A brief tangent into Madchester territory for you here as myself and some esteemed friends just got back from the Stone Roses' reunion tour in Lyon, where, amongst other thrills and spills, they played their first album in its entirety for the FIRST TIME EVER. Wooo! Well worth the trip down South, plus we got to enjoy some quality offal in France's gastronomic capital and even found a decent club (Le Citron in Vieux Lyon, smoky but plays some great music).
Anyway, one of the various topics of discussion that came up whilst we were ensconced in the city's bars preparing for the gig was what our favourite tunes were from the original Madchester era, or the 'Baggy' period for those of you who don't want to be too regionally specific. Many different suggestions were made so I've decided to compile a list of my own below, complete with some funky video links. If you're preparing for Heaton Park this weekend or just in the mood for a bit of a shoulder shuffle then give this lot a whirl and it should set you on your way.
The Stone Roses - Elephant Stone (October 1988)
As good a starting point as any, this was the Roses' third single released way back in late '88 when very few knew who they were - that would all change a few months later when the tracks from their début album began to surface, prompting a wave of national adoration that has yet to fully subside. 'Elephant Stone' eventually followed 'Fools Gold' into the UK top ten in 1990 when it was re-released alongside 'Made of Stone' and 'She bangs the drums' during the band's commercial peak - from the very first note it's one big euphoric rush of manic percussion, wah-wah pedals and Ian Brown's divine exaltations as they 'burst into heaven' to devastating effect. This is the Roses at their most forthright, equalled only be 'Begging You' several years later - the trippier likes of 'I am the Resurrection' and 'Waterfall' tend to bag more plaudits but for me this is the one (no pun intended) that made you sit up and take notice that something truly magical was about to happen.
A Guy called Gerald - Voodoo Ray (April 1989)
Not a guitar track admittedly but one that deserves its place in any baggy best-of list, not least for the Manchester connection - Gerald was an original member of Manc Acid House pioneers 808 State who cut loose to record this groundbreaking choon which surfaced sometime in 1988 but didn't chart until the following year six months before his former bandmates broke big with 'Pacific State' the same week that 'Fools Gold' and 'Hallelujah' reached the top 40. I could have chucked that one in here too but 'Voodoo Ray' just edges it because of the wide-mouthed euphoria embodied in the vocals and the hypnotic house crescendo bubbling slowly to the surface. This tune sums up everything that was great about the late 80s Hacienda scene which influenced pretty much every other band on this list - Shaun Ryder himself recognises it as a key influence in this cogent interview and it's deservedly listed high up any list of the best electronic records ever.
Inspiral Carpets - Joe (May 1989)
A trip to Oldham this time for the breakthrough hit from the Inspiral Carpets, a band generally lumped in with the Roses and the Mondays but one with less of a recognised link with electronic music - these guys were more of a straight-up retro 60s proposal but one with a stellar rhythm section and a genuine virtuoso in the shape of organist Clint Boon, leaving them the option of playing fast as fuck when they felt like it. 'Joe' is the best example of them at full tilt, a manic dancefloor anthem in homage to a tramp they knew back home (who may also appear in the video, I'm not sure). Their lyrical themes were always quite kitchen sink back in the day which was kinda touching, they always seemed to be a little more grounded in reality than their peers without every getting weighty about it. They were also one of the only bands that emerged from the Madchester period who managed to crank out more than one or two decent albums, releasing four absolute corkers between 1990 and 1994 before finally calling it a day. Of all the bands on this list that I've not yet seen live, the Inspirals are the ones I'd do anything to see on stage - I have a playlist consisting of nothing but dream setlists of their material on my I-Phone which is perhaps a little nerdy but if nothing else it's testament to the potency of their material all these years later.
Happy Mondays - Wrote for Luck (September 1989)
The Mondays were undoubtedly the genre's best singles band - the Roses and Primal Scream will always be better remembered for the albums they released during Baggy's heyday but, and this is no disrespect to 'Bummed' or 'Pills 'n' Thrills', the Mondays were always a more devastating prospect in single format. Their flawless run began in May 1989 with 'Lazyitis' before 'WFL' landed four months later to be followed by 'Hallelujah', 'Step On', 'Kinky Afro' and 'Loose Fit', all of which could easily have made this list in their own right. I've picked 'WFL' (as it was known after Erasure's Vince Clarke remixed the original album version of the song) because it embodies everything I love about the Mondays - effortlessly danceable, lyrically devious ('you used to speak the truth but now you're clevurrrr') and always one step away from total collapse but somehow managing to keep it together. There's also the video which was filmed in Manchester's The Ritz nightclub the best part of a decade before I set foot in it and experienced its bouncy dancefloor for the first time. This is the ideal soundtrack to bopping around off your face in such environs from a band who always seemed a lot brighter than they let on in interviews.
A bit of a curveball for you here, but one that I think merits its place all the same. Candy Flip (whose name is apparently a reference to taking Ecstasy and LSD at the same time!) were two unknowns who capitalised on Baggy's penchant for 60s revivalism by injecting this Beatles' classic with tripped out vocals and a bone dry drumbeat reminiscent of Fresh Four's reworking of 'Wishing on a star' the previous year. By early 1990 the charts had been practically taken over by dance crossover tracks as well as the first wave of Baggy breakthrough hits and 'Strawberry Fields Forever' landed on the top 40 at the same time as Primal Scream's 'Loaded' only to chart several spots higher. Time hasn't been as kind to it as the Scream's signature tune but this still puts a smile on my face, not least for the period fashion on show in the promo clip - stripy hoodies, ethnic necklaces, golden earrings and baggy blue jeans all present and correct, plus a decent bit of gurning from the singer late on. Candy Flip brought out two fairly decent follow-ups ('Space' and 'Redhills Road' if you want to look them up) but failed to garner any subsequent success and they've since retreated into obscurity but these four gorgeous minutes are as good a legacy as they could have left.
The Farm - Stepping Stone (May 1990)
Another 60s cover for you and another familiar rhythm sample - sounds distinctly like Snap's 'The Power' to me. But whatever the ingredients were, The Farm managed to craft something distinct out of them in the shape of this oft-overlooked Baggy classic from the glorious summer of 1990. Merseyside intruders into the Manchester-dominated music scene of the era, The Farm had spent several years toiling away under the moniker Soul of Socialism in the Red Wedge scene of 80s Liverpool before scoring a breakthrough hit with this single under the watchful eye of their manager Suggs (yes, he of Madness fame). 'Stepping Stone' missed the top 40 when it was released in May 1990 but by the end of the year they'd hit the top ten twice with 'Groovy Train' and 'All Together Now' and would notch a #1 album the following year as Baggy's commercial popularity peaked. John Peel was a big fan (that's Scouse solidarity for you) and the band were genuine competitors to the Roses and the Mondays in their prime but, like many of their peers, fell foul of the changing times and fell into obscurity as the 90s advanced - they still exist though and form the backbone of the 'Justice Tonight' ensemble that are supporting the Roses on their current tour so music has yet to totally forget them. You can rely on FA Cup runs for years to come to be soundtracked by 'All Together Now' but for me this is their finest moment and one that should be an integral part of any Baggy playlist.
The Charlatans - The only one I know (June 1990)
Summer of 1990 again - not hard to see why people get nostalgic for those times with the number of stunning singles queuing up to blow your mind. As an illustration for this point (and not because I can't find the original video anywhere online), I've embedded a link to the ITV Chart Show's Indie Chart of the era which features the Charlies at #1 back when they were just about to break big. 'The only one I know' is another organ-led dancefloor anthem, one that still prompts frenzied reactions these days - the Charlatans arrived bang on time to take advantage of the Baggy boom but were perhaps unique in their ability to adapt to changing times once the bubble had burst, morphing into looser psychedelia before embracing Britpop and tracksuit tops a couple of years later as Oasis, Pulp and Blur began to change the face of British music once again. The Charlies deserve their place as one of the biggest bands of both Baggy and Britpop but are likely to be overlooked in favour of some of the more fly-by-night acts in both categories - this does them a disservice though, it's a little known fact that they were the first band to notch three UK #1 albums in the 1990s, placing them alongside globe-trotting supergroups like REM and U2. It's not like the Charlies have some sort of gameplan for success up their sleeve though, they just know the value of a good groove and as someone who's seen them live a good few times I can assure you that they're still in full possession of their funky faculties. But despite their wide canon of cracking albums and run of eminently danceable singles, I still find myself coming back to 'The only one I know' for that first hit of magic they delivered back then.
