When king of the mods ™ Graham Coxon finally managed a good album with 2004’s ‘Happiness in magazines’; his long time fans were vindicated. He stopped the directionless acoustic noodlings and made an album worthy of comparisons with one of Blurs finest- ‘Modern life is rubbish’, the awards came flying in and a new-found commerciality beckoned.

This 6th solo album is more of the same but in this case that isn’t a bad thing . Getting off to a storming start with the uplifting single ‘Standing on my own again’ evoking images of a scene from Teachers or a program of that ilk with youngsters doing youngster things, the intentions are good. ‘Don’t let your man know’ is equally as urgent and poppy and the Pixiesque ‘Just a state of mind’ is as near as Blur’s 1997 self titled album Grahams solo stuff has got to.

Although the punky tracks work well, it’s the introverted acoustic ones which exceed expectation; ‘See another day’ is great anthemic pop with Graham giving up one of his finest vocal performances (those singing lessons worked a treat!). ‘Don’t believe anything I say’ is easily the sweetest moment on the album and ‘You and I’ is the Beatles played by a garage rock band.

Of course there’s the odd track which deserves an automatic fast-forward, ‘I don’t wanna go out’ is no brainer punk rot. ‘I can’t look at your skin’ is Stranglers punk as opposed to the Pistols and ‘Gimme some love’ wishes it sounded like The Sonics rather than Herman and the Hermits.

With the two main men of Blur pushing in such different directions a reunion becomes even more impossible and if they both continue to make superior pop albeit in different flavours, the impressive prospect of them making their music without a mention of their previous band becomes a bigger reality, who’d have thought?! 8/10

Chris Todd

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1.Casino - Runnin on back to you
2.Depeche Mode - Suffer Well
3.Graham Coxon -  Don’t believe anything I say
4.Prince - Black Sweat
5.Morrissey - The Father who must be killed
6.The Infadels - Girl that speaks no words
7.Coldplay - Talk (Thin white duke rmx)
8.Mark Ronson - Just (Radiohead cover)
9.The Gossip - Standing in the way of control
10.The Pixies - Tame (Mcsleazy remix)

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Stranger things than a Fall tune being used to advertise cars are happening tonight, stranger than finally being at a gig where everyone is older than you - onstage are an instrumental band called Nought supporting The Fall who proceed in playing form free cacophony in the style of yer Mogwai’s or Sonic Youth. There are no choruses and for the main, no actual direction but somehow it works, it could be down to the sonic trickery of the guitarist or maybe just the fact that you’re hearing this in Croydon, the arse end of London.

Croydon council in the late 90’s tried to get film companies who couldn’t afford to do shots for their films in New York to come to Croydon whose "impressive" towering skyline could be twinned with the gargantuan ones of those in Manhattan. This is of course absolute rot; they wouldn’t even pass for the ghetto brownstones of Coney Island although not for wont of trying

So after 30 minutes of weird dvd mixing involving putting loads of reverb and stutter over shots of Elvis, Prince and Queen (see what he did there?), the Fall take to the stage, extremely late. 
Not as late as Mark E Smith though who leaves the band to extend the intro song way beyond what they liked. After anxious looks and probably a few ‘where the fuck is he nows’ from the guitarist Ben Prichard, he is helped through the crowd and stumbles onto the stage looking as drunk as you like.

In this post reality karaoke pop world where turgid manufactured ‘real music’ acoustic cover versions from mutant twosome Journey South and Andy the bin-man both of X-Factor shame outsell any other releases with their albums, it’s reassuring to see that The Fall have stuck around to put a stop to all that nonsense, ironic though how Andys album of  manufactured real soul music covers harks back to his days of rubbish removal as he’s still peddling other peoples shit - keep up the good work!

The crowd inevitably goes wild for the car peddling ‘Touch sensitive’ but as Mr Smith spends the majority of time scratching his head and missing the cue the momentum goes, it does however sound like a scuzzy garage rock classic which is even better live.

The same ramshackle approach is applied to ‘Theme from Sparta FC’ which is only held together by the guitarist and keyboards shouted backing vocals, thuggish enough to make the mainly ageing crowd push towards the front nearly toppling over the speakers in the process.

A genius move (or maybe he just forgot) is the fact that he’s obviously bought a pair of new trousers for the occasion and has forgotten to take the security tag off the back - there are people stupid enough in London to start doing this so hold this space!

