Since forming Ol’ Kentuck Recordings last Springtime, Daniel Martin Moore has been very busy, a state of being that is pretty much belied by the laid-back nature of his own work and that of his fledgling label’s roster.  For his fifth release, he has teamed up with the equally industrious Joan Shelley – who not only graced Ol’ Kentuck’s first release as part of Maiden Radio, but also released her latest solo album ‘Ginko’ just last month on this same label.  The resultant combination here should therefore probably be manic and industrious; instead it’s as relaxed and carefree as I could hope for.

Interestingly, there is a slightly different approach to Daniel’s part of this collaboration, although the realisation of “DMM goes electric!” on opener First of August won’t see his peers rushing off to find the soundman with axe in hand.  Plugged in he may be, but his guitar here is used to its most minimal effect, providing watercolour strokes to back the two voices comfortably harmonising over their gentle song.

First impressions give a feeling of Daniel’s Stray Age debut in terms of laconic and unrushed songwriting and performance, lifted further by the ease in which Daniel and Joan’s voices compliment each other.  The songs themselves come across as being much older than they are, seemingly passed down and aged beside countless fires and on countless summertime porches, and I guess the nature of their design is such that in time, these will be tunes and words passed along thanks to their uncomplicated nature that simply begs to be hummed, whistled, played, sung or just regarded whenever the mood takes.  This is probably typified in the title track itself, when the lyrics give way to a chorus of almost absent-minded “La-da-dum”s: these are songs that stick in the subconscious in various intangible ways so that they spring back to mind easily and require you to join in, no matter what you happen to be otherwise doing .

The chemistry between the two artists here is wonderfully apparent, hushed tones of each other’s voices and music complimenting each other and allowing each other to be heard.  It’s rare (if at all) that either voice is unaccompanied by the other, lending the whole album a symbiosis that would insist that these songs would be much the poorer if one artist were without the other.

All in all, it’s another great record from Daniel Martin Moore, and yet another artist who has charmed me into further perusal of her back catalogue (and it’s proving to be an expensive month as it is already!).  Thanks for the calm.

You can listen to it, buy it, and generally hum along to it on Ol’ Kentuck’s website

This is yet another of those pre-release streams, a concept that is proving to be rather handy this week as it means that I’m not sat here on Monday what to listen to first out of this, the Soulsavers album or the other one that’s due to drop on the same day.  Having said that, it’s been a bit of a bugger today, as this one coincides with the Sigur Rós livestream that I am currently typing away on in another window as I try to do this intro at the same time so I can get this finished in some sort of sensible timeframe.

The first album from the Smoke Fairies was a blind buy back in 2010 that soon became (and remains) a firm favourite of mine.  The mixture of gentle, careworn British folk married to a murkier US blues is something that worked sublimely well in the hands and – especially – voices of Katherine Blamire and Jessica Davies and so hopes are naturally high for this next collection.

Straight from the off, opener Let Me Know carries the hallmarks of the duo’s sound, with their guitars complimenting each other in similar manner to their voices.  But there is a difference in tone: the voices have an urgent edge to them, the guitars are fuzzier and less gentle.  This is continued in the haunting and haunted tones of Awake, providing a richer sound to expand their ideas and create an atmosphere.

There has been much said elsewhere that Blood Speaks leans slightly more towards the Western side of the Atlantic Ocean, but I’m not convinced of this.  Certainly the Americanisms are more pronounced, and Katherine and Jessica have put more of their overseas experiences into this record, but at the same time the English side has also been accentuated and finely-tuned so that the end result is something that expands on all the ideas and directions that made Through Low Light And Trees such a joy.  The main difference between then and now is that the two main influences are less polarised than before, the English and American blended closer together to come up with something that – depending on what you’re listening out for at any given time – allows either side of the pond to shine without dulling the other.

Having more of a band presence has helped further the twosome’s musical personality.  Odd as that sounds, all the extra sounds and instruments that have been brought into Blood Speaks bring out the best in the Smoke Fairies’ familiar and previously minimal sound by giving it just the right tools to take their cyclic riffs and let them truly soar.

Initial favourites include the quietly anthemic title track reminiscent of Peter Gabriel in his pomp, the noisy and fun The Three Of Us, the stunning Kate Bush-esque pastoral opera of Hideaway and the relaxed groove of Take Me Down When You Go that shows off the duo’s skills as complimentary guitarists, each part suiting the other perfectly.  There’s a great variety in this collection of songs that further the character of these artists to a great extent.  Another fantastic record from the Smoke Fairies, this is a career to be followed intently, and hopefully for a very long time.

Blood Speaks is out this coming Monday/Tuesday, if you can’t wait (and you really shouldn’t), it’s streaming here.

Anyone passing through these parts at the moment as yet unaccustomed to my stream of semi-consciousness drivel might be forgiven for thinking that I have a bit of a thing about pre-release streams.  The last post, the next post and indeed this one are all being done based on pre-release listens.  Where this one is a bit different is that this is a one-shot affair.  At 7pm tonight (so I need to get a shift on with this preamble, Sigur Rós (and I have no idea why I can do the little accenty thing in this bit but not in the post title, I just work here) will be streaming their new album Valtari once, and once only, or at least that’s the case in this timezone.  Because where this gets even more charmingly tricksy is that it is being streamed at all of the 7pms tonight – so the US for example will have to hang on a few hours before they get to experience this.

