 100.FBR is Australian.Combined Ratings are the average score of 2 or more contributors' ratings.
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Morrissey blah blah legend blah blah The Smiths blah blah solo career blah blah downhill in the 90s blah blah but Vauxhall and I was quite good blah blah ambiguous sexuality blah blah comeback blah.
