Music And WTF No Review Today Too

Yeah, it's a bummer. But there's hope yet.

There's some great music I've had under review for a while now. Here's a head's up and a few MP3s for y'all to check out.



Pentagram are homeboys, and their new record is, though not as consistent as their previous efforts, a good 'evolution' of their sound. The new Blonde Redhead record is surprisingly catchy. 23, the title track, is terribly persistent and forces me to hit repeat over and over. This is my first spin of The John Butler Trio however. Don't EVER think of them as Australia's Big & Rich. They're lyrically efficient with an infectious reggae-country mix. Odawas have been making the blog waves pretty regularly over the last few weeks. Their new record Raven And The White Night is as good the reading it's been getting.

Download: Pentagram - Today [MP3]
Download: Blonde Redhead - 23 [MP3]
Download: The John Butler Trio - Better Than [MP3]
Download: Odawas - The Maddening of Raven [MP3]

Delays And Not The Band Of The Same Name

Sorry for the sparse (okay, none) updates over the last few days. One would never have guessed that graduation would be so bad for music. Regardless, the reviews and madness shall be soon faster than you can say "The new Fountains of Wayne album is killer".

And to make up for the mess that delays (no, not the band) have caused, here's a soppy-poppy song that I love from one of my favouritest bands of all time. Check out their album The Official Fiction, which, though not their best, is pretty darn good.

Download: Something For Kate - Max Planck [MP3]

Weekend List Fun!

Here's a list of recommended albums for the weekend. It has absolutely no academic value but does make for an interesting read once you discard the fact that the last Something For Kate album was released in 2006. *sob*

At number 5 we have...
5. Low - Drums And Guns
Slowcore at its best. A full review is expected once I get over Sandinista.
Download: Low - Sandinista [MP3]

4. Peter Bjorn And John - Writer's Block
"We don't care about the young folks, talkin' 'bout the young style..." Wee! Coffee time. Review downstairs.
Download: Peter Bjorn And John - Young Folks [MP3]

3. Calla - Strength In Numbers
Moody rock, just depressing enough get you off your computer and take a walk. Review.
Download: Calla - Bronson [MP3]

2. Maximo Park - Our Earthly Pleasures
Brit art-Rock is back, and jumpy as ever.
Download: Maximo Park - Our Velocity [MP3]

And the winner is...
1. Andrew Bird - Armchair Apocrypha
Brilliant album, and just so very, very weekend. Review in a bit.
Download: Andrew Bird - Imitosis [MP3]

Peter Bjorn And John And Victoria And Pitchfork

And on today's show we have...

Writer's Block

Peter Bjorn And John

The progression of our beloved genre has been pockmarked with events and music that, to a large extent, has been the creation of dynamic imaginations, often fragile sensibilities and Death Cab For Cutie. But what happens when the lexicon that they strive so hard to create, suddenly faces a brooding reality where extremes of opinion decide whether something is worth trying or not? Writer's block?

Peter Moren, Bjorn Yttling and John Eriksson bring us an LP that sees them exploring new soundscapes, experimenting with already diverse styles and delivering a very, very classy record. The trio from Stockholm break the notions of genre definition with a confident album that is indie-everything and has seen a lot of mainstream success as well. It's funny because all through the record, you don't really care to 'fit' it in.

With Writer's Block, the trio have broken new ground for themselves. Lighter, more subtle arrangements replace the 'bigger' sound, and yet seem to deliver just as much. It's not as much stripped-down as it is a band showing themselves in a yellow light, exposing what they are with such poise, it's hard to look at them with the disapproving eyes we're so ready to adopt. The album, therefore, finds its place in an adroit corner where, after one listen, you don't really expect it to excite or surprise, but more enjoy a beautiful piece of music.

Writer's Block is about love; two lovers finding themselves overwrought with a precise feeling of, well, love. Of course, this usually leads to heavy cheese-iness, and sometimes in this album, you will find the requisite amount of romantic yarn. "I'm all about you, you're all about me, we're all about each other" croons Moren in Paris 2004. Yes, it's cheesy, but their description of two lovers' daily activity could not have been phrased without as mushy a chorus as this.

The stand-out is definitely the superbly catchy Young Folks, a song that deserves all the hype it has got and still gets. Andrew Bird's whistle has a run for its money with the intro, and the ensuing, almost Beatles-esque, pop fantasy is a fascinating conversation between Moren and Victoria Bergsman (The Concretes). Bergsman's part is inspiring enough to pick up the entire Concretes catalogue (two albums and a bunch of singles).

The album follows the lovers through the good times, and thankfully, the bad. Both sides of the story are engaging and they steer clear of being banal by doing the one thing a lot artists are quickest to forsake - be honest. You can hear it in the lyrics and the simple arrangements that make this album what it is. The guitars are bluesy and not 'obstructive', in the sense that they aren't choppy or angular. Eriksson's percussion is flawless except on The Chills where his rolls and the shh-shh-shh just don't complement each other. It's a mistake rarely made, and easily forgiven.

There's enough in this album to have your attention through the 45 or so minutes. From the Christmassy rhythm of Roll The Credits to the infectious drumming on the album opener Objects Of My Affection. The only place where the trend is broken is on the surprisingly mundane Amsterdam, a song that seems terribly out of place in what is very frankly, one of the most consistent records of the last two years.

The album ends with the 'happily melancholic' Poor Cow. A fitting way to end an enchanting record. Triumphantly Moren proclaims "It always ends" and though the love story has, as he tells us, reached its final breath, one can't wait for the next time it starts. Till then, hit 'Repeat'.

Ooh Ratings: 88/100

Download: Peter Bjorn And John - Young Folks [MP3]

Sic Transit Gloria And Fading Glory

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

He keeps his hands low.
He doesn't wanna blow it.
He's wet from head to toe and
His eyes give her the up and the down.

- Sic Transit Gloria... Glory Fades, Brand New

He'd slept with many girls before. This would be his final conquest. The last one that would mean the end of everything. Mostly. And she didn't look too hard. She would be his. And he would love her. Till they woke up.

It's like standing at the same place shuffling your feet a little and bobbing your head to an imaginargy beat. That's real. So what if people look, stare and laugh like they're superior somehow because they wear clean underpants and comb their hair the right way. I'll keep to myself, thank you very much. Wait till I get my friend though.

She didn't look like she was enjoying the music. And she didn't look alone. But that hadn't mattered twice, maybe three times before. They always looked better when they were with someone else. He walks up to her, the unmistakable swagger of someone who knows what to do and what to say. She glances at him once over the shoulder of someone who really doesn't matter. He looks at her and smiles. He knows she will smile back. She does.