I have absolutely no idea how this post is going to pan out.

To be honest, it’s been quite exciting watching the clock tick down, followed by a slight panic after it got to zero and nothing happened.  However, a quick refresh later, and my ears are being gently washed by Ég anda‘s gorgeously-restrained intro, with loose guitar strings sounding like pealing bells before giving way to I suppose is traditional Sigur Rós territory: a patient riff with Jónsi’s wistful vocals breaking over the top, the beat behind becoming more urgent before withdrawing and dissolving into an electronic pulse.

Next up is Ekki múkk, already familiar thanks to it being previewed with that curiously wonderful video last month.  It’s quiet and gentle, stretching itself comfortably over its seven and three-quarter runtime and in no hurry to leave.  Varúð follows on from this, with a refrain that suddenly rises up from another calm and melancholy introduction, creating an emotional response that certainly took me by surprise.  A curious feeling I have when listening to this is that the background piano progression reminds me ever so slightly of Greg Dulli’s Twilight Singers, a sensation that grows further as the drums begin to push their way into the song and creates an urgency and distorted crescendo that sets it apart from the careful chimes we’ve so far been treated to.

(as a sidenote, if any American types are reading this as they’re listening for the first time, I hope that you’re agreeing/disagreeing vehemently as this plays along.  I should also point out here that I’m cheating a bit, writing the intros to two other blog posts.  It’s a confusing evening at 6 Days Towers)

Backwards things and electronic glitches provide the intro to Rembihnútur, with overlaid pianos providing a suitably dreamlike music-box accompaniment to a somehow less-usual Jónsi vocal and quietly-large postrock chorus.  One thing I am noticing about this album so far (something that can probably be said for Sigur Rós in general, I suppose) is that there is a knack evident in mucking about with time: this last one felt rather short, despite it nudging five minutes in length.  Dauðalogn, in contrast to the last couple of ‘big’-sounding tracks, is almost hymnal in its lamentations; certainly cinematic in its scope and breathing into Varðeldur, continuing in its predecessor’s pace and replacing voices for slight layers of instrumentation that then float unchanged throughout its duration.

The title track now, and it’s all about the ambience – loops of alternately playful and orchestral keyboard washes over a drone of a frequency that bores into the subconscious and sits there, creating emotion out of very little and spinning it so finely in much the same way that A Winged Victory For The Sullen did so well last year, leaving an obvious, booming silence in its wake.  The album ends with Fjögur píanó, a track that pretty much does what the title suggests (well, what the second half of it suggests, anyway.  I have no idea what the first word means), an unaccompanied piano followed later by more softly-treated electronica slowly playing us out of their album and playing us gently back into our world so as not to shock us too much when it finally ends and we’re back where we started.

After all that – was that a review, and if so, was it a review of the record itself or of the experience of listening to it in such an interestingly-unique fashion?  It does feel somewhat like a shared experience more than anything else: Valtari passing over us once before moving on to the next set of expectant listeners.  It’s definitely one of Sigur Rós’ more ambient releases as peaks and troughs are rarely found, preferring instead to mostly billow through an unhurried and content hour.  And now it’s gone (not to be heard again in this parish for another week and a half), I do miss it.  That was a nice way for me to do something slightly different with this blog, I hope that anyone who listened along or who will be doing so shortly enjoys the experience as much as I did.

Anyway, after that bizarre digression, I am happy to report that I am mostly immune from succumbing to stream-based temptation nowadays, except in the most pressing of circumstances.  This is one such occasion, as I have been looking forward to this new work from Stoke-On-Trent’s favourite Rhythm Methodists and their unique brand of Northern Gothic ever since it was announced.

It’s a bit strange to be listening to this without the benefit of liner notes and artwork, as one of the joys of any new Soulsavers project is reading up on who is involved on which song.  With the exception of Depeche Mode frontman Dave Gahan on vocal duties (replacing Mark Lanegan), I don’t recall seeing mention of any other guests joining Rich Machin and Ian Glover for this new excursion.  All of which allows not only for the first listen (which this will be once I press the ‘play’ button) to be one of almost complete absence of preconception (a rarity in these internet “know everything now” days) but also leaves the anticipation for the physical product intact, if not heightened further, as we wait to see just who (if indeed there is anyone else) is in here.

Opening instrumental La Ribera suggests a continuation of the cinematic feel of 2009′s Broken, building up from slight beginnings into something very grand indeed, the strings remaining for In The Morning, driven by organ drone and Gahan’s voice, rising and falling in terms both of emotion and orchestration before relaxing.  These waxings and wanings are to be found throughout the record here, flowing into each other rather than competing for attention.  The painstaking attention to detail added to each track, whether as part of the musical foreground or emotional background, is staggering.  It’s an album intended to stir and lift the spirit, and it has to be said that Machin and Glover are now so good at doing this that it’s impossible not to walk away from the record unmoved.

