Music Reviews

Here’s an archive of the album, single and gig reviews I write for the site musosguide.com. Apologies for the pretentious nature of most of them!

Small Engine Repair – An Introduction To Small Engine Repair for musosguide.com

Small Engine Repair is a band that can’t decide whether to laugh or cry. Every song from their debut EP, An Introduction To Small Engine Repair is shot through with an underlying sense of tragedy but decorated with a flurry of wryness. Take opening cut ‘Fall Down At Your Feet’; a track that speaks of a heart-broken pub landlord who find his wife ‘on her knees with the butcher’.

Perhaps it’s my crude mind jumping for the first sign of a filthy meat metaphor I can find. But I can’t help think that if this poor fool had found his philandering wife fornicating with the local baker or candlestick maker – it somehow would have been far more tragic, yet far less satisfyingly wry.

‘I Feel So Old’ lands in similarly ambiguous waters and showcases this bands remarkable talent for sounding aged and knowing yet completely contemporary at exactly the same time. The shimmering lap steel and rhythmic sway is enough to appease any sandal clad folk devotee. Yet the sparseness of the track along with its heartfelt finale could also see it easily slot into the iPod of any nu-folk, Bon Iver worshipping hipster (who would probably also be wearing sandals).

On the face of it ‘Have You See What I’ve Become?’ is as tragic a song that has ever been written. But while it is undeniably soundtrack gold for any romantic tragedy film, it sidesteps the giant Snow Patrol shaped hole of cliché through the subtle, restrained keyboard and string backing.

Subtle, lush sounding keys are the order of the day again in ‘This Whole Set Up Is A Lie’. A song that’s obvious undertones are romantic yet it’s an impression of the banality and consistency of modern life that stays with me after it has ended.‘I’m there, staring at the wall, just sitting there staring at the wall. And the marks and the panels on the door, just sitting there staring at the wall’ croons lead singer Phil Twigg. It is indeed remarkable what you notice and remember about the plainest of landscapes if you look at it for long enough.

‘Hey, Best Friend’ is aurally the most optimistic song on the album but lyrically it’s clear that this is still a lament to good times past and close friends gone. ‘Hey best friend, you should know it’s okay, I’d come visit you – but I can’t afford the train. But I still miss you, more than I can say’ is as perfectly sculpted a lyric as I’ve ever heard; ambiguous yet obvious, gloomy yet witty.

But any optimistic relief obtained from ‘Hey Best Friend’ is instantly dispelled by the downtrodden, dare I say grim; ‘Dream Boat’. A strangely psychedelic track, it stands in a polar opposite position from its predecessor on the EP in that the dreamy lyrics and shimmering aural soundscape sit together comfortably. In fact, the track is a little too comfortable, gloomy and easy for my liking.

With its glum organ and stoic lyrics, ‘Dream Boat’ becomes what is essentially the album’s funeral march. On paper, it should bring this record to a close perfectly when aligned with the EP’s Intro – a one and a half minute track asking if ‘we’re all just looking for some place to die’. Yet tragically it doesn’t. However this mismatch is not through a lack of quality; in fact it’s the lack of quantity that leaves me with a feeling that this EP is a life part lived.

But still, An Introduction To Small Engine Repair is a charming, intelligent EP that manages to bridge the gap between melancholy and hope in an accessible yet authentic way.

The Phantom Band – The Wants for musosguide.com

Proto-robofolk, alchemical art-rock and post-stereolab krautrock; just three of the painfully pretentious genres dreamed up by journos to describe ‘The Wants’ – the second release from Glasgow’s The Phantom Band. Yes, this Scottish sextet is as elusive to pin down generically as their name suggests. Yet unlike many other (often self-proclaimed) generic innovators, The Phantom Band are not just mindlessly hoovering up styles of music with the sole concern of how cool they will sound when some dweeb decides to hyphenate three equally crap genres and proclaim it the ‘hot new sound’. ‘The Wants’ is a well-rooted album with a distinct flavour that, despite the generic undulations, maintains an industrial yet intelligent feel throughout. To put it bluntly, it’s bloody good.

Album opener ‘A Glamour’ wurrs into action with the sounds of a traditional African baliphone competing with synthetic winds and pulsating synths – a perfect opening to an album that consistently combines artificial, jagged beats with organic, friendly melodies. ‘A Glamour’ then explodes into an industrial, marching drumbeat accompanied by a cacophony of bleeps, woops and tweets. I’d say this was on par with Battles at their nob-twiddling, pitch-shifting best, if it wasn’t immediately apparent that The Phantom Band can actually write proper songs… with lyrics and everything! Soaring vocal harmonies contrast with gritty guitar chugs and set the bar high for the remainder of the album, but rest assured – it doesn’t disappoint.