And then it's like sliding down one of those twisty water slides knowing you don't know to swim, so hopefully when you hit the water, it won't be too deep. The edges of the tin of riffs opened up cuts with its jagged little metal serration. Don't stop running.

They don't talk much. But whatever he says, he looks into her eyes. She doesn't need to believe him. As long as she hears. As long as she listens. At the back of his mind is the thought that after this, there would be no more. So he needed to enjoy this. The noise of everything else was easily drowned by the silence of her saying nothing at all, but giving in. And he loved it.

We're shuffling our feet once again.
up the stairs, the station where, the act becomes, the art of growing up
The water slide is fast, windy and kicks the air out of you. And just when you think you can breathe in, you're in the water.

She didn't offer much resistance. Which was a pity because he'd hoped for a fight. It wasn't his best, but his work was done. You can never grow old if you know never to stop. And he had to grow old.

Download: Brand New - Sic Transit Gloria... Glory Fades [WMA]

Love Of Diagrams And What?

And on today's show we have...

Mosaic
Love Of Diagrams

Love Of Diagrams are an indie-post-punk-no-wave (phew!) band from Melbourne. Absurd genre classifications aside, they signed on Matador last year and Mosaic, their sophomore effort, was released on the same. "Good going Australia!" you say? Unfortunately, there's very little substance here worth your praise, and for that matter, your time.

The trio, led by the particularly stingy Monika Fikerle, find their feet in an angular and choppy riff driven Rock that has the possibility of being unique but sadly ends up sounding like a bargain bin imitation. Like an Electrelane on a Sonic Youth hangover, Love of Diagrams do exactly what one would expect of an angular, bass heavy act. It's sad given the fact that there are times on this record where you can see them taking an unexpected turn, but like a smarting slap on the face by some moderately hot chick you flirted with at a bar, they spill the beer and you're left wondering what all the fuss was about in the first place.

Fikerle and her band have a reasonably simple problem on their hands. On the first listen itself it is obvious that these guys (two chicks and one guy to be precise) are pretty handy at what they do, individually. But somewhere between putting them together and producing it in studio, something has definitely gone amiss. There's no collective spark that one expects from a 'band', effectively defeating the purpose of their individual faculties.

The album bobbles around in this effervescent, disjointed atmosphere and ever so often you feel like shouting "Just let go already!". Form And Function, the album opener, crashes around for a while, promising much with furious downstrokes, muting and Sonic Youth styled riffs. But Fikerle's delivery leaves much to be desired and kills what someone like Karen O would've taken to another level altogether. Now don't get me wrong, this 'purposive nonchalance' that they try to display is though not something entirely new, it does have potential if executed with whatever little personality it can afford. At the end of the album, on the tracks All The Time and Trouble, Fikerle does throw us a line. But just as soon as they finish, takes it back faster than you could say "What, there's still two songs to go?!"

There's also much work to be done in the lyrics department. Most often, songs just go by with one or two lines being repeated over and over. "Things look better at a 100%" and variations of the same, coupled with a few ahas is all that the song At 100% concedes. The song Confrontation is perhaps their most experimental and also the most refreshing. With a change of pace here and there they manage to spice up the sound, something they should have done with greater regularity on Mosaic.

There are attempts to be U2-like stadium with strong verses and enough ohos and woahs to ensure a decent live response. The choppy Single Cable is a perfect example of Fikerle trying her best to use all her writing acumen to support a strong percussion and bass line. But she just can't seem to get out of her suppressed rut and ends up sounding like Dolores 'O Riordan on anti-depressants. She does show some spark on the terribly short Double, and whatever she does in the minute-fifty of that one song overshadows everything she's tried on the rest of the record, combined.

The lethargy that Love Of Diagrams do little to concede is their downfall. Mosaic ends up being a collection of what-could-have-beens driving home a very strong get-your-act-together message to the Aussie trio. "What was I supposed to do?" cries Fikerle on the flaky album closer. Try.

Ooh Ratings!: 56/100

Download: Love Of Diagrams - The Pyramid [MP3]

Arctic Monkeys And My Favourite Worst Nightmare

And on today's show we have...

Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not
Arctic Monkeys

"Hey, have you heard the new Arctic Monkeys record?"

"No, why?"

"Don't. 'Cos nothing could beat the old one."

With only a few days to go before Favourite Worst Nightmare gets into the hands of millions of drooling teenagers and a few more before it gets onto store shelves, it's a good time to take a look back at what was in fact, the Godzilla of record releases last year. Barry Gibb once said, and this was sometime at the height of his band's career, "We're so overground, we're underground." From nobody to number one in six months gives the Arctic Monkeys every right to be the over/underground darlings that everyone and Pitchfork have an opinion about.

"Don't believe the hype" says the piddly little boy that Alex Turner is, before his band launches into a tribute to Lurch... er, Peter Crouch on television. With an average age of what seems like 15 and a few months, the Monkeys have managed to do something very few (and we're talking single digits here) bands in the history of this terribly judgmental world of Rock music that we live in have - be cool. Evan Eisenberg talks about the cool performer in the context of the observer and the observed. The cool performer, rather than be observed, becomes the observer and it is in this observation that he mocks the listener, who fumbles hesitantly at the meaning or understanding of the performance. While Eisenberg was picky in who he ascribed this particular trait to (John Lennon, Miles Davis), our man (boy) Alex Turner and his Sheffield quartet deliver the goods in the right department.

Their observations aren't particularly astute and neither is their delivery absolutely unique. In fact, it is possibly more derived and 'put-together' than most releases we got last year. But it is exactly this mish-mash of post-Rock punk mannerism that has them standing out. Where Franz Ferdinand are art and The Clash are punk, the Monkeys are somewhere in between. It's ironical given that whatever people say they are is either one extreme or the other.

On the record itself they're catchy as hell from the word go. Witty, often cynical and persistently 'detailed' they execute start/stop hooks and melodies with all the experience of long time players. There's nothing special about Turner's sing-song way. But he is efficient. His economy lends perfectly to the extravagance of Helders drumming and (the 'late') Nicholson's reasonably expressive bass. Tracks like You Probably Couldn't See... are examples of just how effectively one can execute a 7/10 melody just by throwing in variations of rhythm and bass. It's particularly effective given the production of this record which is relatively raw and does well to complement the teenage crass.