Throughout the gig, when Mark has had enough of drooling into his microphone he indiscriminately tampers with his bands instruments and amps creating new sounds. What initially sounds like a piss-head not knowing where he is let alone what he’s doing, it is a great way of changing the mainly droning rock beat which accompanies his lyrical scowling, he’ll fuzz up the bass, and add extra keyboards. When he fancies he’ll totally drop out the guitar almost like a dj cutting up a track, it sounds brilliant and is fascinating to see him working out what sounds he wants to fuck up next.

At a swift 40 minute seven song hit-free set, there are parts of the audience outraged especially by the £15 price tag, it is however an exhilarating blast of brilliance which knows not to outstay its welcome. The guys a legend, you’ll miss him when he’s gone. 8/10

Chris Todd

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There’s no two ways about it. 2006 is shaping up to be an amazingly good year for British music.

Only 4 years ago, the NME’s cover pages were graced with the likes of Limp Bizkit and God awful pigeon sniffers Slipknot. Whilst the scribes at the time wrote excitedly about such bands declaring their arrival as the blasting away of Britpop’s cobwebs, there was always an air of resignation and collusion -  a hushed ‘Sorry, but this is the best that we have to offer right now. Our hands were forced’

This year however, we are really spoiled for choice. After 20 years in the wilderness of celibacy, Morrissey has finally learned that, yes, beating your meat is murder, and he has finally given in to lust. Subsequently the theme of love informs much of April’s return to form album ‘Ringleader of the Tormentors’ alongside other such Morrissey staples as God and Death.

April also sees the debut offering from Carl Barat’s new band Dirty Pretty Things, in which he rightfully reclaims his place as the true heir to the Libertines’ crown, now that the only law Pete Doherty seems capable of obeying is that one regarding diminishing returns.

And it is only in such a musical climate that a band like The Mystery Jets can prosper. Originally seen as a curio, the main talking point was the fact that singer Blaine Harrison’s 55 year old father was the band’s second guitarist. The last time such unabashed nepotism was pulled off, Lieutenant Pigeon was perched inelegantly at the No.1 spot performing  ‘Mouldy old dough’ on Top of the Pops with his Mother on piano. This however was back in that decade of sartorial inelegance the 1970’s – a decade where the matching of a donkey jacket with a pair of monkey boots would be greeted with serious nods of approval on the dancefloor. Back then the signature of true style was ownership of a top hat made out of milk bottle tops. And it is from this garish decade that the Mystery Jets take their cue.

Musically, the 70’s weren’t all bad. Summer and Moroder scratched out a blueprint for an alternative future that didn’t involve anvil heavy drums and fat hairy men in tight denim.

Joy Division’s Steven Morris looped the sounds of dying industry and compression chambers as a backdrop to Ian Curtis’ prescient death scrawls. 

And a purple obsessed homunculus with a pencil thin moustache was busy redefining the phrase ‘musical eclecticism’ in Minneapolis.

But in the universe that the Mystery Jets inhabit, such innovators may well have never existed and the work of these pioneers is summarily disregarded. From their early live shows, the intimation was that the Mystery Jets’ Tardis was permanently mired in 1972. Last year’s debut single ‘Zoo Time’ further validated this claim, suggesting that a pentangle had been drawn and the ugly ghosts of King Crimson and Yes had been summoned. It was one of the oddest debut singles since The Coral stupefied the masses with ‘Skeleton Key’ and a career supporting Circulus until the end of time seemed inevitable. Thankfully ‘Zoo Time’ was a minor blip, and as with The Coral, a pop core is slowly revealed.

The album opens with second single ‘You can’t fool me Dennis’ which at once sounds like The Jam at their most urgent and Supergrass at their most affably breezy. It is quickly followed by a brace of songs that recall Dexy’s Midnight Runners, The Smiths and XTC. The lingering threat of ‘Prog Rock’ soon vaporizes.

By the midpoint of the album, the group have embraced musical styles wholly unexpected of them. Recent single ‘The boy who ran away’ bears testament to this. A harrowing tale of guitarist Henry Harrison’s abuse as a child at Boarding school in the 1950s, it is set to a musical backbone that is brazen with funk.