Multi-tracked vocal work is re-visited in second track ‘O’ as Rick Anthony chants, ‘I’m gonna get all these books and burn them’ before standout out track ‘Everybody Knows It’s True’ hops into motion. A choir of sighs and groans provide the backing for the deep, Tom Waites-esque lead vocal – the listener would feel unsettled and worried if the song wasn’t so dam catchy. Instrument upon instrument is introduced as the song climaxes…. ‘ Everybody knows… everybody knows it’s true’ Anthony chants, as insecurities within the listener are tickled – “what… what do they know is true?” you find yourself asking.

‘The None of Us’ adds a distinct flavour of Americana into the mix until the song explodes into a hectic bustle of heavy bass and vintage synth – the lazy deep-south gives way to teeming New York as, once again, the Phantom Band take the blow torch and buzz saw to musical styles and genres. This sense of Americana is revisited in penultimate cut ‘Into The Corn’; swaggering beats and wry vocals lead one to wonder whether John Wayne himself could be playing the synth – granted he’s dead and probably wouldn’t recognise a synth if it came up and bit him – but we’re in the world of The Phantom Band now people, anything goes!

Folk ditty ‘Come Away In The Dark’ slows the album slightly, and stands out precisely because it is the most generically collared song – a let down after the stylistic smorgasbords that surround it. ‘Walls’ sees the album return to its industrial, metallic best before the aforementioned ‘Into The Corn’ gives way to album closer ‘Goodnight Arrow’ – a parting shot if every there was one.

The track opens with swoops of vocals before a deep synth enters; closely followed by one of the catchiest basslines I’ve heard in years. A lighter vocal delivery reminiscent of David Byrne lulls the listener into a sense of security that is swiftly shattered, stamped on, burnt and then buried by an album finale so apocalyptic one can imagine the Spartans listening to it to psyche themselves up for a day of battle.

In ‘The Wants’ The Phantom Band have managed to succeed where several others have failed – they have created a generically diverse and unpredictable album which surprises the listeners each time they hit play, whilst simultaneously maintaining a distinct and recognisable style throughout.

You can call it Post-John Wayne Americo-gaze-core, or Pre-Math Post-Spartan Robo-Kraut… call it whatever the hell you want, I just call it a dam good record.

The Duke and the King – Long Live the Duke and the King for musosguide.com

I am unemployed, and hence also very poor… and I live in the most expensive city in Britain. My intention in telling you this is not to invoke some sort of digi-pity (although any donations can be sent to paypal address robpowell87)… but rather to contextualise the warning I am about to issue about the latest release from the glam-soul-folk outfit The Duke & The King.

 

Here goes…

 

If you are going through a directionless period of existence, do not listen to Long Live The Duke & The King, as it will stir a dangerous urge to move to a wooded area, live in a log cabin a begin a solitary existence where cute furry rodents are your only friends.

Yes, the second album from the New York hipsters The Duke & The King is a lovely, quaint listen… but unfortunately that’s all it really is. As opening cut ‘Gloria’ drifts into action, the overlapping vocals begin to conjure images of the bands grifter namesakes floating down the Mississippi river with Huckleberry Finn. Unfortunately by the end of the second multi-vocal laden track (‘Shine On You’), this delivery reminds one more of past-it pop stars wearing white silk pyjamas releasing doves than Mark Twain’ great American novel.

The punchy ‘Shaky’ begins to wipe some of the cheesiness away until the sax solo at three minutes opens a fresh can of cringe and aims it directly at the listener’s ears. ‘Right Now’ gets skipped before it hits the five second mark and onto one of the better songs on the album – ‘Hudson River’ is a cracking soul tune; groovy bass line, catchy hook, soulful vocals… and none of that folky rubbish that clouded the earlier cuts. ‘No Easy Way Out’ also stands out for its straight down the line delivery and fantastic vocal performance – the album looks to be on the up, I’m excited, but then next track ‘You And I’ goes and does this…

“Love is a coke dealers daughter, love is a slave ship at sea”…. NEXT!

‘Children Of The Sun’ is a satisfying and successfully executed psychedelic number, even if the multi-vocal smattering does start to annoy by the end. However, as other reviewers have also noted, any musical success is somewhat discredited by its extremely close resemblance to Donovan’s ‘Hurdy Gurdy Man’.