They tell the standard working class family, teenage male tales. Bouncers, bars, girls, it's all been done before but not with such confidence and attitude. It's clear in the distorted chops of Dancing Shoes and the opening riff of I Bet You Look Good... What they lack in style they more than make up for in spunk. Not the personality of The Strokes or the exuberance dance-Rock feel of Franz, but a certain romance with something so naively honest, it's no surprise it's often called fake.

The words and music pour out with this genuine panache and pulls the album out of what would otherwise have been well, just above average. Oh come on, we all know that the internet is doing great things for music and The White Stripes, but credit is due here for much more than just the puffery. "Anticipation has a habit to set you up..." says Turner, and he couldn't be more right. The comparisons and vaguely connected allusions to the hordes of other bands are a given, and though it is almost impossible not to measure, listen to these boys for the merit we forgot to give them as soon as NME's October 2005 cover screamed "What the world's been waiting for."

It's difficult, understandably. But when you're holding on to this time bomb that's exploded right from the time the drums crash in on The View From The Afternoon, for a bang that lasts 40 minutes, there is a realisation of substance. Sure, they've screwed up and exaggerated on more than one occasion. Perhaps Vampires..., their run-in with fame, is a little too boy-ish and didn't quite need the extended drum solo. Their youthful brashness betrays them on Still Take You Home as well, but it's a wonderful execution that extricates them from what could have been a tricky situation. Eventually, they seal the deal with flamboyant pop madness as the last three songs on the record give the album as fitting an end as it could deserve.

"Americans want grungy people, stabbing themselves in the head on stage. They get a bright bunch like us, with deodorant on, they don't get it. I'm 24 years old, I've got a load of money, what am I gonna do, sit at home and twiddle me thumbs? No. I'm gonna go out and 'ave it." Liam Gallagher's typical unabashed observation reveals a dirty truth. Where Oasis were Rock 'n Roll stars in their own right, Arctic Monkeys crash, boom, bang onto a scene that's craving for something that's bigger than anything magazines, blogs, media and politicians can throw up. And with every second band being touted the 'next big thing', these boys stamp their claim on 'now'.

Ooh Ratings!: 93/100

Download: Arctic Monkeys - Still Take You Home [MP3]

Stunt Show And Circus

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

How will you get yourself
Out of this one
You stand by watching
And this is how
Your life is turning out

- Stunt Show, Something for Kate

She picks up the pieces of the broken mirror hoping she would cut herself by mistake. Tiny shards of glass on the cold floor seemed much warmer than the life she wished to flow out of her hands. He didn't care about either. She knew he would do something like this. He always did. And that was the worst. The look in his eyes, saying miles more than any words that came out of his pressed lips. The curses she could take, the violence she couldn't.

Like two sides of a coin that's spinning in the air waiting for a decision. It's more and more words of a story that isn't going anywhere. But it's told well. His voice is mature, lazy and sober. Like last night was good. Like there's the nothingness of a brand new day to sleep through waiting for another good night.

He knew it would happen, again. She had slept with him, again. She didn't have to show it for him to know. Why couldn't she just leave him? Make things easier for the both of them. Why is life so complicated? It was better before when he didn't know. And he didn't want to leave her. So he got angry. And when he got angry, she usually got hurt.

They play as if they know very few people will listen. The guitars are here, the voice is there. The beat stops, starts, trots along and plays itself into a rhythm not defined by time, person or place. Measured but indifferent. Deliberate but uncaring. Crafty but finally slipping away into something of a chorus in this lecture of hurt.

She didn't do it this time. All she did was talk to him. Why won't he see that? Why does it always mean what it was before? She's tired of explaining. But she can't take the pain. That's why she does what she does. In the inevitability of something that's bound to happen, he opens his mouth. To scream again.

It's a slow dance into oblivion. A conversation that isn't meant to get over. The chorus calls out to the waiters holding glasses of wine for the buffet that's about to begin. At the line they wait for the signal. And then they go and feast like hungry guitar players waiting to haunt someone with a tune that's not really a tune but something that they can put words to. It doesn't make any sense. And that's the best part.

He can't take it anymore. The constant thinking, the perpetual noises in his head he doesn't want to hear. Outside seems inviting. *inside wants out* Who will you be tomorrow? What are you trainspotting? He moves to the door, turns the latch.

She cries. Again.

Download: Something For Kate - Stunt Show [MP3]

The Kooks And Pop Goes The Weasel

And on today's show we have...

Inside In/Inside Out
The Kooks

The Kooks have balls. Call it the brazenness of youth, or Brighton, there's no denying that Luke Pritchard (please, please refrain from Star Trek jokes) and his just out of jumpers band of merry men... boys, are a confident bunch. Inside In/Inside Out is more than just a debut album for The Kooks. It's the sign of big things to come from a band that has already sold over 1.5 million copies of a record that was released just over a year ago.

Frankly, the UK is just bursting at the seams with a wave of new, post-Britpop, not-Coldplay bands. The View, The Fratellis, The Horrors - all ascribing to an urban sensibility with the disclaimer of heavy accents, FOUR-chord riffs and enough innuendo for you to maintain your very own dictionary of metaphors and narratives. And where one band becomes 'cliche', another becomes 'revival'. It's a confusing scene that could do with a little shake-up once in a while. The Kooks manage to fulfill that seemingly light ask with a Supergrass-esque panache that one wouldn't necessarily expect from a band this young.

Where this south-England quartet manage to make a mark is the discerning ear with which they write their music. Acoustic entrances coupled with pre-13-Blur-ish melodies are, though somewhat derivative, surprisingly refreshing when Pritchard's enthusiastic swagger is added to the concoction. The album opener, Seaside, is a wonderful acoustic piece and influences the way the rest of the album is going to be heard in a way not many Track No.1's are able to. With Seaside The Kooks lay their cards flat on the table and deliver an loud announcement of intent that's confident and strong.

Pritchard doesn't have the stylish swagger of his counterparts and may be guilty of being a little conservative. It's pleasantly ironical given that the statement he intends to make is anything but. The only track where he really lets go is the terribly infectious If Only which is also the best song on this brisk dash of an album. Jackie Big Tits follows, and though the title may reflect an exaggerated juvenility, the track is one of the best on the record.

The band is not afraid to experiment. They liberally throw in reggae melodies to their pop-rock hooks, giving the band another facet of personality that is strangely unique. However, there is a lot that the band needs to give attention to as well. Though the direction they have taken is fairly exciting, their enthusiasm betrays them on occasions. Their biggest single Naive is a poor imitation of an Alex Band/Carlos Santana single and is plain pop with an unimaginative riff; absolutely no indication of what the band is about. The lyrics department could also do with a little help. Songs like the floaty Got No Love, though clearly well thought out in terms of their instrumental execution, leave much to be desired in terms of wordplay. These signs, though few and far between, promise better delivery on what will undoubtedly be a mature sophomore release.