Such a disparate pairing of subject matter and song style shouldn’t work and could only jar, yet it doesn’t. The Theatre-land equivalent would be for Mel Brooks to pull off ‘Twin Towers: The Musical’ to great critical acclaim.

What can never be said about The Mystery Jets is that they sound samey. Part of the fun of this album is trying to second guess the musical paths that they will take you down, and there is joy around every corner.

The hymnal intro to ‘Horse drawn cart’ is Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘The sound of silence’ developing a partial vacuum and imploding in on itself. And with the titular final track, one can’t help but envisage the sinister cellos from Sergeant Pepper, hijacking a time machine and plotting a course for Eel Pie Island 2005. And at just under 7 minutes long, it never once outstays its welcome.

The only disappointment is the aforementioned ‘Zoo Time’ as it is the only song on the album to justify the constant accusations of prog leveled at the group. With its Antediluvian instrumentation and lazy chorus of ‘Zoo Time!’ chanted ad nauseum, seemingly by ticketless Arthurian Knights trying to gatecrash a jousting, it simply doesn’t belong here.

As a whole, ‘Making Dens’ is a sprawling labyrinthine concoction that far outclasses the overhyped debut of one trick ponies, The Arctic Monkeys.

For the Arctic Monkeys theirs is a limited future as they can only mine their secondhand tales of townie antics for so long (possible song titles for album #4: ‘I went to my Uncle’s and he wasn’t in’ and future live favorite ‘When I got home, it were the wrong video!’)

But for Blaine Harrison and crew, the sky’s the limit. With their oddball leanings, unusual line up and magical way with a song, it’s hard not to be smitten with The Mystery Jets. With a few canny moves (a re-release of ‘Dennis’, surely) and the kind of blanket coverage afforded to lesser bands, 2006 should be theirs for the taking. And with Henry Harrison fast approaching pensionable age, best enjoy them in their current incarnation whilst you still can.

9 out of 10

Ash Barua

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Another excursion through the looking glass of Wayne Coyne, the 12th in 23 years to be precise is an intoxicating experience of mellifluous other-worldly wonderment transporting you to a place very different from the one we reside in.

Backed up with the kind of gorgeous harmonising Brian Wilson orchestrated in the mid-60s with music imaginative enough to sound not only contemporary but calmly familiar taking in influences as varied as  drum n bass to Prince with lashings of fuzzed up bass and deep hallucinogenic psychedelia.

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Easily the finest single to come out this year, the Northern Soul infused beat stomping ‘Running on back to you’  gets launched in May at a new night at the legendary Heavenly Social in London on May 6th.

 
Casino’s label Corsair presents "Good for Nothing", the first in an ongoing series of FREE ADMISSION events. The night is a launch party for Corsair Records latest signing Casino and their debut single "Running On Back To You" (out on Monday May 8th).
 
Both IDC and Casino will be playing full DJ sets.
 
Doors 7pm - midnight. FREE ADMISSION. The Social, Little Portland St, London W1
 
more info :

www.corsair-records.com
www.idcmusic.com
www.myspace.com/casinomyspace

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Before we begin, can I just point out for anyone expecting a totally unbiased review, I am an insanely obsessed fan and chances of  an impartial synopsis of Mozzers latest work are slim to non-existent…….well at least I’m honest.

However, even I who has followed this mans career from the tender age of 13, when I should have been down the local youth club listening to Brother Beyond rather than being shut away in my bedroom dissecting every sentence from Viva Hate, can recognise his flaws. I play them down of course, especially within the company of non  Moz believers who have tried at great lengths to be-little and demolish his achievements. But yes I coincide the man is only human like the rest of us.

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Before we begin, can I just point out for anyone expecting a totally unbiased review, I am an insanely obsessed fan and chances of  an impartial synopsis of Mozzers latest work are slim to non-existent…….well at least I’m honest.

However, even I who has followed this mans career from the tender age of 13, when I should have been down the local youth club listening to Brother Beyond rather than being shut away in my bedroom dissecting every sentence from Viva Hate, can recognise his flaws. I play them down of course, especially within the company of non  Moz believers who have tried at great lengths to be-little and demolish his achievements. But yes I coincide the man is only human like the rest of us.

1997’s Maladjusted, though irritatingly showcased some of his finest songs also exposed his worse, and with a heavy heart I programmed my cd player to never darken my stereo with ‘Roys Keen’ or ‘Ammunition’, whilst fiercely trying to defend a body of work clearly blighted by an artist sick to the back teeth of….well… still ‘being around’.