Paris Angels - Perfume (July 1990)
For those in the know this one will come as no surprise - for those who aren't, prepare to discover a real gem. This one might be my favourite Baggy tune of them all, a momentary flash of genius from the heady summer of 1990 - like many of the greatest dance anthems, two versions exist : the impressive guitar-led version embedded in the video link and the vastly superior loved up version here which was the more familiar one in clubland. Paris Angels are an ideal example of why Baggy was such a wonderful trend - bands could pop up out of every working class suburb of the North and produce something brilliant, the soundtrack to a moment in their young lives that would soon disappear forever. These weren't career musicians, they were kids drawn to the burgeoning music scene in greater Manchester whose only goal was to lay down something stunning that their mates could join in with on the dancefloor. The comments on YouTube only stands as testament to how the Baggy movement and this tune in particular meant so much to so many people - 'Perfume' sounds like the Chemical Brothers five years before they even existed and has lost none of its potency more than two decades later. The band never enjoyed any of the success their peers saw as Baggy broke big, releasing a couple more minor hits before their female vocalist got knocked up and the band decided to call it quits. The comments on the video link suggest that one of their number passed on recently so there's all the more reason to celebrate this awesome love rush as one of the genre's undiscovered classics.
Primal Scream - Higher than the Sun (May 1991)
I could have picked pretty much any of the singles from 'Screamadelica' but I've pulped for this one for its sheer ambition - the Scream weren't content to just fling out a couple of decent singles, they had a gameplan beyond 'Loaded' which culminated in the release of 'Screamadelica' in 1991 as part of a three-way Creation assault on the charts and critics (the other two being 'Bandwagonesque' and 'Loveless'). Based around two separate album versions, the single only grazed the top 40 upon release but showcased the band's ability to write a genuine showcloser, a tripped-out psychedelic anthem for all ages past and present. The effervescent post-house clubland anthems of 1990 had given way to a heavier take on revivalist psychedelia by the time 'Higher than the Sun' hit in mid 1991 amidst a blissed-out wash of shoegaze bands like Slowdive, Catherine Wheel and Chapterhouse, catching another peak which in many ways is totally different to the one 'Loaded' rode to the top in early 1990. The band's versatile mastery of several different genres is perhaps what's brought them their longstanding success (as well as a fair amount of abuse from critics accusing them of bangwagon jumping) and it's testament to the rich seam of quality on 'Screamadelica' that its singles covered two full years of UK chart trends (from 'Loaded' in early '90 to 'Movin' on up' in February 1992) - once that well had been drained, they promptly retreated from view with a bunch of Rolling Stones records to re-emerge two years later with the equally era-defining 'Rocks' in 1994. Every album since has been cause for much excitement even if they've missed the target a couple of times but you have to be willing to forgive the artistic faux pas of a band who've contributed so much to the British musical landscape. I saw them play 'Screamadelica' in its entirety last year and, far from being an exercise in wanton nostalgia, it felt like something truly timeless and as thrilling as the first time I'd heard it. 'Higher than the sun' is the backbone of that record and gets my vote as the Scream's contribution to the soundtrack to the Baggy era.
Flowered Up - Weekender (May 1992)
And as our final tune of the night, it could only be Baggy's own 'Stairway to Heaven', the death knell to the era that was Flowered Up's 12-minute epic 'Weekender' which called time not only on their career but on Baggy itself in the Spring of 1992. By that time the Mondays had crashlanded spectacularly with their crappy 'Yes Please!' album, the Roses were embroiled in a bitter dispute with Silvertone that would see them disappear to Wales for several years and every other band in the genre was either laying low or splitting up. Flowered Up were Southern scallies who'd missed out on Baggy's biggest spoils despite a run of great singles (like this for starters) but surprised everyone by saving their best for last - backed by a full-on feature film as a promo vid, 'Weekender' successfully summed up the joy of Baggy's heyday but also allowed the troubling notion to slip in that the fun was almost over. Like the last song of the night before they turn the lights on and you have to go back to normal life after a wild all-nighter, the track encapsulates peaks of euphoric build-up and lysergic comedown interspersed with flashes of sadness and frustration, perfectly translated into the image of a party animal living for the weekend but aware that the grim reality he's fleeing will catch up with him at some point. Like the painful Monday morning after a large weekend, the end of the line for Baggy was upon us in 1992 as the era drew to a close amidst break-ups, bankruptcy and drug addiction that would leave the British music scene barren until Suede emerged later in the year to sow the seeds of the Britpop explosion that would dominate the mid-90s. Flowered Up didn't survive the culture shift, though on the basis of this single they didn't expect to - their keyboardist ended up playing in chart rave outfit Republica whilst singer Liam Maher passed away a couple of years ago....I'll leave you to decide which one's the more tragic end. All good things come to an end and this was the soundtrack to a genre calling time and leaving the dancefloor to someone new. Tinted with tragedy, 'Weekender' nevertheless provided one last blow out before the journey's end.
I always thought the Cribs and John Peel would've gotten on well together. Their début landed the same year the big man tragically left us back in 2004 and since then they've gone on to embody the fine balance between accessibility and cult cool that defined many of Peel's favourite groups (The Fall, Wedding Present, Wire etc). The Jarmans will have found it particularly satisfying that many of the British indie groups who rode that lucrative wave of success in the mid-noughties have since floundered (Razorlight, Kaiser Chiefs) or are otherwise meandering towards an uncertain future (Bloc Party, Maximo Park) with their commercial peaks far behind them. This was the game plan all along though - whilst Johnny Borrell and co were hellbent on conquering the charts back in 2005, the Cribs steadfastly refused to sign up to any commercial fashion wave likely to blunt their edges and kept things rough, honest and as fresh as their early gigs on the Yorkshire club scene. Even high-profile headline sets at festivals saw them strive to alienate casual fans by butchering their most radio-friendly material into a mass of yowling feedback fronted by Ryan Jarman in a bowlcut and a moth-eaten tunic. Their 'nerds first' approach harks back to Kurt Cobain's liner notes in 'Incesticide' where he rails against the jocks and meatheads who'd adopted Nirvana in total ignorance of their politics or worldview, but now that indie acts who courted the Carling-swilling fly-by-nighters in the mid-noughties have seen their fanbases dwindle against the rise of Spotify, X-Box and brazen cultural nostalgia, the Cribs can finally enjoy the last laugh.
You'd therefore expect a few Lily Allen-style digs at those they've left behind on 'In the Belly of the Brazen Bull', but these guys have always been above cheap shots and point scoring. Instead they stick to themes they know best : sneering at shallow fashion shifts on 'Jaded Youth', musing on tension and melancholy on 'Uptight' and raging against those who simply can't be bothered on 'Come on, be a no-one'. Their songwriting chops are as deft as ever too, flitting between the mellow tonic of 'Anna' and the twin-barrel rampage of lead single 'Chi Town'. The setlist here is almost as strong as their '07 career peak 'Men's Needs, Women's Needs, Whatever' and will keep you coming back to pick new favourites - however, this time they've chosen to end the proceedings with a bombastic four-song finale that only they could pull off without looking totally ridiculous. These guys have never made it onto 'The Simpsons' but if they did then you could imagine them busting out this stuff as cartoon versions of themselves in some indie-goes-Broadway set piece with dancing whippets and wet fanzine pages lining the floor. Not all of this is necessarily going to translate to the live show of course, but I saw these guys in Paris prior to the album's release and they rollicked through all their previous records plus a few newbies with enough piss and vinegar to fill a swimming pool so there's no need to worry about them going slack any time soon. This is a cracking addition to their already impressive canon and you have to say that cutting Johnny Marr loose was probably a good move - he was only slowing them down. These guys remain masters of their craft and a veritable inspiration to dudes like myself wondering whether you can maintain the gigs 'n' beer lifestyle into your thirties without starting to look out of place. 'I'd rather be tied to myself than anyone else', they chorus over the closing track, a mantra to live by if ever there was one. Ryan Jarman still has a shitty haircut, plays his guitar with his back to the crowd wearing 28-inch waist ripped jeans and still writes great tunes. The moral of this story is to do things your own way and wait for the rest of the world to realise you were right all along. The Cribs might have taken five albums to reach that point but the journey was well worth it and where they'll go from here is anyone's guess.
Check out : 'Come on, be a no-one' : loud, sweaty, guttural. What more do you need?