Forgive The Kooks for whatever little misplaced exuberance they display. Every once in a while there stumbles a band that either knowingly, or blindly, swims against the current, and if just for that ladies and gentlemen, give The Kooks 40 minutes of your time.

Ooh Ratings!: 79.5/100

Download: The Kooks - Jackie Big Tits [MP3]

Madeleine Peyroux And Happy Place

And on today's show we have...

Half The Perfect World
Madeleine Peyroux

Pop-jazz as we know it is highly underestimated in its effect of changing the time of day. Perhaps the moodiest genre of music, it's not as much gripping as it is requesting you to listen and not just hear. And the biggest mistake you could make, is to keep it in the background. Now, it's a task, I know. But if Careless Love didn't convince you enough, Half The Perfect World will.

It's always Sunday afternoon when you're listening to Ms Peyroux. Her music is an eternal love affair with old black and white, romantic movies and Ella Fitzgerald. And as if it was 1952 again, she cruises merrily between sorrowful description and languid charm with abandon. The motion is effortless and the execution reflects it perfectly.

Once again with producer Larry Klien, she seems to find her feet easily and though at times the footing isn't strong, she saves herself from any indecisiveness with confidence and a flair that one wishes mainstream artists like Norah Jones had. The album starts with the surprisingly upbeat I'm Alright, and though the subject may suggest otherwise, it's the beautiful picture of a cheery melody with a soulful theme. Teasingly she throws us an organ here and a bluesy guitar piece there that does wonders to complement a voice that could convince Billy Holiday that she had a doppelganger. But where contemporary pop-jazz has simply become an excuse to copy, Peyroux shines on her own. Her cover of Joni Mitchell's River (with kd lang) sees her take a road oft traveled, but she steers clear of "just paying tribute" with a strong, confident vocal that needs no falsetto or frills to take the song to a wholly different place. And thankfully, makes up for the 'Jingle Bells' intro.

Taking pleasantly from artists like Leonard Cohen and Fred Neil, she flits gracefully from one song to another, creating a summer Sunday experience that's irreplaceable and at the same time, not too heavy. The instrumentation does well to support her adroit delivery. Light piano and clever play with bass and drums adds to the ambiance rather than just play walking stick. Tastefully thrown in are ukulele and Wurlitzer rhythms, completing what is now one of the best pieces of contemporary adult jazz that you'll find on CD racks.

She does go a little overboard with the infinitely done Everybody's Talking but that's easily forgiven, given that even here, she manages to remain reasonably fresh. The heartfelt Once In A While is possibly the best song on the Peyroux catalog, with its string-laden, Breakfast at Tiffany's admission of love gone wrong and hope in strength. Arguably her crowning achievement, her subtle allure paints an intricate picture that's hard to throw away, assuming that is that for some strange reason, you want to.

Eventually, you have to decide whether you're just looking for some 'evening entertainment' or something that has more meaning than the genre hastens to advertise. I'd recommend you curl up with a hot coffee and some time and enjoy what was, easily, one of the best records on 2006.

Ooh Ratings!: 90/100

Download: Madeleine Peyroux- I'm Alright [MP3]

PS. New template yo, mep!

Idlewild And Well, Mep

And on today's show we have...

Make Another World
Idlewild

Steve Lamacq must be kicking himself. Okay, maybe not. But I would. Every band goes through phases of progression that determines the direction their music will take. For Idlewild, the road most traveled was unfortunately, not the way to go. Especially since they seem to have fallen off a cliff, taking most of their cred with them, and leaving only a smattering of hope for a recovery on a path that few bands have successfully managed to extricate themselves from.

Roddy Woomble has clearly run out of ideas. He even sounds 'same'. On the opening track of Make Another World, In Competition For The Worst Time, you could bet it was Paul Banks (Interpol) handling the microphone. On the rest of the album he shifts from Gary Lightbody to Michael Stipe (somebody who has clearly played a major influence in this release) to a male Dolores O'Riordan without much difficulty and charisma.

Idlewild have had a history of radio friendly Alt-pop releases that have seen the band retain a niche in Scotland and the rest of the world. But where they managed to set themselves a crow left apart on previous outings, on their new album they seem to have found themselves sitting in the shadow of a big sign that says, in bright bold lettering, "R.E.M. weds Snow Patrol". It's a sad situation Idlewild finds themselves in, and unfortunately, they seem to be happy digging deeper in this relentlessly hopeless situation.

Musically, the album follows the traditional songwriting formula - verse, verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus, chorus. Each and every song follows this to the extent that you can time the leads without even listening to them. Once again, the band depends on Rod Jones' guitar prowess to drive the songs a step higher, but even Jones seems tired and unimaginative ripping off hooks from The Cranberries and Snow Patrol, just adding a little distortion that does nothing more than make the songs sound a little 'heavier' and lot cliche. Everything (As It Moves) is Idlewild's attempt at creating a bigger, stadium sound, but they end up sounding like a very, very juvenile U2.

In the lyrics department we see further chaos. The choruses simply repeat single lines and the verses are backed with cheesy, 80s pop oohs and aahs. "The truth is true no matter how you act". Seriously Roddy, get a thesaurus and read some books. It's disappointing to see a band, who were at one time looked at with the same eyes as Echo And The Bunnymen, now fall from such great heights (no, no Postal Service pun here).

On the faint bright side, there are tracks like Make Another World and Once In Your Life that don't sound entirely derived, and leave hope for a better next album. But till then, it's the entire pre-MAW, Idlewild catalog that you should keep on loop.

Ooh Ratings!: 43/100

Download: Idlewild - Finished It Remains [MP3]

Third Eye Blind And Everything

And on today's (delayed) show we have...

Third Eye Blind
Third Eye Blind

It was a lazy day in 2001 and all I wanted to do was to get out of my house and play basketball at the YMCA court. There's this theory I have about music and a personal context that explains its relationship with the listener. This was it. Just before we got on court, a friend of mine handed me a tape and told me to listen to the fourth song on it. It was a song called Jumper.

I didn't play any basketball that day.

If there was ever an album that truly grew on me through my 'formative years' in music, it was 3eb's eponymous debut. I was fat, not obese or horizontally challenged... fat. They say fat guys have all the personality, but I wanted the chicks. Of course, losing weight wasn't an option. Meh! If it was, the whole world would be thin. And where was a middle class, defense kid in Mumbai to go when he didn't have the friends or the money to do anything well, fun?

