Review - Fear of Music: 'Actor/Actress'

Gawky teens unite!

After years cultivating a rabid fanbase with their arresting combination of epic guitar noise and promising experimental leanings, Fear of Music are ready to release their debut album, a forty minute mission statement that manages to consolidate their achievements thus far and point the way forward. Or at least, that’s how the story should go, were it not for yet another major label deciding that investing in and then nurturing new talent is a silly idea. ‘Actor/Actress’ is fully formed, complete but stillborn. It’s been cancelled and now exists only in digital and promo form, which makes its high quality all the more tragic.

No one can be quite sure why Sony decided to chew off its own tail with this one; there are singles and hooks aplenty; some have even been flattened out and overproduced the way mainstream radio loves. ‘First To Go’ is a bitter two minutes of sarcastic power-pop, with vocalist Jo Rose sounding far more disillusioned than his years might qualify. The band have drawn comparison to Muse, but their bombast doesn’t seem wilful or showy like that band, and though the lyrics occasionally colour themselves with seven shades of the apocalypse, they are anything but trite.

Instead, they burn with a passion and intensity; a little arrogance, a little fire; all heart. The sheer power gained from sometimes deceptively simple arrangements and little shoegazey touches push the record above the current crop of indie landfill, while the fierce determination to make a point and make it loud is commendable. ‘Skin & Bones’ the haunting body-image dirge of 2005’s self-titled EP has been tweaked and smoothed out, yet still retains its acidic bite. ‘Make Believe’ is a muted, drum-machine led bad dream that rises and threatens but never climaxes or crescendos, sinister and sombre.

This is very clearly a debut album; it pushes in several directions and often misses the mark (‘Put the Lights Out’ is a bit of faux-classical twinkling too far, while the amps-to-eleven ‘Let’s Make This Into A Movie!’ Borders on pastiche), but then, all the best debuts do. By all means, it’s far from a perfect record, but it’s a fantastic snapshot of a young, hungry band ready to conquer the world, armed with a few years and a lot of talent under their collective belt. If Fear of Music can survive without Sony (and if there’s any justice in the world, they can), then whatever they do next could be truly brilliant. Here’s to hoping that a record label with the attention span of a goldfish (see also Hope Of The States’ embarrassing compromise and brutal demise) hasn’t killed off one of British music’s brightest young hopes.

Verdict: 'Sony = Knobjoys' B-

Review: R.E.M. - Accelerate

R.E.M. in visibly happier times

The massively overtold story in the music press is that R.E.M. have been rubbish if not since Automatic for the People then at least since drummer Bill Berry left in 1997 and that Accelerate is the album that finally has them sounding good again.

To be honest, that's not strictly true. While R.E.M. have gone through a few chameleonic shifts in sound since their 1992 watermark, they have never been anything less than interesting, and the turn of the century twin electronic-tinged albums 'Up' and 'Reveal' stand among their finest work, if not their most cohesive or impulsive.

A more accurate story, if one really needs to be written to make these things interesting, would be that their last record, the flabby and sometimes soulless 'Around The Sun' was an uncharacteristic dip for the band and so 'Accelerate' is in fact just R.E.M. getting back on track. This is, lest we forget, their fourteenth record, and to have only one bad record out of fourteen is pretty exceptional for any band.

Nevertheless, 'Accelerate' is a very different beast from its three predecessors. It's faster and much shorter, for a start; their shortest record yet, in fact. It's a rediscovery of the the 'less is more' post-punk aesthetic that R.E.M. were raised upon. It's a loud, chest-beating guitar record, political, sarcastic, wide-eyed and hopeful.

It touches upon almost everything that's great about R.E.M.; you get Mike Mills providing more backing vocals than he has in a long time, Peter Buck jangling and crunching more than he has in a long time, and Micheal Stipe singing about things that really, genuinely piss him off more than he has since 'Document'.