‘Have You Seen It’ drifts past without offending or massaging the ears into the six and a half minute finale, ‘Don’t Take That Plane Tonight’. Effectively a three-chord psych-jam complete with falsetto vocals and reversed guitar solos this seems to be a lazy ending to the album and hence leaves the listener feeling bloated and completely unfulfilled

Long Live The Duke & The King confuses me – I love folk, I love soul – but somehow the combination of acoustic guitars and psychedelic lyrics with soulful vocal backings, whilst satisfying in isolation, sit uncomfortably together as a whole. As I noted above the album is an undeniably lovely listen, and would be a welcome addition to any summer evening cheese and chardonnay session or hippie festival romance, but for me, a post-university child of the recession (tiny violins!)… it just doesn’t work.

Now I must go, I’m meeting a vole on Hampstead Heath in half an hour to chat about the feasibility of a British media student writing a great American novel.

The Dead Weather – Sea of Cowards for musosguide.com

Prior to the official release of The Dead Weather’s second album Sea of Cowards the band decided to continuously stream the album on their website for 24 hours…. Which got me thinking, if you were to take a random selection of normal, well-toward, working folk, chain them up in a room and subject them to 24 hours of audio onslaught from Jack White and his alt-rock co-horts…what kind of twisted, haggard beasts would emerge? And just as every online White-aholic in the world decides to stop reading, I assure you, I ask this in a totally positive way.

The Dead Weathers first release Horehound was a prime slice of bullet riddled, alt-rock pie; violent as it was sexy (courtesy of Alison Mosshart), intelligent as it was ballsy (courtesy of Jack White)…. So how does Sea of Cowards differ from this thundering debut? The answer to this, I believe, lies in the records first cut.

‘Blue Blood Blues’ opens with a thick, filthy bassline that reeks of Queens of the Stone Age and The Kills (guitarist Dean Fertita and vocalist Alison Mosshart’s ‘other’ bands)…. yet it is still heart wrenchingly bluesy. The song continues in the same vein (‘Blue Blood Blues’…vein….. bu dum dum); as it takes the blues, covers it in leather and studs, arms it with a machine gun and tells it to go and sort out that bitch who’s been breaking your heart once and for all.

It is this aroma of aged legends and fallen heroes present in each song that makes this album different to, but not necessarily better than, Horehound. ‘Hussle and Cuss’ harks back to Led Zep-esque blues jams but gets a slap of modernity from Mossharts vocal moans whilst ‘The Difference Between Us’ sees Dean Fertita crack out the vintage synth for what can only be described as a would-be stoner-rock anthem.

‘I’m Mad’ sees Mosshart utter the aforementioned title repeatedly for three minutes before first single ‘Die By The Drop’ grinds into motion – both songs are blacker than black, seem to borrow more from prog-rock than the blues and make for an uncomfortable and less enjoyable listen. ‘Gasoline’, ‘Looking at the Invisible Man’ and ‘Old Mary’ also fall at this hurdle as the album begins to loose the swagger it started off with. It is this indulgence that causes so many supergroups to flunk at the album stage – what sounds good in the jam room, does not necessarily sound good on the iPod.

‘No Horse’ and ‘Jawbreaker’ begin to pick up the pace of the album again with snappy delivery and massive riffs, but all in all – Sea of Cowards seems to float away into a tie-dye ocean of prog-rock tedium – an impressive feat considering none of the songs top four minutes!

So back to my initial question; if you subjected a group of normal people to 24 hours of Dead Weather they would undoubtedly emerge with long black hair, black leather for skin and riding a Harley Davidson with a hooker perched on the back….however maybe, just maybe, one of them might come out wearing an Iron Butterfly T-shirt…. is that really a price worth paying for this musical experiment? You decide.

Jonsi – Go for musosguide.com

“Life is better with the ash cloud”, mused one of my friends upon looking up at a smooth, uninterrupted blue London sky; a no go area for planes due to the gravelly discharge of an unpronounceable Icelandic volcano. This serene, enchanting sight of an empty, calm and pristinely natural sky is the perfect visual accompaniment to Go; the debut album from Sigur Rós frontman Jónsi, appropriately also from Iceland.

Throughout the album Jónsi maintains a strange naturalness to his music; every sound seems perfectly placed and justified and every lyric inspired by a higher force. Album opener ‘Go Do’ is a majestic, soaring ballad; littered with tweets, buzzes and bangs it is as sobering as it is uplifting. ‘Animal Arithmetic’ continues in the same vein, a frenzied cacophony of sound it could stand as the soundtrack to a volcanic eruption if it weren’t so breezy and beautiful.