There's an interesting story about 3eb. In 1996, after barely recording a demo, they suddenly found themselves opening for Oasis. Apparently they were told that they should be careful and get off stage quick 'cos the crowd would throw stuff at them. As things went, they were invited for an encore, after Oasis had finished their set.

Third Eye Blind saw the pair of Kevin Cadogan and Stephan Jenkins at the pen, and this was probably the reason why this is 3eb's most successful release. Relationships, loneliness, sorrow, anger, love - the album effectively encapsulated everything I thought about, in static poetry.

Kicking off with the hook driven, almost anthemic chorus of Losing A Whole Year, Cadogan and Jenkins easily fly through verse and melody to create pop-Rock genius. Lyrically, this is the best that 3eb have ever done, and now that Cadogan's left the band, possibly will ever do. On a heavy guitar driven song like Narcolepsy, the band manages to string together meaning and melody in absolutely the most beautiful way. "I read dead Russian authors, volumes at a time, I write everything down except what's on my mind". Even the single Semi Charmed Life (yes, the "Doo doo doo" song that was the soundtrack of some Jackie Chan movie) is terribly precocious in terms of its meaning and more importantly, the meaning it is able to create.

The technique is pretty simple and is nothing new. Start/stop tunes with catchy choruses and strong hooks about sums up what musically this album is about. The post-grunge bandwagon was just about finding its feet at about the time this album was released, and with their professionalism, 3eb did manage to make a heavy mark.

The album is very guitar heavy, but Cadogan has ensured that none of the leads are out of place. The guitars complement Jenkins voice very well and the vocalist is able to jump from high-pitched shout to mellow ballad without much fuss. Even on Burning Man, possible the poorest song on the album, the bottle clinks and the heavy bass find equal place with reggae sensibility driving a song that just 'fits' well together.

At the close of the album we have three songs that summarise what Third Eye Blind were as a band, an what, had Cadogan not left, they may have remained. The Background, a song about a dead lover, floats on a simple melody and slowly builds into a downpour of fierce guitar and crashing drums. It's an execution that defines the way this album gets better with time. The song is followed by the acoustic entrance of Motorcycle Drive By which hastens into its fantastic buildup and subsequently its flawlessly abrupt collapse. The album closes with the enchanting God of Wine, following the same formula as its predecessors, only a little more consistently. Third Eye Blind is not an album that leaves you wanting more. Content is more the clincher.

There's not much you can hold against 3eb on this album. It starts excitingly enough, plateaus out nicely right in the middle, and ends on just the right note. Some songwriter once said that if he wrote the perfect album, it would be the soundtrack of his life. And though he clearly ripped off Dick Clark, he put forward a wonderful thought that 3eb executed impeccably.

Everyone's got their "go to" albums when things aren't going right or when well, everything else just sounds like crap. The sense of satisfaction or the feeling of relief it brings makes up for everything else that's missing or everything that's lost. "Music has no judgment, it won't judge you for the way you are". Times change and though the excess of weight has been replaced with an excess of music, this is one album that, for me, never gets old.

Ooh Ratings!: 97/100

Download: Third Eye Blind - Narcolepsy [MP3]

Superman And The Weekend

... in which I explain why the right music is. Everything.

You don't know what it's been like
Meeting someone like you
You don't know what it's been like
Meeting someone like you

- Superman, Stereophonics

The pilot announces that bad weather and a heavy aircraft are not essentially ideal flying conditions, and it is likely that the ride may be bumpy. Hah! Like it made any difference. The woman sitting to the right is sleeping, her head resting on your shoulder. Or did she pass out? Her breath smelled of one too many martinis and her hair smelled of something musky. It was tempting to stare down the cleavage of her hugging red top, but that would just spoil the moment. Heck. You did it anyway.

It's 'smooth'. Like they're not trying too hard. Like a good scotch sitting at the bottom of your glass mixing it with enough cubes of ice to keep you busy for a while. A nice strong bass makes itself found, like the lady in the red dress. It too has had too much to drink.

The ride has more ups than downs. You knew it was about time things got evened out. And it would be stupid if you didn't expect it because everything you did until the moment you boarded the flight was begging for a chance to get back at you. She could be talking in her sleep but the only voice you are listening to is the things the one was saying as you left her stranded and hanging while you did something and someone else.

He sounds like the Bee Gees after Octoberfest but it fits. With a lackadaisical drawl that reminds you of the time life was just about a half-full (empty?) bottle of stale beer and old peanuts. Interesting, just enough.

It seems unlikely that the flight will land safely. The roar of a deep blue thunder outside wakes her up. She looks at you with eyes that want to say more than can be told. Everyone has secrets... it's only the good ones we remember though. Windows look like they could smash in any moment; oxygen masks descend from the roof and you remember that play where the angels glide down from the sky and lift the slain ones. Or were they demons?

No. It's not going anywhere. It seems to want to leave or elevate, but somehow it's better this way. Spiralling downwards...

This is it. Neither you nor she have the masks on. You put your arm around her, the smell of her hair is soothing. The moments pass by as the Gods outside scream hate and hunger. They want you, and eventually, they'll have you. But till then, you'd rather listen to her speak.

Stream: Stereophonics - Superman

Stereophonics And Beer

And on today's show we have...

You Gotta Go There To Come Back
Stereophonics

At the end of Casablanca, Humphrey Bogart looks at a longing Ingrid Bergman and tells her that she'll realise that if she doesn't leave him for the other man, she'll regret it. "Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life." The scene encapsulated the romanticism of real life and cinema in only the most perfect and historic way possible. At the same time, it was possibly the biggest tear-jerker till ET had to, sadly, go away. Popular culture and fleeting emotions in a fast paced world. Stereophonics' fourth album sums it up perfectly.

With their first three albums, the Welsh trio established themselves as one of Britain's finest mainstream acts along the likes of Oasis, Radiohead and Blur. Of course, the aftermath of the Britpop era and the rise of acts like Coldplay and Franz Ferdinand saw a new threat emerging to the old guard - Rock obsolescence.

So what does Stereophonics go and do? Throw up an old school, out and out 70s Rock 'n Roll record of course. Right from the blistering opening riff of Help Me (She's Out Of Her Mind) to the brilliant ballad at the close Since I Told You It's Over the album reeks Zeppelin, late-The Who and tonnes of Guinness. The intention is absolutely clear on the opener. The riff is infectious and the song (nearly seven minutes long) is packed with bluesy leads and vocals that never tire.