SEVEN years not only away from the music industry but from Old Blighty, strangely did him the world of good. It taught those who called for his execution a lesson in what they had missed and in the process convinced Morrissey is was worth sticking around after all. Hard to believe that as little as three years ago Morrissey couldn’t get a record deal, a year later he had achieved four top ten singles, an album that sold over a million world wide and he had set a precedence as one of the fastest selling touring artists ever.

So his big comeback album ‘You Are The Quarry’, released in May 2004 ruffled feathers and sent the old faithful into praise filled frenzy but was it a one off? Maybe even a swept away on the crest of a wave assessment of an artist people just wanted to indorse whatever the quality? Either way could he make that same impact again?

‘Ringleader Of The Tormentors’ will come as a surprise to many maybe even disappoint some and there are numerous reasons for this. The half joking self deprication is still there, the at odds with the world sentiments still clearly visible, but ultimately this album is a shocking awaking for Morrissey….

 In a ‘The hills are alive’ fashion he unashamedly shares this with us. Yes he not only eludes but pretty much spells out his sexuality in graphic detail, I will say no more but listen to, ‘Dear God Please Help Me’, scored by the legendary Ennio Morricone, it speaks volumes about his current sexual status and in explicit detail but it’s executed with such touching grace, more Mills and Boon than Readers Wives. The same can be said for album closer ‘At Last I am Born’. Flamenco-esque themed guitars and castanets accompany the vocal ‘I used to be a mess of guilt because of the flesh, but I’m not anymore because I am born’ and there’s no unanswered questions as to what that refers to.

 This new found contentment may not bode well for some who prefer to see him wrapped in plastic on a shelf in a darkened room. Politically he hasn’t turned down the heat either. The stomping album opener, full of crashing eastern promise delivers the line, “If your god bestows protection upon you, and The USA doesn’t bomb you, I believe I will see you in far off places”, It’s a strong message in lyric and sound to the debacle that is the Iraqi conflict and all the associated heartache America and England has introduced as a result. It works only too well to a refrain of thundering drums and a piercing brass section.

Perhaps the most striking and controversial production addition is a childs choir on the tracks ‘The Youngest Was The Most Loved’ and ‘The Father Who Must Be Killed. This will divide the Morrissey camp also but it works perfectly. Anyone who can get kids to sing “There is no such thing in life as normal” and “The father who must be killed” has my vote, it adds chilling drama ever more effective when set against a brash rock backdrop. These are some of Mozzers finest solo offerings.

 It’s the production that in part defines ‘Ringleader’ as a stronger release than it’s predecessor. This is courtesy of legendary former Bowie producer, Tony Visconti, who like Mick Ronson, the man behind the desk on Your Arsenal, has managed to catch the very essence of what Morrissey is about. This was the main problem with ‘You Are The Quarry’.  Jerry Finn knew very little of Morrissey’s background and seemed to throw everything at the wall in a vague attempt to see what would stick, souless click tracks that replaced meaty live drums and irrelevant synth effects that simply didn’t work. Visconti however takes traditional rock ethics and the knowledge of how to amalgamate them with string sections brilliantly, whilst not afraid to bring backing vocals to the fore harmonised with great effect. This is particularly present on the glittery stomping  possible future single ‘In The Future When All Is well’,  probably the most commercially accessible track here, displaying the classic Moz wit “living longer than I had intended, something must have gone right”.

But  it’s the track ‘Life Is A Pigsty’ that really took the wind from my sails. a Seven minute epic that totally steals the show, echoing the Smiths classic, Well I Wonder, with continuous falling rain effects, it gathers emotional momentum resulting in crashing kettle drums and the heart rendering lyric “Even now in the final hour of my life I’m falling in love again”. Remember how you felt after hearing ‘I know It’s Over’ and ‘Now My Heart Is Full’ and this will recapture it, astonishing. This leads into the incredible ballad, ‘I Will Never Be Anybody’s Hero Now’, featuring that class deprecation I mentioned earlier and a spiralling moz vocal melody that never fails to astound.