Another tardy one here as I actually got this a couple of months ago when it came out, conveniently coupled with the unexpected chance to see Monsieur White bust it all out live on election night in Paris (first round, not second) on what was quite a dramatic evening. To be fair I hadn't really got my head around the album by that point so I thought I'd leave myself long enough to get into 'Blunderbuss' before I posted on it. I was never massively into the White Stripes to be perfectly honest - I think I recognise their impact more than I actually want to listen to their music, it's always been there in the background so I've never had to get off my arse to really check it out in detail. Plus, Jack's assorted spin-off projects have been around to fill in any gaps in the calendar so even when the Stripes weren't touring their own records or putting out new material there was still something else to get your teeth into. What I'm trying to say is that I probably took the White Stripes for granted and, now they're not around, maybe I'm starting to realise how much I miss them. There's also the fact that 'Blunderbuss' sounds considerably more sincere than the retro-blues cabaret act that the Stripes became at times - Jack's new solo stuff twists the familiar formula into a new, intensely personal shape without losing any of the riffs and rhythm that made you want to shake that ass to 'Hotel Yorba' back in the day. I hate it when they say artists have matured because it tends to imply that their earlier stuff was puerile and meaningless but Jack's clearly reached a point where he's confident enough to put his own thoughts to music knowing he has the audience there to listen.
Some of the other reviews I've read of this album focus heavily on the fact that Jack's split with his missus as well as with Meg since his last musical output, and whilst it's probably a major factor in the new delivery there are clearly other influences at work here. Opener 'Missing Pieces' and stonking lead single 'Love Interruption' have 'DIVORCE' stamped all over them but beyond that there's the sound of a dude closing the chapter on a decade he help soundtrack, splitting his band up and flushing his first marriage to emerge leaner, stronger and more wordly wise into a new age. NOBODY is going to listen to this record just because it was made by the same guy that wrote 'Seven Nation Army' - Jack solo is like Paul Weller post-Jam, Björk post-Sugarcubes or Dr Dre post-NWA, artists that only hit their stride when they've buried one decent band and set out doing their own thing knowing how the business works. Critics will pore over the wounded lion lyrics of 'Weep themselves to sleep' or the title track whilst riff-hungry newcomers will fill their boots on stuff like the thunderous 'Sixteen Saltines' or the marvellously hammy 'I'm shakin' ('I'm shakin'!!! I'm NOIVOUS!!'). There's enough upright piano and slide guitar to bring in the alt-country beardstrokers but Jack still keeps his sound fresh and beefy enough to blow away any garage rock chancers looking to steal his festival slots. 'Blunderbuss' is a potent brew of muscular rhythm, soulful delivery and riffs that could push a Volvo up a staircase, all busted out by a guy who only now looks like he's fulfilling his potential as rock's finest gentleman. And with a bunch of new dudes backing him up for the live show Jack's now got the songs and the artillery to blow your sockets in a whole new way. With the Stripes dead and buried and the Black Keys having taken over the 'blues music for car adverts' niche market, the road is open to Jack White to take us where he wants. I'm strappin' in for what will hopefully turn out to be a series of awesome follow-ups to this thoroughly bitchin' debut.
Check out : the new line-up busting the fuck out of 'Sixteen Saltines' live on Joolz Holland.
Summer always needs a good guitar record to get it kickstarted and I think we may have the ideal candidate right here. I don't know much about Torche apart from that their name means 'wipe' in French (hur hur) and they play groovy amped-up psychedelic rock which makes me want to turn my stereo up very loud indeed. This sort of stuff would have been tagged 'stoner rock' back in the late 90s amidst all the Fu Manchu, Nebula and Monster Magnet filling the pages of Kerrang back then, but that kinda does it an injustice - whereas the aforementioned based their sound and imagery around 70s style cars & bongs scuzz rock, Torche have a cheeky psychedelic edge to their sound and a dose of sugar to balance out lurch and bounce of their bottom end. I can imagine them playing 90% of this record with Cheshire cat grins on their faces, it's the sort of happy & heavy stuff that dudes knock out in their garages without worrying if it'll sell - on that note, it also reminds me of the tunes Dave Grohl lays down when he's not writing chart pop with the Foo Fighters to finance another private jet purchase. There's a tight, elastic bounce to their sound but the vocals lift things out of the greasy car mechanic workshop into higher realms of cartoon trippyness - just check out the fucking cover for the starters! That shit looks like something Terry Pratchett would have written about whilst dropping acid in his garden shed in the early 70s as part of an eight-novel saga on the intergalactic turtle wars of the layered multiverse. Torche aren't going pop or anything but there's enough sunshine here to keep this accessible to fans who need hooks to hold on to and these guys balance their elements nicely to sound like a decent heavy band sweetening things up a little rather than some pop punk nerks trying to sound heavy. They can also bust out 90-second stockcar charges like 'Kiss me dudely' and 'Walk it off' when they feel like it, mixing things up so that the tracklisting never sags and their oddball humour remains an ever present fixture to keep it fresh and upbeat. These guys are tight as fuck, clearly love what they do and know when to stop before it gets boring so they're well on their way to becoming 2012's dude rock sensation, destined to soundtrack a zillion metalhead BBQs and stoner road trips whilst remaining frustratingly low on festival bills beneath troups of neck-tattooed deathcore dweebs and another Journey reunion tour. Never mind eh? Get this, fill the fridge with beer and play it LOUD.
Check out : 'Snakes are Charmed', the sound of surfing on a wave of celestial turtle barf.
HEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRGGHH!!! That's the noise made by the behemoth of calculated extremity that is Cannibal Corpse as it strides across the globe every couple of years to take an enormous death metal dump on the musical landscape. 'Torture' is their latest turdtastic offering and longstanding fans will be pleased to hear that it's as grimly satisfying as anything they've released over the last decade. Morbid Angel's Erik Rutan is on production duties once again so you know this is gonna be a seriously brutal listen (as opposed to the Angel's more recent material which blew heathen goat dick) and this one matches the diverse savagery of 'Kill' and its grossly underrated predecessor 'The Wretched Spawn' (am I the only person that likes the album? It fucking rips!). The Corpse embody the third decade resilience of their comtempories Obituary and Suffocation in showing that death metal can actually improve with age - these dudes have graduated from spindly gore-loving teenagers to beefy, brawny father figures who can happily split their time between flipping burgers at their daughter's birthday BBQ and touring the fuck out of devastatingly precise DM to crowds of rabid followers. The fact that they had zero fashion sense to begin with has only helped them acheive timeless appeal across the various trends in metal and, unlike many of their peers who took career breaks during DM's fallow period of the late 90s/early 00s, Corpse have been ploughing relentlessly forward since day one to become the most brutal in the business. 'Torture' packs in the treats from pummelling opener 'Demented Aggression' to slo-core chugfests like 'Scourge of Iron' and 'As deep as the knife will go' and there's enough variety on show to keep even longstanding fans coming back for repeated listens. Whether it'll attract new converts is debatable but Corpse are in perhaps a minority of one in metal terms as the band you either embrace or draw the line at - their no-holds-barred approach to the wide spectrum of gory lyrics and imagery will turn off certain metalheads who feel they've gone too far whereas others admire their devotion to the fine art of savagery and ability to deliver a hit no-one else can match. Ultimately I fall into the latter category - I'm not gonna leap to the defence of stuff like 'Fucked with a knife' but their crank-it-up approach to imagery is the same that inspires TV producers to turn stuff like 'Rome' and 'Game of Thrones' from pleasant family entertainment into relentless onslaughts of slaughter and shagging. It might err towards gratuitousness but why miss such a good opportunity? Corpse do gore metal better than anyone else and are certainly more of an asset to modern heavy music than arseholes like Jack Black whose non-hilarious comedy metal is doing its utmost to reduce this music to impotent self-parody. And he has the balls to complain that 'rock is dead'? Listen Jackie boy, if you really care about the survival of rock music then why not throw your considerable weight behind the new stuff coming out now rather than ploughing out more tragic joke metal that wasn't funny a decade ago like some bored movie star who's taken up drag racing to make himself feel young again. This year has already yielded devastating newbies from established vets like Corpse and Napalm Death alongside gems from new skool sluggers Alcest, Christian Mistress and Torche (more on them later) so you better check the landscape properly before you declare the genre dead and buried. 'Torture' will school anyone doubting metal's future, and if that ain't enough then go see these guys tour it and tell me this beast has no more life in it. HEEEEUUURGH indeed.
Check out : 'Encased in Concrete', although preferably not while you're eating lunch.