I say almost everything, however, because while this record is strong and tough like the Milkybar kid, it is lacking in terms of emotional intensity, like the Milkybar kid. Beyond the twin peaks of the angry 'Living Well's The Best Revenge' and the straight-up hopefest of 'I'm Gonna DJ', there's not a whole lot of emotional variation; there's not a whole lot of beauty. True, 'Sing For the Submarine' has waves of haunting backing vocals set to an 'Up'-style waltz, but the record is for a very specific, charged-up mindset. The trade-off is thus; you get the best R.E.M. record for a fair old while, but you have to be 100% in the right mood for it. You have to be gutted at the state of the world but not too downtrodden and for some people, that's probably a difficult proposition.

It's great news that R.E.M. have decided to play to their strengths instead of always trying to fight them, but they shouldn't forget that they picked up a few really interesting tricks in the past decade that they shouldn't need to apologise for, even if they didn't always signal commercial success.

Review: Colin MacIntyre - The Water

Colin MacIntyre (right) and Tony Benn (left).

For those not paying attention, Colin MacIntyre is the new name for Mull Historical Society, those turn-of-the-century indie darlings who cranked out three albums of gorgeous, if hopelessly uncool orchestral pop. Turns out they were in fact a one-man band, or Colin with session musicians. This would make the first album from Colin MacIntyre in fact the fourth album from Mull Historical Society, and while Colin insists it's business as usual, there's a clear break from the past here and not always for the better.

While 'less is more' seems to have dominated the construction of these songs, the new focus does mean that some of the quirky charm of the past three records is lost, meaning that some who loved the eccentricity of tracks like 'Watching Xanadu' or 'Death of a Scientist' will feel a little let down by the straight forward, slightly trite rock of 'Be My Saviour', which seems to have been flattened out from it's rather exciting demo form.

However, there's always the argument that MacIntyre is simply letting the songs speak for themselves rather than resorting to studio trickery to sell himself. Certainly, the strength of bare bones folky tracks like 'The Water' or 'I Don't Have You To Ask' and the sheer pop brilliance of the snarling, heat magazine-bashing 'Famous for Being Famous' demonstrate that however he dresses it up, MacIntyre is just a great songwriter.

Regardless, it's a very moreish album, and seems to have been paced pretty perfectly. He's learned not to overstrech himself too; 'Loss' and 'Us' could feel flabby at times, but 'The Water' doesn't overstay its welcome. It's hard not to like this record, but you can't help but feel that tracks like 'Pay Attention to the Human' and 'Faith Number Two' verge on the wrong side of dull prog rock without the usual lighthearted touches. If MacIntyre can successfully combine his serious and silly side on the next record, he'd really be onto a winner.

Verdict: 'Watery!' B-

Special notice: Sorry for the lack of updates, I've been moving house! I'm wading through the backlog and preparing the July mixtape. xx

Review: Coldplay - Viva La Vida or Death And All His Friends

My set text for History this year, inspired by Coldplay.

Oh lord, I really didn't want to find myself liking this album, but I knew I probably would. 'Viva La Vida' is a good record, and there's absolutely no way I can save face by pretending it's not. I've skirted around the issue in my head all week: how am I going to confess that this is just quite good? I can't. Hands up, confession; I liked it.

For the record, I hated 'X&Y' and I'd basically say it's a distillation of everything detestable about Coldplay; it strived to be serious and epic (read: bluster) but came off trite, patronising and far too long, as if the band had completely failed to edit out anything superfluous. 'Viva La Vida' on the other hand, is the record Coldplay probably should have made after 'A Rush of Blood To The Head'.

At a brisk 45 minutes, other than the quite tiresome first half of 'Lovers In Japan' (a bit too 'X&Y'), there's nothing that makes me wince or grind my teeth in the way that record did. In fact, rather than simply sticking synths over everything and messing around with effects pedals, Coldplay seem to have decided they do want to move out of their comfort zone and artfully mess things up a bit, which does actually play to unexpected hidden strengths.