If ‘Animal Arithmetic’ is a frenzied volcanic eruption ‘Tornado’ represents the calm before the storm; “You grow, you grow like a tornado”, Jónsi howls as the song does just that, building into a storming crescendo before instantly dying, as Jónsi asks, “I wonder if I’m allowed just ever to be”? ‘Boy Lilikoi’ is an anthem of renewal, an ode to life. “Use your eyes, the world goes and flutters by use your eyes, you’ll know you are” Jónsi exclaims, lyrics as poignant as they are pointless, before the song explodes into an orchestral masterpiece of vocal and instrumental beauty. My personal favourite track on the album, ‘Boy Lilikoi’ could melt the heart of even the moodiest Icelandic banker.

‘Sinking Friendships’ and ‘Kolniður’ take the album down a gear – two of the more Sigur Rós sounding tracks on the album, they are both tributes to Jónsi’s extraordinary vocal talent. ‘Around Us’ and ‘Grow Till Tall’ see Jónsi return to the lyrical theme of growth, in both a human and natural sense: “We all want to grow with the seeds we will sow”, he sings. These references to natural growth sit perfectly with Jónsi’s musical style as songs start life as a bare theme – a musical seed – and blossom into a huge and varied aural tree.

Album closer ‘Hengilás’ acts as the funeral march to the record, dark and sombre it leaves the listener hanging, desperate for the joyous sounds of ‘Go Do’ and ‘Boy Lilikoi’ once again.

The recent saga involving the Icelandic ash cloud reminded us all of the over-arching, mysterious and unpredictable power of nature. For six days Britain’s skies were empty and a strange calmness was cast over the country as thousands of people had no choice but just to remain where they were; a strange, unique and natural phenomenon. When described using these three terms the similarities between the Icelandic ash cloud and this Icelandic musician’s debut record seem rife. Life may not have been better with the ash cloud, but it certainly is with Jónsi.

Boris Dlugosch – Bangkok for musosguide.com

When I loaded the latest single from the German deep house producer Bruce Dlugosch onto my iPod I was half expecting it to go into a state of shock due to the presence of such a foreign body on its hard drive. Not that I have anything against German deep house but I guess I always tended to equate it to doner kebabs, brilliant at 3am when you’ve had a skinfull but not so advisable at any other time. Which is why I was somewhat shocked when I heard ‘Bangkok’….and actually quite liked it!

This german barrage of bass kicks off with a rather straight drum beat and synth line, however this is just regular façade of what is, on the whole, a rather edgy track. The main hook sounds like a Smurf with a hollow wooden arse having its head slammed in a door whilst being smacked on the rear end with a drum stick, well it does to me anyway…..and I love it, and you should too!

The background to this Smurf-related assault is provided by a deep, crunching bass beat so dark and murky it should be housed in London Dungeons; equally brilliant.

However this track also seems to have one foot in the past as a vintage sounding ascending synth line conjures images of old Daft Punk albums, before being crushed by the London Dungeon bass blob and Smurf assaulting drummer.

Thank you Bruce Dlugosch for giving me my first pleasant sober experience of deep house, and thank you also for deciding what I should have for lunch tomorrow….extra salad and garlic mayo please!

Regina Spektor – Live @ Hammersmith Apollo

The public persona of anti-folk star Regina Spektor has always been somewhere between cult adoration and total anonymity. Popular enough to pack out venues with pale, lipstick covered screaming fans yet still unknown enough to provoke the reaction “oh yea, she’s Phil’s sister right?” from a majority of the public. Her latest album; Far, began to narrow this gap, songs were still as catchy and thought provoking as ever but somehow less edgy, more mature and more accessible. Spektor’s show on Friday night at the Hammersmith Apollo saw these two styles meet as the slick, drum driven songwriting of Far sat side by side with the edgy, solo musings of the soviet born artist’s older albums.

These two halves were evident in Spektor’s chosen set; kicking off with the almost too catchy ‘The Calculation’ she played eight tracks from her latest album within the first nine songs of the set. Accompanied by a string section and drummer these tracks were performed so tightly that they allowed no room for the quirky personal nuances that make Spektor’s music so special. This was still a songwriter in her prime, but somehow it wasn’t Regina Spektor.

Thirteen tracks into the set Spektor arose from her baby grand and skulked over to an electric keyboard to perform personal Far favourite ‘Dance Anthem Of The 80’s’, and in doing so seemed to kick herself and the crowd into life. Welding genres together with no regard for convention before subjecting them to a multi-octave splattering of vocal melody, this most definitely was Regina Spektor.

The band then proceeded to leave the stage as Spektor delivered what I can only describe as three minutes of utter genius; an unreleased, unmetered, unrhymed acappella piece named ‘Silly Eye Colour Generalisations’. This was archetypal Regina Spektor; just as you pick out a discernible musical pattern ,train of thought or lyrical trait she flips all three, utterly pointless and yet utterly charming.