I may have to create a subsection on this blog titled 'Insufficient Props' for records that have come out this year only for me to bag them and then not bother to put anything on here saying what they're like. There are a few in the standby gate at the moment for various reasons; records that are undeniably bitchin' but have fallen foul of my busy drinking schedule over recent weeks (Jack White, Cannibal Corpse), new shit that I haven't had time to big up just yet (new Cribs, Beach House and Torche) and stuff that's so far been left in the 'not feeling it' drawer (Actress, Breton). Errors had a foot in that last category for a while but it's taken the sun to come out for me to acknowledge this album's positive qualities - it landed back in February to an altogether less suitable climate which may or may not have played a part in me not feeling it. In hindsight this was rather harsh - 'Have some faith in magic' is a killer slab of laidback electronica which is well worth a detour. My initial reaction upon hearing this for the first time was that it reminded me of that M83 double album from last year, a nice yet ultimately unfulfilling journey through mellow synthscapes which is perfect for hangover sessions mainly because of its lack of any discernable edge. However after a few spins its strengths become apparent - the cover art makes me think of fellow Jocktronica stalwarts Boards of Canada with the whole people-with-no-faces shtick but Errors are less of the ethereal 70s nature documentary vibe and more pulpy, early 80s alternative electro - these guys are fully committed to the electronica thing but you can hear live drums and guitars on most tracks here. I presume these dudes have a background in Scottish indie, their sound has a gentle quality to this LP that only quiet Jocks in indie groups seem to be able to fully master, the blissful chillout soundtrack to the aftermath of another evening of Glaswegian guitar mayhem. Twin six-minute blissfests 'Magna Encarta' and 'Pleasure Palaces' deserve their place on any current DJ playlist and the rest of the album augments them rather than just filling in the gaps - these guys keep their sound constant enough to remain cohesive instead of just chucking everything into the mix and by the end their style is defined clearly enough that someone could throw you a random cover version from their archive and you'd instantly know it was them playing. Indeed, these guys are probably better live than on record which acts as a pretty good compliment in the realms of knob-twiddling indie electronica - I've been playing New Order's 'Power Corruption & Lies' a lot recently and Errors mainline the same vibe of seasoned indie types having mastered electronic music, keeping the foundations of a guitar band but adding layers of high-end synthetic elements to give them a lush edge that was previously unattainable. I pick a new favourite track every time I play this album which is testament to its strength - 'Have some faith...' is a less immediate charm than some of the other electronic releases I've chronicled on here but merits equal attention for its subtle infiltrations that will win you over in the long term. Flip this into your Sunday session along with the recent euphoric gems from Lone and Bear in Heaven and you've got the makings of an epic journey through synthspace to take the edge off Saturday night's hedonism.
Check out : 'Magna Encarta', although pick any of the ten tracks here for a good starting point.
More synth slickness for your eager ears here - this stuff is coming out faster than I can write about it. Lone is some dude who busts out rave-era electronica like it's still 1992, which is a good thing in case you were wondering. I first heard this guy via last year's 'Echolocations' EP which was a pretty blissed-out introduction to his sound but this new LP encapsulates his retro yet fresh approach in a more complete package. Lone is presumably around the same age as me judging by his affection for old skool breakbeat and Global Hydrocolour rave signature sounds but instead of using the era's iconography as a gimmick he's managed to make it the centre of his musical universe and build outwards and the results are deliciously danceable. Remember the 'new-rave' generation of scenester douchenozzles that co-opted rave culture as some sort of retro fashion statement to accompany their shitty art school forays into indie music a few years back? This is a whole different proposition - Lone succeeds in producing the fruits of a fantasy collaboration between all those old skool singles acts from the early 90s and the Japanese audio boffins behind the soundtrack to all your Sunday morning Megadrive sessions back in the day. I was always slightly peeved that rave stalwarts like Altern 8 and Messiah could never muster a full length album to rival the grunge acts filling pages of the music press back then - only Liam Howlett seemed capable of translating the strobefest euphoria of 12" rave into LP format, and The Prodigy's endearing debut 'Experience' from back in '92 could sit nicely next to 'Galaxy Garden' in the rave racks. Truth be told Lone's approach is less acidic than Howlett ripfests like 'Ruff in the Juingle Bizness' though, he prefers to chillax over crystal clear synth waves for most of this record - think along the lines of the 7-minute CJ Bolland remixes on the B-side of your favourite rave hits and you're on the right path. Not that he can't bust out a floor filler though - the mid-album twinstrike of 8-bit thumper 'Crystal Caverns 1991' and the audio-orgasmic anthem 'Raindance' show he still knows the value of 'the drop' for maximum dancefloor euphoria. 'Galaxy Garden' is the perfect synth fetishist LP for a man like myself raised on XL Recordings and Kaos Theory compilations but should still pack enough punch for those of you who missed the golden years of rave, these are sounds that are easy to love however they come into your world.
Check out : the impossibly gorgeous 'Raindance'. Wait for the drop....wait for it....
Would you like another helping of hipster electro Sir? No I would not my good man! I would like gaggles of sexy girls with guitars playing dronegaze noise pop naked in my front room if you please, not some dude with a hitler tash wearing half mast trousers and dancing round his Casio keyboard. Where's the fucking Dum Dum Girls when you need 'em??? Anyhow, with things quiet on the chick rock front I've been checking out some Pitchfork-friendly electronica recently and Portland's Bear in Heaven eventually grabbed my attention with this luvved-up ravetronic indie gem. These guys seem to have flung out a couple of records already which sounded cool enough when I gave 'em a whirl but didn't jump out at you enough to warrant laying down some hard cash - although check out the promo for 'Shining and Free' from their previous LP 'Red Bloom of the Boom' which I may well come back to later on this evidence. Their singer looks like the guy from Korn who found God and comes in for some WEIRD treatment, so if the whole record trips as much balls as this then maybe I'll pick it up later. Right now newby 'I love you, it's cool' is my fave (new) rave of the minute and sees the dudes bathe deeply in electric ectsasy to awesome effect. Imagine Animal Collective if they dropped the whole hypnotic thing and floated further into the love dimension, or even Daft Punk when they go full-on disco throb. You can dance to this stuff but it doesn't panda to any clichés of dance music (ha!), these guys have just hit a wave of warm energy and ride it out over ten tracks here for one luscious end product. This gives me the same buzz as prime-era baggy veterans Paris Angels (though it sounds nothing like them), gorgeous luvved-up electro-psychedelia tailor-made for wide-mouthed gurning on the dancefloor. OooooohwaaaAAAAHH! Bear in Heaven have a stupid name but their music RULES. Imagine a chilled-out grizzly bear relaxing in a fluffy pillow slurping on a pot of honey laced with quaaludes and flanked by beautiful girly bears with well-stocked pickernick baskets and you're most of the way there. This is the most yummylicious electro I've heard in ages, straight outta leftfield but well worth your time and attention. 'I love you, it's cool' sounds like the sort of thing hippies would say (you guys aren't HIPPIES are you?) but don't let that put you off, they're having too good a time for us not to join them. This is one synth snuggle you're not gonna want to miss.
Check out : 'Reflection of you' which has a cool video - but seriously, get the whole album.
Hi folks, back again after a week or two away from the action but I have plenty of new shit to rave about after some time well spent rummaging in the music shelves of cyberspace. First up is Mohn's selt-titled record which I think is their debut - I know nothing about these dudes, they might not even be dudes and there might only be one of them for that matter, I don't know how many people need to be involved to make intense electronica like this. Judging by the fact that all the song titles are in German I'm going to imagine that Mohn are two brooding pale-faced types from Berlin with zero social skills and poor diet. Kinda like Steve Albini circa 'Atomizer'. Their record isn't any more light-hearted than 80s Big Black either, it's a stark exhibition piece of slow-build electronica, slightly intimidating but highly accessible all the same. I was surfing between new releases the other day and the excepts I played off this one literally stopped me in my tracks - this shit is SUPERINTENSE. Most tracks clock in around the six minute mark and use the time wisely, employing slow-release pulses and sparse effects to envelop the listener - imagine a thin sliver of dark grey smoke exiting the speakers gradually until you look around and realise the room's full of lurching electronic fog. 'Mohn' reminds me walking round the sub-corridors of Templehof airport looking for my mate's rehearsal room a few years back, although if it had been playing at the time I think I might have shit myself and run away. Last year's überbitchin' 'Looping State of Mind' LP by Sweden's The Field was constructed with a similar blueprint to this but where he was aiming at subtle paths to euphoria, Mohn want to slow-cook you over over cold electronic light and leave you numbed and amazed. I'm loving this, especially the transcendant 'Ebertplatz 2020' which is the closest they get to a floorfiller, although the spooky vocal samples on 'Schwarzer Schwan' remind me of that Salem record from a year or two ago. If you like the more devious end of Aphex Twin (à la 'Come to Daddy', the sort of stuff he seems to use to deliberately alienate crowds) then you'll probably love this. I'm still wondering why they chose that name - it's probably a reference to some dead philospher dude but it just makes me think of Scottish football fans egging on their chosen team in the vein of 'MOHN RAITH ROVERS! GIES A FUCKIN GOAL YA WEE BEAUTY!'. On balance I think I'm happier in my continued ignorance of the world of Mohn, but in any case this LP is a stellar introdution to their universe.