The new single, ‘You have killed me’, which is taking it’s sweet precious time for people to understand, does subtly work it’s way into the subconscious. Classic Morissey in that it hooks you without you even realising it. Whilst ‘On The Streets I Ran’ and ‘I Just Want To See The Boy Happy’, give us more in the way of punchy glam rock both lyrically amusing with the suggestions of being future singles. Whilst to me you are a work of art complete with seductive violin solos and Mozzers submission to a being who can kiss it all better only adds to the conclusion that he has finally managed to let go of a few demons.

‘Ringleader Of The Tormentors’ is Morrissey’s most consistent solo body of work to date. It runs rings around ‘You Are The Quarry’ and is up there with ‘Viva Hate’ and ‘Vauxhall and I’ but it is a case of you either get it or you don’t. Moz within the confines of a clearly inspiring Roman setting has developed something remarkable beautiful  honest and rich with creativity. And if you are a fan like myself, I hope to god you hear it the way I have.

10/10

James Heward

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So what the fuck happened then…….? One day I’m down a poky pub with a few people who have heard Editors on 6 music, the next I’m at a sold out academy gig, with the announcement that they are to play The Apollo in May. To put it in some perspective the other day I was sat on the train and I witnessed someone removing the plastic wrapping from a recently purchased James Blunt album (these people are everywhere). As if that wasn’t bad enough he then produced a copy of Editors, Back Room from his HMV bag that he’d bought in the sale….These people have no right purchasing good music, it ruins it for the rest of us….wankers…..

…..And there are some of them in tonight. I see someone with a Coldplay t-shirt and I have a horrible premonition of this bands future. They arrive; Edith Bowman is stood just a few meters away from me, beaming up at boyfriend Tom Smith whilst periodically looking around to see if anyone’s recognised her. They launch into ‘Lights’. The crowd go mental. Their set pretty much comprises of ‘The Back Room’ in its entirety, but there’s a new found confidence tonight, Munich, Sparks and Bullets sounding gigantic across the powerful academy’s sound system.

Tom, feels the electricity given off from his band and the audience alike and he hungrily feeds off it like a man who is starving. It’s a little worrying because I can already see a Chris Martin mentality creeping in, he has stadium reflected in his eyes as he teeters on the edge of the stage, hands behind his head surveying his people. I just know where he wants to take this now, this could be that last time we see Editors before they are lost to Q magazine forever.

I put these images temporarily to the back of my mind and manage to enjoy the rest of the show, marvelling at the wasted Munich b-side ‘Find yourself a safe place’ complete with racing guitars and crashing drums into ‘Open Your Arms’ the slow ballad that rises from the ashes in gathering emotional dramatics.

All in all Editors put on quite a show, but as people leave I snobbishly take in the cross section around me and pray, somewhat selfishly, that this is a big as it’s gonna get….I’m aware this is pure wishful thinking though. Ah well, it was nice whilst it lasted.

8/10

James Heward

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Did you ever wonder what happened to those jangly 80’s guitar bands that swept in on the coat tails of The Smiths? Bands that re-defined a generation united the disenfranchised, who actually sang about real emotion? Well like all good things they came to an end, replaced by a conglomerate of manufactured industry bands.

This Is why The Organ are such a find, They came to England from Toronto last year without a record deal plying the release of the sinking hearts ep released on their own label, bought by a small selection of curious people who were transfixed by their instant charms.

The Organ ache with emotion, packing a lyrical punch of heart on sleeve sentiments against a fusion of intertwined guitar riffs and keyboards. Imagine The Smiths, Joy Division and The Sundays debut albums, the frank bewildered innocence, the challenge of feeling indifferent, then put this in a modern context and realise just how relevant this band are today when set against a legion of  bands that say nothing.

The tracks Stephen Smith, Brother and Love love love, that begin this debut, set the pace. Unashamed in their promotion of the emotional dysfunction. "Love oh love I’d like a little part of it’ sings Katie Sketch with desperate conviction on the devastatingly crushing for mentioned  ‘Love Love Love’, exploring the yearning for something physical but not having the nerve to initiate it. ‘Although our lips barely touched I have never felt so much’, she sings on the amazing previous pop masterpiece Mesmorize The City, a track that describes the chance meeting of someone special who all but fleetingly almost became something more than just an acquaintance.

The Organ embody everything that is missing in today’s horribly clinical music business, the faceless downloading, and chavy ringtones, don’t have a place in their world. It’s all about the songs and how they make you feel, and they make me feel pretty damn good actually.

9/10

James Heward

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