Kelly Jones falsetto is unfailing and he manages to easily pull off tracks like You Stole My Money Honey and Jealousy that someone like a Liam G or a Damon A wouldn't be able to. Which is not to say that he's not as big a pompous jackass as the two earlier, but he's got the requisite talent to boot. However, at times, it's overdone and for casual listeners, multiple listens may lead to annoyance.

The 70s influence is blatently evident throughout the album with motown backing on tracks and flourishing acoustic to electric rhythms. The only departure from this mould is the heartfelt, Massive Attack meets Portishead I'm Alright. It's a loungy, laid-back four minuter that's a pleasantly surprising change from the earlier tracks.

In the strictest sense of the term, the album is heavier. Bad Monkey leads on tracks like High As The Cieling give the band a sound that they earlier would not have considered having, and in this case, that's a good thing. It lends to a sturdy live act with catchy choruses and silent moments.

If we do need to point fingers, we can at the extravagance. Miss You Now is a wonderful track that's spoiled with the frills - Wurlitzer, chorus, et al. There is a need to have a 'bigger' sound, but Kelly, not with more instruments. Fortunately it's a mistake seldom made on this record. The band has explored a road less traveled and come up with the goods.

What if Ilsa had stayed with the suave Rick? Would the fairytale have ended the way we all wanted it to? Stereophonics prove that maybe, it's a better idea to do the wrong thing once in a while. You Gotta is the picture of a band understanding that they know that regardless of what they do, it's going to pay off. And instead of playing it safe, the answer may lie in the risk not taken.

Ooh Ratings!: 87/100

Download: Stereophonics - Madame Helga [MP3]
Courtesy: I Am Fuel, You Are Friends

Ah, the weekend.

Calla And New Movies

And on today's show we have...

Strength In Numbers
Calla

Aurelio Valle must lead a very, very depressing life. How else can one explain Calla's terrific fixation with everything melancholy? On their latest record, Calla make more of an advertisement for depression induced suicide than any Sean Penn movie could ever.

For years now, the New York trio have dished out album after album of melodies that could only be the result of too much television and too less socialising. Humor aside, it's no laughing matter that their relevance and stature as a band has grown faster than the band's natural evolution. Valle and co. have proved that their existence as seminal indie mournful darlings is not merely a function of one word song titles like Sanctify.

But on Numbers we find the New York trio tiring. Where Collisions was more atmospheric, Numbers tends heavily towards detail. It's efforted to say the least, and the band has tried hard to build on what they achieved with Collisions. The rhythms and arrangements are, though not extraordinary, but well thought out, and almost cleverly executed. I say almost, because there are times when you wonder whether there is a reason for the riff to go on as long as it does or the vocal to be as distorted as it is. It's a dilemma Calla faces and one that doesn't seem to go away - how much is too little?

What Calla have introduced to their sound is this whole new-noir sound that very effectively complements their already perfected deep bass and rhythm. The album opener Sanctify could well have been the soundtrack of some James Bond meets Sin City flick, with Clive Owen in the lead role. It's a formula well executed on tracks like Sylvia's Song and the album closer Dancers in the Dust. It's very bass and effects driven but steers clear of being cliche and well, mainstream - something they failed to do on Collisions.

The album does have its 'up tempo' moments as well. Tracks like Bronson (with its Toto-ish melody in the background) and Malicious Manner take the beat up a notch and add a little variety to the experience. But it's the infinite sadness of the band's moody nature that really is the clincher. And this is best brought out in Stand Paralysed; a song that takes a while to start and finishes just when you expect another chorus. It's not really the sign of a band at its best, but more the reflection of a band doing what it does best, better.

Numbers does tend to be less 'accessible', and that's going to please old fans, but on some songs they've really extended that definition. The two minute instrumental Malo is an absolutely nothing song and serves as nothing more than an interlude to the second half of the album, and a poor one at that. Simone is another filler that spoils what would otherwise have been a very solid album.

"Only time will tell" repeats Valle at the end of the album. For Calla, who've been around for nearly a decade now, time does seem to be a good crystal ball. Eventually, as a listener, you're going to have to decide whether you're one for the distance, or just the single. I for one have found that with this record, the distance is far more worthwhile.

Ooh Ratings!: 80.5/100

Download: Calla - Bronson [MP3]

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club And RPM

And on today's show we have...

Take Them On, On Your Own
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club is like the Vin Diesel of band names. It's like Motorhead, only better. Of course, having the Marlon Brando connection is always a plus in the cool department. And apart from the machismo oozing nomenclature, they have the "I'm a showgazer who gives a fuck" look to boot. It's perfect, and just needs a little something in the music department to make the image permanent. Take Them On is just that.

If any piece of music reflected perfectly what BRMC is and should be, it's the opening riff to the monster, exhaust fume inhaled, Stop. There's always the fear with a band that's 'discovered' a good riff that they'll go on with it for far longer than necessary, but BRMC effectively evades this with the rhythm and drums crashing in at just the right moment.

Take The On is, in totality, a guitar heavy, riff laden, grungy-garage junkie of an album. BRMC effectively defined their sound on their self titled debut. And on this sophomore effort, they take this sound further. Case in point is In Like The Rose. After the rollercoaster of the first three songs, this is the 'slower' let up. It starts innocently enough with this cut-off riff that's followed by their distinctive gain heavy bass. And just when you're wondering whether this is it, they take it one step higher on the chorus. It's The Strokes meets Oasis in absolutely the best possible way.

Unfortunately, unlike it's predecessor, Take Them On isn't as consistent as it should be/could have been. It has some glaring low points that seem as though they were thrown in just so that the band could laugh at us for beginning to think that this was the album of the year (the year being 2003). Add to that, they've gone political. Sure, it's a year before Green Day, but it just doesn't work with BRMC. Songs like Generation ("I'm choosing sides, I'm keeping up with you and your invasion sides") and US Government ("We are the ones that keep you down, We are the ones that won the grounds") though good pieces of music (God can this band come up with good riffs!) just don't fit in with the BRMC scheme of things.

Fortunately, the band has also explored different ways to say what they want. Shade of Blue flings slow bass and a magnificent melody together to create a brilliant 'too much coffee' piece that highlights the middle of this album beautifully. Heart + Soul starts off with an opaque post-1967-Beatles-esque melody to launch into BRMC's own brew of psychedelia - which is basically riff-laden grunge, but who cares when you've got a good pump.

Never ones to let a good riff go by, Take Them On is BRMC's derision of everything and though it's been done before, you shouldn't mind doing it again with these LA boys.