Check out : the aforementioned 'Schwarzer Schwan' for hypnotic witch thrills and 'Ebertplatz 2020' for a devastating infiltration of the synapse.
More happy music for you happy people out there. Javelin have been going for a couple of years already but I only just got into their stuff - they base their material around samples from music shop bargain bins and the results remind me of the Avalanches, Kid Koala and Freddy Fresh from back in the late 90s. Not that either of these sound dated mind you, 'No Màs' was their debut that landed in 2010 and the 'Canyon Candy' EP followed a year later. 'No Màs' is the stronger of the two, 15 tracks of bright and bubbly electro sunshine with plenty of variety in the mix. They wisely let the samples do the talking for the most part, although vocal interludes like the Chipmunks rap on 'Oh Centra' and the indie crossover gem 'Moscow 1980' show that they aren't just two blokes hiding behind the mixing console. The results are more than just a sum of their parts too - like fellow second hand enthusiasts Holy Fuck, Javelin combine their nerdy love for spare parts with a genuine talent for crafting catchy pop gems and not laying in on too thick - this is lightweight in the good sense, one to put on as you get ready to go out in the Sunday sunshine, totally fresh and full of life. The Wild West themed EP 'Canyon Candy' focuses more directly on samples from Western flicks and old Country & Western vinyl, producing similar results but with less of the range. It's cool to hear them warp the guitar sounds on those old records (again, this kinda reminds me of Kid Koala) but back to back with their debut this EP sounds like more of an experiment than a fully-evolved release. They chop some of the tracks a bit too short, sometimes cutting things off mid-flow which, whilst it might be a way of keeping pointless noodling at bay, stops the record from picking up any kind of a rhythm. It's good, but their debut is better. Thrift store cast-offs moulded into something dazzling, these are both good examples of why Javelin are well worth keeping your eye on to see what they come up with next.
Check out : I can't choose between the aforementioned 'Oh Centra' and 'Moscow 1980' so give them both a whirl. From 'Canyon Candy' try 'Estevez' complete with Young Guns tribute vid.
Another indie double-bill, this time with two offshoots from some of the cooler girlbands doing the rounds Stateside right now; Frankie Rose did stints with Crystal Stilts and Vivian/Dum Dum Girls and Mirroring is a side project of drone matriach Grouper plus some other chick I don't know. I'm assuming both of these releases are designed to allow the ladies chance to lay down some stuff that didn't click with their other projects, in any case they're both pretty cool albums. 'Interstellar' is Frankie going pure pop à la Cocteau Twins, free of any trace of garage scuzz - I didn't really see the point of this when I first listened to it but it's grown on me since then and now I can't stop playing it. Her secret is keeping things short - like last year's bitchin' 'Cats Eyes' album, 'Interstellar' clocks in at half an hour with ten catchy potential singles, only with Liz Fraser as a reference instead of Nancy Sinatra. It's direct enough to avoid sinking into a lake of twee and and the ethereal pop hooks are deftly delivered to sidestep any self indulgent wankery. One for the Sunday morning session I think, this is a great one to start your day to. 'Foreign Body' on the other hand is one to put on when the sun's gone down - if you missed out on Grouper's awesomely spooky 'Dragging a dead deer up a hill' in '08 then go bag that one as a priority but Mirroring are worth checking out in their own right. 'Foreign Body' retains the soft focus ghostliness of Grouper's other stuff but the additional vocals lift it more into Cowboy Junkies territory and give it a structure that might appeal to listeners put off by her more wacked-out freeform material. The vocals are a key part but they don't dominate proceedings, and the trippier moments here kinda remind me of the Aphex Twin's twisted lullaby electronica, like the soundtrack to the closing stages of a slightly unnverving dream. Overall this is a comfortable compromise between Grouper's free-floating tripadelica and the more accessible indie folk that dudes like this would listen to without losing the inherent charm of either. So there you have it - two slices of girly indie which will improve your life without either being entirely essential. 'Interstellar' will light up your morning and 'Foreign Body' will soften up the evening, so why not keep your options open and bag 'em both?
Check out : 'Know Me' from 'Interstellar' and 'Mine' from 'Foreign Body'.
I haven't really been paying much attention to what's been going on in Stateside indie circles recently unless girl groups have been involved, so this viril bunch of Brooklynites were a real wake up call. The Men (good name!) use garage punk as a starting point but prang off in all sorts of directions over these two records that dropped within months of each other in late 2011/early 2012 - I'm not sure if their 'Leave Home' is a nod to the Ramones record of the same name but if they're capable of cranking out a stonking album every six months then they're already in the right bracket. These dudes have been touring for a while I think but have only just shown up on the radar outside New York so keep your eye out for them on the road cos this shit is going to sound GREAT live. 'Leave Home', probably the beefier of the two albums, kicks off with woozy opener 'If you leave' before racking up greasy garage nuggets that'll spill your drink from across the room, matching facemelting scuzz guitar with atonal brass and some full-on throat martyr vocals - 'Think' sounds like Jesus Lizard in a wind tunnel and blistering freak-out 'LADOCH' almost reminds me of Khanate's suffocating black metal filthfest. Though it gets weighty in places, track titles like 'Shittin' with the Shah' suggest that these guys aren't all doom and gloom.
The more upbeat and varied 'Open your heart' still kicks your butt from the get go but mixes in brighter influences than its predecessor - if 'Leave Home' was recorded during an all-night Melvins & reefer session, they definitely laid down 'Open your heart' with the sun out. There's a a spot of surf rock on here à la Midway Still/Swervedriver ('Please don't go away') and even some mellow country acoustic stuff ('Candy'). They don't even bother with lyrics for some of the tracks, just lock down and bang out a big greasy riff until they run out of ideas of what to do with it ('Oscillation') or meander of into drowsy psychedelia ('Presence', 'Country Song'). How much forethought goes into putting these records together is debateable, but that's perhaps part of the charm - these two LPs are brimming with enough good ideas and arse-kicking riffs to suggest that The Men are cranking out killer material quicker than they can lay it down in the studio. Watch out for tour dates and another one of these before the end of the year, they're on a great run of form right now.
Check out : 'Bataille' from 'Leave Home' and 'Oscillation' from 'Open your heart'.
Indie seems to be in pretty rude health these days - whilst there isn't the same glut of British guitar bands that we've seen in previous years, the ones that do make it through are pretty bloody good. If you filled your nappy with excitement over the Vaccines' rollicking debut last year then Tribes' own arrival on the album market should prompt similar results. Less punked up and frantic than their forebearers, this lot are more laidback and grungey but with a brutally infectious pop edge to their songwriting. I'd go as far to say that they don't really sound British (which they are), not because they're pretending to be anything else but because 'Baby' lacks the weighty UK-centric social realism that's bogged down a lot of other bands - and, more importantly, there's way too much sunshine on this album for it to have come out of Britian. I can't put my finger on who this lot sound like, the closest I can get is the Atlantic-facing Scottish indie of the Vaselines, Teenage Fanclub and 'Good Feeling' era Travis (before the drizzle set in they were actually quite a lively lot). Tribes aren't Jocks mind you, they're straight outta Camden which is kinda surprising as their record appears blissfully free of scene-conscious posing and comes across as honest, good-natured sunshine indie. Like the Vaccines, these dudes remind me of the Britpop era when you couldn't move for cracking debuts from guitar bands across the British Isles - perhaps it's no coincidence that lead single 'We were children' references that very period (you were CHILDREN in the mid 90s???? I was watching Menswear get pelted with beercans at the Leeds Heineken festival!). Those times may not quite be upon us again but for now this is more than enough - sky high choruses, scuzz-drenched riffs and tunes that will decimate the festivals come summer, in the meantime this is your soundtrack to the springtime sunshine. Stonking stuff!