Spektor remained alone on stage throughout the rest of the main set, and holding the entire crowd in the palm of her hand, trotted through story after story. She mused on everything from hearing someone having sex whilst listening to one of her songs to finding a strangers wallet and returning it to blockbuster. This raw story telling gave the crowd the glimpse of Spektor’s mischievous and infinitely creative mind that was somewhat blocked off throughout the first half of her performance.

A lengthy encore was opened with crowd favourite ‘Samson’, this was perhaps the most moving song performed all night and hence it seemed  wryly typical of Spektor to mess it up half way through, “fuck, I fucked up” she cursed. The show was closed with an unrecorded, fast paced country track entitled ‘Love You’re a Whore’, I may have been disappointed if it were any other artist and they started an encore with a musical screw up and ended it with a relatively unknown country track, but in this case I would have been disappointed with anything else.

Regina Spektor proved on Friday night that although she has matured as a songwriter and is now ready to receive mainstream acclaim she is still the same mischievous girl who has no concern for musical or social conventions when writing her songs. Where next for Regina Spektor? One would expect her next album to be the most polished and accessible to date, but then again, when has Regina Spektor ever conformed to expectations?

Them Crooked Vultures – Them Crooked Vultures for musosguide.com

So what exactly is a supergroup? Tracing the history of the supergroup it seems to exist less as a musical term than as a marketing strategy; bestowing members of bands adorned with the supergroup crown the luxury of being able to release an album of Shoegaze Wham covers and still guarantee that some sad git will buy it. One thing is for certain however, whatever the hell a supergroup is, Them Crooked Vultures definitely are one. So what is the product of the Josh Homme, Dave Grohl and John Paul-Jones collaboration actually like?

On paper, Them Crooked Vultures’ (TCV) self titled debut album should be a prime cut of rock and roll steak, in reality it’s more a McDonald’s drive through; still good, but I couldn’t have it every day. The real joy of Josh Homme in QOTSA was always the unadulterated groove he could bring to even the most simple of riffs. It is this groove that a majority of TCV’s debut album lacks, riffs seem regular and regimented when they should be sleazy and sexy, album opener No One Loves Me & Neither Do I is a prime example of this.

There are nevertheless still moments of brilliance. New Fang feels like the most complete song on the album fusing together a bouncing verse and catchy off-kilter chorus before climaxing in an outro dominated by a Gatling Gun-esque assault on the drums from Dave Grohl.

If this album was laid to rest for its failures then its fifth track; Elephant would surely be its epitaph; standing as an example of why the whole album is no longer living. The opening riff is indeed one that Jimmy Page would be proud to call his own but unfortunately for Homme and Co. these initial 10 seconds are then drowned in the musical nothingness of the next 400. The track drifts into the supergroup jam band hotel and decides to book the room right next to Emerson, Lake and Palmer, however unfortunately for TCV no good bands stay in that hotel anymore.

Album stand out track Scumbag Blues sees John Paul-Jones dig out the clavinet, Josh Homme strip back the dense riffage and vocally ascend to dizzying heights for a number that could easily slot into the Zeppelin back catalogue. The crisp and snappy drum work of Grohl combined with John Paul-Jones’ Trampled Underfoot style clavinet work gives the instrumental refrains of this song an interesting and attractive texture that is lacking from many other songs.

The second half of the album is decidedly average. The intro of Bandoliers is as boring as the rest of the song and spawns the finger itch that makes you flick through Reptiles to the totally pointless Interlude With Ludes.

Calligulove is the only remaining song of any interest on the album, thanks once again to the keyboard work of John Paul-Jones. However like so many of its predecessors the song soon drowns in riffs and gets smothered by Homme’s chesty vocals. Indeed by the time album finale Spinning in Daffodils grinds into motion the listener is left begging for some vocal variation; Nick Oliveri, Mark Lanegan. . . .bloody Mark Owen; just give us anything but Josh Homme’s silky smooth whining!

Them Crooked Vultures are your archetypal supergroup, on paper they have all the talent to be the greatest band of their generation, yet like so many of their predecessors they come nowhere close. Long, boring songs are seemingly transplanted straight from jam sessions to record with no consideration of the audience giving an album lacking in structure or character in many parts.

Credit where credits due, in places the album delivers a fist of rock and roll, riff soaked groove right to the face (and groin) of the listener, but unfortunately on the whole it appears to be less Them Crooked Vultures and more ‘boring wonky pigeons’.