Ooh Ratings!: 85/100

Stream: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - In Like The Rose [MP3]
Courtesy - Hate Something Beautiful

Kelly Jones And Love

And on today's show we have...

Only The Names Have Been Changed
Kelly Jones

It's a little known fact that Kelly Jones writes screenplays. Sure, he's definitely more renown for his work with Brit Alt band Stereophonics, but it's a wonderful insight into knowing his music. Early this year, Jones released a solo effort on V2 Records (also Stereophonics' label). The album was apparently recorded in 36 hours flat and features Jones with either just an electric, or backed by a minimalist string section.

Only The Names has 10 songs all titled with names of women. The album cover is plain black with text, a premonition to what's inside. At the outset, it's thoughtful. There's descriptions of circumstance, accusation and situation aplenty. It's like 10 short films put together with the same ambience to make a movie, all about women and relationships with them.

What defines Kelly Jones as an artist apart from his very distinctive voice that slides easily between raspy cries and pop loud, is his understanding and subsequent development of song. And this is perfectly brought out in this solo outing. Each of the songs tells a story and yet manages to be acoustic pop at its best.

Suzy is an unfailing opener about a lost love. It's a little cheesy particularly at the end when he cries "Bye, bye little Suzy" but it just 'fits' pleasantly with the lazy bluesy guitar. And that's basically the essence of this album. It's a short trip that gets over before you know it. Not exactly Sunday listening, but Friday evening on your own fits it well. Rosie tells the story of a children's nurse, and has some more instrumental elements in it, but luckily stays clear of overdoing it.

The best song on the album has to be the thoroughly depressing Jayne. It's not 'obviously' appealing, it grows on you and stays there. Jayne is your atypical "she left me" song but Jones' voice is so thoroughly hopeless (and I don't mean that in a bad way) it provides a moving visual to everything he says.

There are some places though where it is apparent that 36 hours may not have been enough. Songs like Violet and Jean leave you wishing there was some sort of percussion accompaniment. And the album closer Summer is just well, an obvious filler.

This is not one of those records that you'll have on loop all day. But every time you do revisit it, you'll be glad you did.

Ooh Ratings!: 83/100

Stream: Only The Names Have Been Changed [MySpace]

Chan Marshall And Life As We Know It

And on today's show we have...

You Are Free
Cat Power

It was late 2002 when a friend handed me this mixtape that had, apart from some Live and Better Than Ezra, this version of Oasis' Wonderwall by some woman. Now don't go "blasphemous!" on me, I didn't know better at the time. This acoustic recording, though of bootleg quality, made the Oasis hit seem thoroughly uplifting in a "smoking kills you, but so does gun running in Ethiopia" sort of way. It was like a Wonderwall reprise, only, on tonnes of Valium. Beautiful.

Under the moniker Cat Power, Chan Marshall has successfully managed to do something very few artists can claim to have done - stayed true. It sounds terribly cliche but Dear Sir could well have been her latest record. There has been the obvious progression as an artist - the slightly 'bigger' sound, the collaborations and all the frills that come with being one of the most popular indie rock ladies. But inherently, she's still the same woman who sang "Keep your guns home, help keep your momma safe". It's the reflection of someone who hasn't really given a fuck about trends, distortion and Fall Out Boy.

Released at the beginning of 2003, You Are Free made a louder statement about the state of music than anything could that year. It was simple, it didn't try too hard, it didn't have an album title with allthewordssmooshedtogether. With Dave Grohl on drums and Eddie Vedder backing on two songs, it was going to be good for most people regardless of what the songs were like. And as expected, it delivered there too.

Right from the lazy piano on I Don't Blame You to it suddenly growling on He War, she says everything Ani DiFranco would want to say and flings it at you with an almost Liz Phair-ish air of well, bluntness.

I Don't Blame You is a song for Kurt Cobain. She looks at him in disdain but finally understands with the title of the song. It's an enchanting start to an album that really is just that. Like at the end of the album when she sings "We can all be free" when the song is called Maybe Not. It's the mark of an artist at the peak of her skill when all she has to do is play four notes on a piano and sing a song that is unfailingly truthful and terribly real.

She can just as easily "punk up" her sound as she can mellow it down. Speak For Me and He War are shining examples of just how much range this lady has, and how reluctant anyone can be to press 'Next'.

The Greatest released in autumn 2006 was Marshall's predictably brilliant follow up to You Are Free. It was almost everything Cat Power, as its predecessor, but it saw the indie darling tiring. You Are Free saw her at her best.

Ooh Ratings!: 90/100

Download: Cat Power - Interview + Assorted Tracks (Podcast from AOL's The Interface) [MP3]

The Horrors And It

And on today's show we have...

Strange House
The Horrors

I really, really want Joshua Von Grimm's (Joshua Hayward) guitar effects processor. I don't know whether it's a result of his B.Sc. in Physics from University College London or watching infinite repeats of the Addams Family that he came to making his own box, but for The Horrors breed of what I like to call Frankenstein music it's perfect.

Which is not to say that Strange House is perfect. In fact, it barely makes the cut.

Faris Rotter (Faris Badwan) is your quintessential new garage punk vocalist. He's got the whole "look I can do The Killers AND The Strokes" thing going for him and it wouldn't be all bad, if he didn't end up sounding like a drunken bum trying to read from a teleprompter on most songs. Pugsley and Wednesday are not going to be happy.

Here's what The Horrors have got going for them - the novelty. They're a little different, and have some decent instrumentation. I'm assuming they'll have their live act sorted out, and the songs themselves lend to a reasonable amount of creativity when it comes to a show. Songs like Count In Fives and Draw Japan are like watching Young Frankenstein on fast forward, under influence. Nothing spectacular, but decent enough to ensure two, maybe three listens.

Where The Horrors find themselves screwed are, ironically, that they're just a novelty. And not a very intriguing novelty at that. Take the instrumental Gil Sleeping for example. There's absolutely nothing that stands out about the track except Von Grimm's... okay, that sounded lame... Hayward's guitars, which too, just play to a rhythm. It's like they just removed the vocal track from the final recording. They've just not been creative enough to explore. Most of the songs begin to sound the same after a while and you begin wondering whether you really like the organ anyways (wow, I'm on fire today).

It's a fundamental dilemma The Horrors face, and essentially, a standpoint can only be made by how the band see themselves and where they intend to be. Unfortunately for them, it currently doesn't seem them going too far.

Frankly, the whole big organ sound was much better on Cursive's The Ugly Organ. The Horrors have managed to throw in some typical new-indie-Brit wordplay and like most of the NME's big things, don't really have much substance other than a few decent hooks and some uppity beats.