Check out : 'Sappho'. It's about lesbians! BRILLIIIIANT!
Fuzz pedal fetishists return to the fray with a new stopgap release. Wooo! These guys have been keeping it pretty quiet since their face-melting second album 'Exploding Head' back in 2009 so it's good to have some new shit to wreck your eardrums again. 'Onwards to the Wall' hits the ground in much the same way the more accessible bits of their last record did, opener 'I Lost You' matches 'Keep Slipping Away' for psychedelic slipstream and the title track has a cool female vocal part to sweeten the mix. If you're not familiar with these guys already then think Black Rebel Motorcycle Club on warped vinyl with vocals recorded at the bottom of a swimming pool. As it the case for most of the new guitar music I like these days, this sort of stuff gives me a nostalgia boner for primetime shoegaze back in the early 90s - you can imagine these guys on the ITV Chart Show's indie rundown gazing menacingly from a publicity still while their music throbs in the background. Infact, I think the EP format probably suits them better than the full album alternative - as addictive as this stuff is, eking out 10-12 tracks with enough variety isn't always easy and it's probably a safer bet to crank out a 15-minute fuzzbomb every so often to keep things sounding fresh. These guys still slay live too - I don't think I've ever been so glad that I brought earplugs to a gig as the first time I saw them lay waste to La Maroq. It was positively seismic, I nearly shat my brains out via my trouser leg. Remember kiddies, plugs aren't always necessary but keep a pair in your jacket just in case! Health warnings aside, APTBS still put a foot up in that ass and Dr Sykes recommends you get on this quickety quick.
Check out : 'So far away'. I don't know what the deuce is going on in this video but the song rules.
After a lifetime searching I have finally found the geekiest album of all time in the shape of this little gem, a tribute album dedicated to reworking the back catalogue of dork rock denizens Weezer via bleepy 8-bit music software. This should be agonisingly irritating, especially to the hungover shadow of myself that found it here whilst poking around online this morning but it somehow manages to eschew the trappings of hipster nerd culture and comes off as a decent collection of catchy bleep tracks. Nordloef's manic rehash of 'Buddy Holly' will put a smile on your face and Bitshifter's Europop take on 'The world has turned and left me here' would slot nicely into any DJ set with the likes of Crystal Castles, Teeth etc. What's more, it prompted me to revisit 'Pinkerton' and 'The Blue Album' for a reminder of what a good songwriter Rivers Cuomo was before his band turned into a corporate soundtrack for nerd culture and Threadless T-shirts. Despite my better judgement, I think this is ace. Scott Pilgrim would certainly approve.
What can I say? It's just all about the metal the moment. After a rush of surprisingly diverse heavy releases over the last few months, Christian Mistress popped up on my radar with this rather fine slab of female-fronted trad metal. I don't really know much about this lot, I think this is their debut and if so it's certainly a promising start - musically they've got a lot of NWOBHM in there, think the first two Maiden albums when they were still basically a pub band rather than a stadium act writing galloping heavy metal epics. The guitarists get to noodle away a fair bit but their solos don't slow the songs down, these guys have a real aggressive motor to them and a singer whose voice fucking RIPS. She sounds like a mix of Janis Joplin, the chicks from Heart in their 70s heyday and the guy from Bad Company if someone jammed his nuts in a cutlery drawer. Without her upfront this would still be good but it'd probably get lost in the fog of stoned retro-metal groups already doing the rounds, whereas with her onboard they've got something really potent going on. This fits nicely in with the new wave of occult rock bands gaining popularity at the moment - if you caught last year's bitchtastic 'The Thousandfold Epicentre' by Dutch kooks The Devil's Blood (check out 2011's best of list for more on them) then you'll probably like this, likewise if the last Ghost record floated your Satanic boat. As the name suggests, Christian Mistress are more irreverant than genuinely Satanic but this is still a serious kick in the balls and they're not messing around with their delivery. Line this one up against some classic Diamond Head and Di'anno era Maiden, get your sweaty denim on and start annihilating beers and banging your head to this slab of stonking modern metal.
Check out : 'The Way Beyond', starts slow but you'll feel the weight soon enough.
I was indulging in my typical float around the online music sites this weekend and chanced upon Napalm Death's unfeasibly great new album 'Utilitarian' which came out about a week ago. Their charming bile-spewing vocalist Barney gives the record a track by track guide here and most of the album is up on YouTube too if you fancy having a listen yourself. And as if that weren't thrilling enough, I noticed during the interview that their promotional tour for the album was coming through Paris on Sunday night so I had the pleasure of hearing most of the record live at La Maroquinerie too! I'll admit to having paid relatively little attention to what these guys have been up to over the last few years but a glance at the banker-baiting cover art for 'Utilitarian' made my prick my ears up and check this out. And I have to say I was pleasantly surprised - Napalm have lost none of their savage delivery and the current political backdrop in the UK couldn't be better suited to them returning to the fray with another potent dose of extreme metal bloodrush and politically-savvy thematic dissection. If you're unfamiliar with Napalm, let's just say they picked up where political punks like Crass and Discharge left off in the mid 1980s and fused their energy with the emergent extreme metal trends of UK Grindcore and, further down the line, the global Death Metal movement of the late 80s. Fast forward 25 years of playing in toilets, cranking out over a dozen stonking albums and steadfastly refusing to compromise and that gets you to 'Utilitarian'.
In truth I wanted this to be the blisteringly angry record that the whole 'Occupy' movement needed to shock itself into cohesive action - 'Utilitarian' doesn't quite address the matter as directly as you might hope, veering off into a diverse range of anti-establishment topics such as social exclusion, sexuality and the arms trade but the band stick to their guns as they always have and Barney give it both barrels like an angry pitbull trying to shout over a carrier jet during takeoff. They played a fair chunk of it on Sunday too and it sounds fucking great live - I last saw these guys in about 2000 and they're still as relentlessly savage as they were back then, only this time I got right down the front for a proper facefull of it all. Barney' still loveably furious onstage and bassist Shane Embury seems to be straddling the same stage of pattern baldness that he was at 12 years ago which is impressive to say the least. My pint got spilled all over my shirt in the first song and I even ended up losing my wallet getting tossed around in the pit, although one of the stewards very kindly fished it out from the post-gig swamp and gave it back to me, albeit covered in black crap and smelling of lager and footsweat. Still, my cards still seem to work. The fact that nothing got nicked surely acts as proof that these guys are still the vanguard of modern musical socialism. Anyway, 'Utilitarian' is as potent and pertinent today as 'Scum' was back in '87 - get the album and check out the tour if you get the chance, Napalm are still flying the flag for angry fucking punk rock after all these years and this is as a savage as they've ever sounded.
I've had a rough few days recently so it was a real thrill to come across something fresh and new that captured the mood so nicely - the latest issue of Terrorizer prompted me to check out the latest from French post-BM stars Alcest and it's a real joy to behold. These guys started out playing shit-ripping black metal about a decade back but have since then evolved into a more sensual, considered take on the genre - in fact, aside from moderate swathes of harsh vocals on a couple of the tracks here, you'd be hard pressed to find anything on this album to remind you of Darkthrone and co.
Some reviewers have labelled these guys 'shoegaze black metal' which perhaps misses the point slightly - there's passages on here that remind me of the more romantic end of shoegaze, à la The House of Love or perhaps more poignantly Terry Bickers' post-HOL offshoot Levitation (check out their lost gem 'Nadine' here) but this has more in common with Justin Broadrick's Jesu project or, dare I say it, post-hardcore stormbringers Cult of Luna. If Jesu is essentially Justin distilled into album form (melacholy and sensitive but still coming from the same guy that recorded 'Streetcleaner'), Alcest is frontman Neige's soul laid bare - heavy-hearted and romantic, free of spite and more focussed on redemption and lucid headspace. I've rattled on about Jesu and Cult of Luna to plenty of people but ultimately they're never going to be entirely palatable to folks who get put off by the harsher elements of metal and punk - I wouldn't anticipate any such problems with Alcest though, this is mellow at the front end and only scathing in glints below the lush surface. One to listen to whilst coming round from a weird dream about someone you fell in love with back in school if you like, laced with regret but ultimately a warming experience. I started out lost on planet headfuck when I put this on for the first time and by the end of epic finale 'Summer's Glory' I was ready to take on the universe. Go forth and bag this one without further ado.