There are all manner of left-turns; 'Yes' is half sleazy then suddenly turns shoegazey, 'Lost!' is anthemic Coldplay that doesn't think it's changing the world and the closer 'Death and All His Friends' turns from a cutesy piano number into an Arcade Fire chant. Even a straight-up love song like 'Strawberry Swing' sounds beautiful, largely thanks to buried vocals, spacious Eno production and Chris Martin's refusal to slip back into stupid 'Fix You' platitudes. Importantly, this doesn't sound like the band forcing itself to itself to 'get clever'; it feels natural and right.

Make no mistake, there's nothing on here that will change the way you think about music, but there are quite possibly ten tracks that will change the way you think about Coldplay.

Verdict: "No, really." B+

Operation: Buy the Coldplay record

"We caught the bastard; 4 Coldplay EPs and a truckload of Keane live cuts."

Today I bought the new Coldplay record. But shh.

I figured, if I was going to review one of the year's most talked-about albums, I should probably own it rather than steal it. This involved half an hour of hovering in HMV Earlsfield waiting for the least-cool member of staff to be on the till, at which point I muttered something apologetic about how it was 'for a friend' before insisting that I had a bag.

It's a shame really; I quite like Coldplay, in the same way I quite like cheesecake. I wouldn't eat a lot of it, but every so often it's great. I'll review the record once I've lived with it for a bit. It's got to be better than X and Y, at any rate, but then, so is ricin-based mouthwash.

To balance out my 'conforming to the man', I also impulse bought the Youthmovies record, 'Good Nature'. Impulse buys tend to split me, I either love them or hate them, but we'll see.

Review: DUELS - The Barbarians Move In

The barbarians move in mysterious ways

This is a brilliant, brilliant record. That such an accomplished, diverse and different record could come from a band that many had pigeonholed as post-britpop throwbacks is pretty staggering in itself. DUELS' first record, 'The Bright Lights & What I Should Have Learned' was shiny and scary and altogether pretty great, but nothing quite prepares you for the tribal howling of 'The Barbarians Move In'.

The chanting and whistling wind of 'The Furies', the glam-stomp of 'Regeneration', the distorted hymn 'The Wild Hunt', the heart shattering 'The First Time / The Last Time' and the record's funereal title track; not a single track approaches a misfire. Crashing percussion, wiry vocals and obnoxious guitars are recurring motifs here; it sounds messy and scarily focussed all at once. The prevailing mood is being boxed in, a sinister, bubbling beligerence waiting to kick off and break some backs.

And all of this without once getting pretentious; this is a pop record. An unhinged, evil, self-produced one, but a record with choruses and tunes and other such angelic features keeping it anchored. Really, this is a record to buy now, listen to twenty times and change your name to DUELS. If that sounds fanboyish, then so be it. DUELS deserve your passionate, squalid love.

Verdict: "Barbaric!" A+

Exclusive DUELS interview and MP3s here

Review: Crystal Castles, Crystal Castles

Ooh look, we've got no faces, we MUST be cool. And they are.

Ah, Crystal Castles, how I long to stick the knife in. I really really hate you both. Whether it's Alice being rude to an acquaintance at New Slang in Kingston or the way Ethan Kath looked me up and down and smirked at the same gig, or the way there's a whole website devoted to your alleged plagiarism, I still can't knock your quite-good-actually record, which has been out for a while.

Essentially the soundtrack to my childhood (read: Gameboy) with teenage wailing all over it and choppy beats here and there, the record does get quite samey after a while but there are some really "bangin'" "tunes" to be enjoyed for those who like a good toe-tap once in a while. Don't get me wrong, it's not the future of music1111!!!1one, but it's almost certainly a better record than I wanted it to be.

The shoegazey 'Tell Me What To Swallow' is the most surprising track on here because it sounds nothing like the rest of the album; if you can't stand the thrashy, trashy lo-budget electronica on offer elsewhere, you might like this. 'Black Panther' and 'Knights' are bassy and big and, if Crystal Castles could knock out a few more like those, then they'd be doing alright. Surprisingly, it's actually one of the few records I find myself putting on again after it's finished.

They live to die another day, then. Bastards.

Verdict: "Lucky!" B-