The desolate woodland thrum of Liz Harris has gone through many variants since 2008’s stop in yer tracks fantastic ‘Dragging A Dead Deer Up A Hill’ LP and this latest outing for her Grouper project matched the mournful majesty of that breakthrough release, drifting into haunting realms of intoxicating melancholy like a slow motion tumble down a rabbit hole into some anti-Wonderland. 'The Man….' sounds like it was recorded in the same empty, wooden American heartlands that birthed Springsteen’s ’Nebraska’ LP but with a cloud of funereal blue grey mist replacing the Boss’ fug of reflective testosterone - like her spiritual confrere Justin Broadrick, Harris views sadness as a realm worth exploring rather than simply a conduit for emotional showboating and this latest catalogue of melancholy serves as the ideal companion piece to Jesu’s own return to the fray.
To drone or not to drone, that was the question in 2013 - the chill wave/dreampop/call it what you will fad having been done to death over recent years and leaving little enthusiasm for another batch of effects pedal mayhem. It Hugs Back managed to emerge from amongst the debris to achieve remarkable results with deceptively familiar tools, fading through subtler dimensions of pastel-shaded sound to reveal intriguing new gems along the way. This LP has everything of the reluctant hit to it, the can't be arsed title and lack of crowd-pleasing triggers masking a razor sharp pop sensibility that carries the tracks through the nondescript peach fuzz into memorable hit territory as further examination yields ever more tricks from within the folds. The year's shoe gaze sleeper hit.
There are plenty of bearded garage tinkerers out there banging out flights of R’n’R fantasy but precious few capable of actually turning their riffs into listenable metal end product without losing the punters’ interest - thankfully Russian Circles know how to expand upon ideas whilst keeping things anchored to one central point, allowing their instrumental post metal soundscapes to bloom and flourish without lapsing into over indulgence or time wasting. The weighty majesty of last year’s Baroness LP is present here but it’s trimmed down into bite size chunks, the band chasing down their prey over eight well-crafted rumblefests that provide tremulous bottom end and epic projections into the riff-o-sphere. ‘Memorial’ beams in from outer space and lands somewhere between mid 70s Rush and the early noughties output of post-Neurosis tykes like Cult of Luna and Pelican - that description will either send you running scared or leave you desperate to hear the results, either way it’s a calculated risk that will doubtless yield them a number of devoted new followers.
Bethany Constantino looked like she’d shot her wad with last year’s ‘The Only Place’ which barely left a footprint in comparison to the sun-soaked kick up the arse of her 2010 debut but she was back on top form here, paring down to the leaner EP format to deliver seven tracks of infectious surf pop magic. My girlfriend always complains that this sounds like Sarah Maclachlan when I stick it on and she’s probably onto something – Best Coast’s sugar-coated guitar rush could easily go toe to toe with radio’s most slickly-produced chart stars as a dorky alter-ego to the likes of Sheryl Crow but that’s part of their appeal – nerds can do sunshine and optimism just as well as the clean cut magazine crew and ‘Fade Away’ provided seven more reasons to feel good about yourself when you wake up in the morning.
Toy’s inception as the psychedelic afterbirth of late noughties skinny jeaned irrelevance Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong yielded an absolute belter of a debut last year which was runner up on my 2012 list but following it with a carbon copy would have been a waste of everybody’s time (and probably career suicide given the short attention span of today’s audiences) so it was good to hear them mix it up on this satisfying follow-up. ‘Join The Dots’ was their ‘Going Blank Again’, a more considered affair unconcerned with repeating the infectious thrills of their debut and focussed on delivering material that draws you further in with each listen, hidden complexities and spellbinding detail rising to the surface as the tapestry unfolds. There’s no telling where they’ll head next but I for one will definitely be showing up to find out.
Bowie’s first one in a decade was a reminder of how unique he is before we’d even heard the bloody thing – no other artist has intrigued and challenged audiences for so long and losing Lou Reed later in the year only brought home how fortunate we are that he’s still around to maintain his legacy. In an era of seemingly endless revivals and reformations ‘The Next Day’ sounded surprisingly current, Bowie having transcended his previous career phases entirely to seemingly beam in a new manifesto from deepest space, pulling the fabric of time back around to act as the voiceover to his very own life retrospective. Comebacks are ten a penny these days but this was one that felt perfectly timed and expertly crafted.
These boys were at the front of the pack of British indie’s search for its next great white hope in 2013, rocketing their way to front page of the NME on the back of some infectious standalone releases and this gorgeous debut from back in March. ‘In Love’ is as direct as its title suggests, homing in on the same sunshine indie that lit up the debuts from Tribes and The Vaccines and fusing it with a hearty dose of psychedelic bombast to produce one of the year’s most optimistic bloodrushes – the fickle state of today’s industry may see them dumped by this time next year but for the time being Peace’s charms are the brightest in the business.
The fuckers' babbling electronic escapades were the height of fashion back in the late noughties but after a four year lull I was wondering if they'd still have enough pep to hold people's attention. Thankfully I was proven wrong - 'Slow Focus' combined the sky-surfing loopfest of 'Tarot Sport' with the air of sonic mischief running through their 2008 debut for a deeper, more echoic sound resonating from lower sub levels of the imagination. Playing at the world's biggest sporting event might have prompted other acts to tone it down a bit but Fuck Buttons proved unshakable in their quest to delight and distress in equal measures with this new addition to their already impressive back catalogue.
Justin Broadrick never fails to enthral me with each release but this one was particularly special, a reflective affair that chronicles the emotional curves and slides brought about by the birth of his first child. It’d be far too easy to gag in disbelief that the same dude who created ‘Streetcleaner’ and ‘Slavestate’ could come up with something this intricate but in truth it makes total sense – the guy has always worn his heart on his sleeve and striven to lay down his raw emotions on tape with heartrending precision and the industrial rage of his earlier work has simmered with age into a wiser and contemplative form still bristling with intense feeling but calmer in his expression of it. Truly stunning stuff, again.
If people actually bought new guitar music these days then these dudes would have blown up like The Strokes did ten years ago by now – last year’s ‘Light Up Gold’ album was packed out with anthemic indie guitar tunes and this stopgap EP kept the buzz going with more toe-tapping tunage and a few nods to leftfield influences like Beck and Television. If they can keep this up then it’ll take some sort of global conspiracy to stop Parquet Courts trampling all over 2014 until you’re utterly sick of them – with that in mind let’s make the most of it whilst they remain a Brooklyn hipster secret playing small venues and banging out stone cold quality every time they turn on their amplifiers.
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