Check out : 'Summer's Glory', eight minutes of King Kong gorgeous.
My time spent meandering curiously around YouTube has resulted in a number of fine musical discoveries, gems unearthed that otherwise would have surely lain dormant and undiscovered for years to come. But no such searches are made without certain unpleasant side effects. My voyage across the vast ocean of music promo clips inevitably shook loose a few turds from the underbelly which floated unattractively to the surface to be inspected in full lurid detail. And there were some absolute scudders in there, let me assure you.
In the interest of being balanced (and, dare I say, positive), I've set about putting together a list of some of my favourite music vids of all time but as per usual it was easier and a lot more fun to pick my least favourite ones first. So here's a selection of some of the worst music promo clips I could drag up from the depths of YouTube - feel free to add any more I might have missed.
10. Pat and Mick - Use it up and wear it out
Here's a real stonker to get us started. For those of you who are unfamiliar with these two gents, Pat and Mick were London-based radio presenters in the 1980s who decided that their talents would be put to good use releasing aerobic pop revamps of yesteryear's disco classics. Mick is the one in the oversized jacket that looks like a disgruntled estate agent who's been dragged along to the office Xmas party against his will, Pat is the tall one in denim sporting what is possibly the worst haircut to have ever existed since the birth of mankind. Though their intention is clearly not to be taken entirely seriously as a musical prospect, this still merits its place on this list for the sheer rubbishness of everything and everbody involved. The duo's lipsynching is embarassingly off-kilter, the assembled dancers represent acid house culture as seen through the eyes of a balding advertising executive and the whole thing looks like it was knocked together in half an hour for the overall production value of a packet of crisps (check out the camera swinging off-set at 3:09!). The somewhat lacklustre performance from both vocalists doesn't exactly help, nor does their 'child-molesting uncle at a wedding' style of dancing and even a series of somewhat desperate comedy costume changes from Mr Sharp late on can't save this from toe-curling crapness - Pat appears wholeheartedly convinced that we are all laughing with him rather than at him and his daft hair and shit-eating grin. Nevertheless, enough of the record-buying public fell under the duo's charm for this turd of a single to reach number 22 in the spring of 1990 so it obviously appealed to someone. Let's just be grateful that Chris Moyles hasn't followed in their footsteps and started making his own records, he'd probably make this sound like fucking Led Zeppelin in comparison.
9. Joshua Kadison - Jessie
There are certain tell-tale signs that a video is gonna suck from the get-go and the sight of a bronzed gonk in a silk waistcoat playing upright piano on the fucking beach is as clear an indication as you could ask for that things are going to get pretty rough. Barefoot and sporting freshly-conditioned shoulder length locks, Kadison gets his smoulder on as he recounts his lover's flights of romantic fancy into the camera and gazes plaintively out to sea. This shit is so earnest that you almost feel it'd be harsh telling Josh that you'd rather spend four minutes sitting in a bathful of diarrhoea than have to listen to his gacky sentimental pizzdrizzle of a song ever again, let alone have to watch the equally nauseating music video. He genuinely seems to think that thousands of viewers are going to applaud him for 'bearing his soul and sharing his musical vision'. I personally would rather lean into shot and blow him off his piano stool with a blunderbuss full of cow dung before chopping his instrument to pieces with a fire axe and telling him to stop being such a pussy. 'Jessie' indeed! As for the lyrics, what kind of dork calls his cat 'Moses'?? Do you have a hamster called Jehovah as well???? And as for your bird calling you up in the middle of the night wittering about moving to a Third World trailer park with her at the drop of a hat, I'd tell her to fuck right off and not bothering calling back until she'd sobered up! Rather predictably, the Germans loved this tune so much that they kept it in the charts for over a year solid, but then what do you expect from a nation of lederhosen-clad coprophiliacs?
8. Gazza and Lindisfarne - Fog on the Tyne (Revisited)
Football/music crossovers are generally the source of some pretty dreadful records, but even against such a mediocre backdrop this one stands out as an outstandingly work of utter shite. Given that Gazza was the most mercurial talent of his generation and was about to win 'Sports Personality of the Year' when this was released in late 1990, you'd have thought the video budget would have stretched to more than four minutes of him goofing around onstage in a piss-stained shell suit flanked by a fairly haggard looking Lindisfarne along with some footage of them all galavanting around Newcastle on a drizzly Saturday afternoon. There aren't even any clips of him playing football - instead, we are treated to side-splitting clips of Gazza playing his leg like it's a guitar, gurning into the camera and leading a dance routine that looks like a stag party in Marbella after fifteen pints of Skol. At least he doesn't get his arse out. His rap delivery isn't exactly stellar either, although he's still a better MC than Dee Dee Ramone. I have a theory that the inherent crapness of this video was infact totally intentional - as Kevin Keegan points out, Geordies don't go for high culture, they like it cheap and cheerful (don't take my word for it - ask these guys) so a tinny remix of their local folk anthem with Gateshead's finest rapping about sausage rolls over the top was always going to go down well. Thankfully, aside from one minor follow-up hit in the wake of this single's success, Gazza has stayed away from the music business in more recent years preferring to spend his time managing lower-league football teams for about a week at a time, pinballing between rehab clinics and attempting to befriend local mass murderers. On this evidence, it's surely time well spent.
7. Vanilla - No way no way
If you trawl far enough back through the archives on this blog, you may well come across a series of articles I wrote on girl/boybands of the 1990s - it's due a bit of a polish, I might re-post it sometime soon - and somewhere in there are this lot. For those of you who don't remember the split-second in 1997 when these four trolls were briefly in the charts, Vanilla were either a music industry in-joke or a genuine attempt to crack the girlband market gone horribly, HORRIBLY wrong. The singles charts were dominated by female pop ensembles such as All Saints and the Spice Girls who had racked up a string of hit singles and become omnipresent media personalities - predictably there were various attempts to cash in on this phenomenon such as Ireland's B*witched, Manchester's Cleopatra and Vanilla from......Essex. It's unclear what the marketing strategy behind them was - neither musically gifted nor conventionally attractive, the quartet were presumably selected for their 'girl next door' appeal (or, perhaps more accurately, 'girl getting fingered behind your local bus shelter after three litres of white cider' appeal). Their promo video only accentuated their inherent trashiness, depicting them clad in day-glo swinsuits and trowelled on make-up (despite the fact that they're at a swimming pool) warding off potential suitors with a coquettish 'don't get fresh with me!'. Heaven forbid we should make such assumptions ladies - surely women such as yourselves expect to be serenaded by moonlight or wined and dined in the finest restaurants before compromising your dignity? This aural and visual abomination was either the result of some industry competition to create the worst pop band to actually score a hit single (a rumour which persists to this day) or otherwise a thoroughly misjudged attempt to tap into a cultural trend. Either way it's a pretty disparaging spectacle and one that's earned them a permanent fixture on the 'worst record of all time' lists alongside Black Lace and Mr Blobby. Mind you, they say there's no such thing as bad publicity.
6. David Hasselhoff - Crazy for you
Let's face it - in the United States of Shit Videos there would only be one choice for president : Mr David Hasselhoff. His recent career resurgence on the back of several knowingly ridiculous promo videos masks the grim reality that, back in the day, the Hoff was no laughing matter. Having scored a massive hit in Germany the summer of 1989 with his zeitgeist-nailing 'Looking for Freedom', this was his follow-up single which scaled similar heights in the Fatherland but failed to chart anywhere else. Watching the video it's not hard to see why. Soundtracked by a robust Europop stompalong, the video sees the Hoff majestically zooming around on his Harley in lurid technicolour before getting stuck on a rollercoaster thanks to his mischievous pet dog. Shitty video effects like the motorcyle jump cuts and some mildly psychotic screen lettering late on make this a true assault on the senses which is only augmented by the music's apparent aim of driving the listener to the brink of insanity with its rumpeting marching band synths and some key changes that make me want to gouge my own eyes out in sheer despair. This is just so impossibly awful it becomes almost traumatic to witness - I'm practically reduced to tears watching this crap, yet it's just not possible to avert your gaze for even the slightest instant. Even by the Hoff's own standards this is excruciatingly bad - musically it's fingernails down the blackboard and visually it bombards you with enough gaudy colours and bombasticly camp bravado to provoke an aneurysm or make you throw your own TV out of the window. Compared to this the video of him attempting to eat a cheesburger shitface drunk while his own daughter cusses him out is comfortable viewing - this is the Hoff at his diabolical worst.