Ooh Ratings!: 58/100

Stream: The Horrors (MySpace)

Damien Rice And Lisa Hannigan

And on today's show we have...

Live From The Union Chapel
Damien Rice

I don't know why, as an artist title, the name of the Damien Rice crew and band per se is just 'Damien Rice'. Okay so he writes the songs, but seriously, it's Lisa Hannigan who has the class as a singer. That is not to say that Rice himself is a poor vocalist. As an Irish troubadour and perhaps the vanguard of the now mainstream folk 'scene' he's quite qualified as a singer. But somewhere in the middle of Live From The Union Chapel (at the song Then Go to be precise) you realise that there is a definite problem in the balance of power.

As the name suggests, this EP was recorded at London's Union Chapel in what seems to be a pretty intimate setting. You can picture a small room, without too many windows and just about a hundred people seated comfortably in lounge chairs. Rice and Hannigan take the stage side by side backed by a string section that includes a few violinists and one lady on the big bass. For a live recording, the conditions are just about perfect.

Delicate starts off just as it does on O. The acoustic guitar leads Rice's voice into the lyrics and Hannigan backs him brilliantly. The case is the same throughout the EP. The crowd pleasers are all there - The Blower's Daughter, Volcano and Amie. It's all pre-9 material. But really, that's not what makes this EP stand out.

The performance fades in and out of tracks like something has been left out, or the applause has been added. It could well be a studio recording, if not for the arrangements.

Eventually, we get to Then Go which is Hannigan by herself with the string section. At first, she sounds almost child-like, the lows being a problem, not visibly, but you know she's avoiding completing the lines. But she doesn't falter, and builds slowly into the first chorus, stretching the words just a little bit, like she's playing with the audience. She's fighting with herself to let it out, but she knows she has to wait. And in the second chorus, backed by Rice, she lets it out. And it's absolutely beautiful. If you needed a reason for getting this EP, this one song would be it.

Hannigan's also solo on Be My Husband and the brilliant rendition of Silent Night ("I just found some hate for you, just for show. You found some love for me, thinking I'd go). She leaves you wanting more of her, and you know three songs is just not enough.

Oh, Damien Rice is decent.

Lisa Hannigan will be out with her own LP sometime this year. I highly recommend you get it.

Ooh Ratings!: 75/100

Download: Damien Rice - Delicate (MP3 Sampler)

Mirah And Being Far Away

And on today's show we have...

You Think It's Like This
But Really It's Like This
Mirah

It's raining outside. Not the whiny pitter-patter rain, but big blobs of water that fall a little heavy. The big green grass field you can see outside the window's now a decent shade of olive. And right in the middle is a girl. She couldn't be more than twenty five, and doesn't look too concerned that she's in the middle of an olive green field with big blob rain. She's sitting on an old plastic chair with an acoustic guitar that's a size too big. It's a pleasant picture, and though she's singing to no one in particular, you can hear it loud and clear.

Mirah's is one of those folksy singers you watch in the background of any movie on bluegrass or well, music in general. You Think is her sophomore effort that was released in mid-2000. This was four years before she started touring with an actual band.

She's simple, measured and very precise. She sings about relationships and how everything's so frail and how you don't really need to sleep with someone to be their friend forever. Thematically, it's not very different from what you'd get from say Tori Amos, but that's not what you're listening for. This record preceded Advisory Committee in which our little Jewish girl suddenly went indie-folk-punk, and though she was still the same, You Think was really the record with which Mirah came of age.

I can't say I've heard many better female indie singer/songwriters than her. It's the sort of naive innocence with which she makes the most hard to deal with, and mundane issues seem so blunt and well, stupid. It's like she's laughing at us for taking ourselves too seriously, but then, she's actually laughing with us. It's all relationship-py mold in the end, but at least it's not boring. She experiments plenty, and it doesn't seem out of place that she goes from simple folk (Archipelago) to light jazz (Words Cannot Describe). She could be caught for being a little casual, but you'd forgive her as easily as you'd hit repeat when the record ended.

It's lo-fi recording at its very best. Like the plucky acoustic on the opener Million Miles - it doesn't betray any false sense of despair as do the lyrics. Mirah was my Laura Veirs of 2006, and both ladies will be out with new records this year, which leads me to believe that the monsoon's going to be fun.

In Jewish, her name means "good day", and that's a promise that her music keeps.

Ooh Ratings!: 85/100

Download: Mirah - Sweepstakes Prize

Phoenix And Not Air

And on today's show we have...

It's Never Been Like That
Phoenix

Phoenix are a French alt-indie band. Phoenix are not Air. Phoenix are not Daft Punk. They're way cooler.

Phoenix are
Thomas Mars (vocals)
Deck D'Arcy (bass)
Laurent Brancowitz (guitars)
Christian Mazzalai (drums)

Given their success with their single Too Young (featured on Shallow Hal and Lost In Translation) and also subsequently the success of the 'other' big French indie act, the pressure on Phoenix to deliver the goods with INBLT was high. The record was apparently recorded by the Versailles foursome at a studio in East Germany. The distance from home has, fortunately for them, paid off.

Mars is careful. The album's not loud. It doesn't beg or shout for your attention. It's brilliant spring listening at its best. The melodies are contemporary and not though it's obvious that Phoenix has tried to loosen up, they're still as intricate as ever. The levels are just right, and there's absolutely not a single wasted note, chord or lyric. It's this amazing economy with music that has Phoenix at its very best. You can just picture them playing for the lazy, beach boy hipsters on a cool, sunny afternoon at the beach.

The pictures are peachy, and it has to do, in part with the fact that Phoenix are a 'happy' band. Even on the seemingly melancholic One Time Too Many where Mars talks about difficult love, they're still bouncing around on a floaty bubble of precocious pop. There's no striking hooks, riffs or anthemic choruses, but enough rhythm, meaning and simplicity to make up for any lack of excitement.

Long Distance Call, the first single of the LP, is a Being John Malkovich song that carries it's weight through the album, but thankfully, is not obviously repetitive. It's the little things that Phoenix has, expectedly, got right. Like the tremolo on the chorus of the single that just takes it one step above whatever it would've been like had it not been there at all. Then there's the thumping bass on Courtesy Laughs that is wonderfully complemented with the rhythm. It's hard to find an error on this record apart from the fact that at about 40 minutes with just 10 tracks, it's too short.

"You know your French well" says Mars on the album opener Napolean Says, complementing your choice on picking up a good record, when in fact, you should complement him on making it.

Ooh Ratings!: 90/100

Watch: Phoenix - Long Distance Call