5. Steklovata - Novi God
Think you've seen some shit so far? Folks, you ain't seen NOTHING yet. Let me introduce you to Steklovata, Russia's contribution to the world of boybands. I can't find much online about the group's history but on this evidence you have to wonder whether they were selected at random by a board of blind (and possibly deaf) record executives. Eschewing the standard attire of their decadent Western counterparts in favour of a look based on jaundiced dole monkeys hanging around your local needle exchange kitted out in clothes from the British Heart Foundation bargain bin, they certainly stand out from the crowd (indeed, it's reassuring to know that you don't even need a full set of teeth to get into a boyband in Russia). No expense has been spared on the video either - lavish computer graphics from a ZX Spectrum game circa 1986 provide the backdrop for a dynamic dance routine consisting of them reluctantly bopping around in fraternal fashion. I can't understand the lyrics but the more I watch this video, the more I find myself thinking that the two smaller guys are new arrivals at a Russian prison pleading for the other two big blokes to go easy on them when they take them off to the shower block after they've finished filming. Perhaps any Russian speakers out there could enlighten me? In any case, this little gem has clearly experienced a resurgent success due to the numerous Eastern-European parodies available on YouTube so maybe they'll be touring again soon. I have to admit the song is rather catchy too, even if I still think the lyrics are about prison sex.
4. Honeymoon Suite - What does it take?
Remaining in the cultural backwaters of the music world, let's take a trip to mid-80s Canada for our next treat. Honeymoon Suite were apparently quite the domestic success story back then with their brand of inoffensive soft rock, though for some reason they never appeared to reach global megastardom. This might have something to do with the fact that their music is so lame it makes Bon Jovi sound like Cannibal Corpse, but you could also point to their fuck awful videos for further proof. 'What does it take?' is my personal favourite for its cack-handed symoblism and hideous fashion sense - it make have been 1986 but there's still no excuse for the state of these fuckers. I'm going to be generous and assume they had some kind of running bet for who could grow the worst mullet when they filmed this video - I think my vote goes to the guitar player (check out 1:05 to see it in its full glory). The oh-so-subtle visual depictions of the trials of domestic partnership aren't exactly great either - there's nothing more risible than seeing a band trying to infuse their video with a clever subtext only for it to trample over everything like a drunken elephant with a flashing neon 'MESSAGE!' sign on its head. And don't even get me started on that fucking perspex piano. Fellow viewers on YouTube don't seem to share my scorn for this particular video though, declaring that it 'brings back great memories of growing up in 80s Canada'. Yeah guys, I'm sure that was a BLAST.
3. Jan Terri - Losing You
I'm not sure exactly what credentials you needed in 1993 to make a professional music video - I'm fairly sure plenty of the indie bands I liked back then couldn't afford to make a promo clip so it's somewhat difficult to understand how this one ever saw the light of day. Jan appears to have had a record company behind her on this plus a dedicated video crew including someone responsible for 'hair and make-up' who must have gone on to great things since then - whatever role she had in dolling Jan up like a 3ft tall bondage warthog in a blond curly wig surely deserves recognition. It'd be mean to pick on Ms Terri for the fact that she's not exactly blessed in the looks department but it would also overshadow the not inconsiderable issue that she's totally tone-deaf. Even the crappy 80s synths can't mask the fact that she sounds like a badly oiled door and her delivery is so unenthusiastic that you're wondering whether she's singing about mislaying the love of her life or the TV remote control. Nevertheless, her talents seem to finance a luxury lifestyle featuring limousine travel and romantic escapades with Hells Angels, so who I am to judge? She may look like Gimli from Lord of the Rings crossed with a 50 year old Ukrainian prostitute but she's out there showcasing her talent and that's all that matters.
2. Take That - Do what you like
Take That's immense success over the course of the last two decades has been the result of them (or rather their management) catering to the tastes of their target market - for the 1990s read pre-pubescent girls, for the 2000s read fat legal secretaries wishing they were 17 again. However, their debut single way back in 1991 appeared to cater to an entirely different market. If you haven't already experienced the promo clip for 'Do what you like' (and to be fair they've made no attempt to hide it), it's worth setting aside a few minutes to potentially have your image of the quintet distorted forever. There's no subtle pandering to the gay market going on here, this is the sort of stuff that's usually seen only in sticky-floored Amsterdam porn booths - Gary Barlow and co frolicking around in tassled leather, indulging in homo-erotic jelly wrestling and licking lemon curd off each other's nutsacks (OK, I made that last one up). This is so fucking blatant that they might as well have grown Freddie Mercury tashes and filmed themselves dancing Maypole style around a giant plastic penis. Unsurprisingly, the single stiffed at #81 and the group swiftly adopted a marketing strategy catered towards little girls, one which paid dividends - almost exactly two years after the single's release, 'Pray' netted them the first of 11 #1 singles. So let this be a lesson to aspiring hitmakers - having someone film you cavorting around in a studded jockstrap whilst smearing whipped cream on another man's nipples might seem a bad idea at the time, but these are the sacrifices it takes to become a true musical legend.
1. Wilson Phillips - Hold on
After such a landslide of rhinocerous dung, my choice for worst offender on this list may come as somewhat of a surprise and an anticlimax. Let me explain myself. Though it doesn't feature poorly choreographed dance routines, cheap special effects, garish colour schemes or disturbing leather-clad food fights, 'Hold On' makes me grimace in utter disgust more than all the previous videos combined. This insipid slab of early 90s balladry and its accompanying promo clip embody everything I hate about American pop music - all bright white teeth, wholesome landscape shots and simpering declarations of self-belief. Despite the lyrics acting as a paean to the disheartened and needy, nothing makes me long for the encroaching apocalypse more than this nauseating wet fart of song and its shitty fucking video. I hate the hideous fucking clothes, I hate the whining naivety radiating from the face of each of these three harridans and I hate the beachside march of strident self confidence as the song's coda erupts like Beelzebub evacuating his bowels after 38 pints of Guinness and vat of undercooked seafood. I can only sit through this hideous vaginal belch of a video by imagining Poseidon rising enraged from the ocean and skewering these three hags on his trident before slow-roasting them over the nearest volcano and feeding them to the flying monkeys of Satan whose high-pitched cackles as they scatter the bones of Wilson Phillips to the four breezes finally drown out the unholy din of the song itself and leave the world in blissful, exhalted serenity. Aaaaaaaaaaaaah.
Anyway, that brings us to the end of our rollercoaster ride of visual excretion. I hope you enjoyed it (OK, 'enjoyed' might not be the right word but I hope you found it vaguely stimulating) and please feel free to use the comments to point out any glaring omissions. And if you feel I've not done Wilson Phillips justice, I'd just love to hear from you.
Another indie double-bill, this time with two offshoots from some of the cooler girlbands doing the rounds Stateside right now; Frankie Rose did stints with Crystal Stilts and Vivian/Dum Dum Girls and Mirroring is a side project of drone matriach Grouper plus some other chick I don't know. I'm assuming both of these releases are designed to allow the ladies chance to lay down some stuff that didn't click with their other projects, in any case they're both pretty cool albums. 'Interstellar' is Frankie going pure pop à la Cocteau Twins, free of any trace of garage scuzz - I didn't really see the point of this when I first listened to it but it's grown on me since then and now I can't stop playing it. Her secret is keeping things short - like last year's bitchin' 'Cats Eyes' album, 'Interstellar' clocks in at half an hour with ten catchy potential singles, only with Liz Fraser as a reference instead of Nancy Sinatra. It's direct enough to avoid sinking into a lake of twee and and the ethereal pop hooks are deftly delivered to sidestep any self indulgent wankery. One for the Sunday morning session I think, this is a great one to start your day to. 'Foreign Body' on the other hand is one to put on when the sun's gone down - if you missed out on Grouper's awesomely spooky 'Dragging a dead deer up a hill' in '08 then go bag that one as a priority but Mirroring are worth checking out in their own right. 'Foreign Body' retains the soft focus ghostliness of Grouper's other stuff but the additional vocals lift it more into Cowboy Junkies territory and give it a structure that might appeal to listeners put off by her more wacked-out freeform material. The vocals are a key part but they don't dominate proceedings, and the trippier moments here kinda remind me of the Aphex Twin's twisted lullaby electronica, like the soundtrack to the closing stages of a slightly unnverving dream. Overall this is a comfortable compromise between Grouper's free-floating tripadelica and the more accessible indie folk that dudes like 