The Light The Dead See flows almost as a single idea in a similar fashion to its predecessor, although it’s a more gradual affair than Broken’s 3-act scenario.  This makes it difficult to pick out particular favourites on this first venture through my ears, but I have to admit that Just Try, a sunlit and Spiritualized upper of a song that was the first track to reduce this rather emotional writer to tears, a genuinely moving and beautiful song I couldn’t wish to hear this year.  This is preceded by Presence Of God, the album’s Night By Candlelight (and the only overtly religiously spiritual reference on the record) where minimal backing is met by an forceful, emotional and defiant performance from Gahan that provides the yin to Just Try‘s yang.  To bring the curtain down, closer Tonight, with lyrics that come across as a mission statement for this band (regardless of who happens to be in it at any given moment), absolutely soars, a more traditional band backing (with embellishments still present put pushed to the back) which once more affected this manic typist more than I was expecting.

Comparisons between this iteration of Rich & Ian’s vision for the Soulsavers with Gahan and the previous incarnation with Lanegan is fairly inevitable, so let’s get it out of the way: it’s a bit similar, but also rather divergent and very striking with it.  Dave’s words come from a whole other place than Mark’s, and are put across in different ways that are beyond the simple reason that “well, they sound different”.  The music that surrounds this reflects the shift in character – the tone is more sorrowful and at times more urgent than before with the plaintive strings and guitars bolstered occasionally by a brass section that gives Bitterman extra punch (if they can get all this out on the road it will be an incredible spectacle indeed), although everything retains that “at the bottom but looking upwards” hope for redemption that has carried through this collective’s music from the start.  This is typified perfectly in lead single The Longest Day, where the strings, guitar and choral backing don’t initially feel hugely removed from Broken’s Some Misunderstanding, but the way that Gahan’s voice (which, it has to be said, is utterly stunning in emotional range here, as Gone Too Far evidences amazingly) changes the tone and mood sets the music off on a whole new pathway.  Same starting point and hopefully same intended destination, but a different Soul with the need of a different Salvation is the order of the day here and it’s credit to the abilities of the writers, arrangers and performers of The Light The Dead See that this new array of feelings, both negative and positive, are given the same flight and flicker of hope that we have come to expect from these guys.  And therefore, as it’s something akin to the quality, spirituality and inclusive nature that we now expect from the Soulsavers, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Listen for yourselves over at the band’s website, and then go and buy the bloody thing.

I don’t usually (ever?  Can’t be bothered checking) do this sort of thing, and it’s not even Mother’s Day in this corner of the Empire where I’m typing this, but the band in question are very well-regarded by this blog and the cause is a grand one…  EDIT: And since typing this, my sister’s partner lost his Mum this morning.  We’re all a bit devastated.

My Jerusalem are having a bit of a sale today, with all proceeds going towards research into Alzheimer’s – digital downloads are all available as a “name your own price” deal, so please mosey on over to their site for the opportunity to hear for yourselves why I keep banging on about them being brilliant, as well as raising a few quid for a cause that sadly affects more and more of us in one way or another as time moves on.

Also, popping over to the band’s main website and entering the case-sensitive code MOTHERSDAY will get you 50% off all the stuff available on there, all money again going to the Alzheimer’s Research Foundation, Fisher Center.

Please help to raise a bit of money, and give your ears a treat in the process.  Win-Win.

I have to confess to only a passing acquaintance with Richard Hawley’s work in the past, and most of that is because of an interest in the output of other connected people – his brief cameo during the Soulsavers’ Broken album for one, and the inclusion of the Smoke Fairies pushed me into buying his False Lights From The Land EP which really should have got me to buy into his back catalogue but for whatever reason I have yet to do so.  With all this in mind, it was only fair to give this new one a go.

From the very beginning, this is pretty big stuff.  A droney intro giving way to folk strings recalling Led Zeppelin at Jimmy Page’s most mystical, opens out into a huge, unhurried and stately riff with spacey vocals that just continues to build throughout (“More things!” must have been chief among discussions during recording), leaving even the most casual of previous listeners such as myself that Standing At The Sky’s Edge isn’t going to be what’s generally expected of Mr Hawley.  And how.  The second, title, track remains the standout for me: a slow-burning tale of life at the bottom told with the slow grace and incessant rhythm of the Soulsavers (in particular their amazing reworking of Mark Lanegan’s Sunrise) giving gravity to the sad stories contained within.

There’s much said elsewhere about this record – that it’s in turn his ‘cosmic’ or ‘angry’ record, variously conceived and constructed whilst grieving for a lost friend and/or when out walking his dog.  That Standing At The Sky’s Edge manages to evoke all of this while managing to keep his feet planted firmly and gracefully on the floor is an achievement in itself, that he manages to combine all of the above into one song (Down In The Woods, five minutes of the fast bit in Zep’s Heartbreaker seemingly extolling the virtues of getting out of the house for a bit of a stroll to take in the sights) is nothing short of terrific fun.

As with anything especially colourful and starry-eyed, it can go on a bit in places (only one track clocks in at under the 5-minute mark), but it never dips below being interesting so it’s easy to forgive the occasional indulgence.  And when he drops the Steel City Psych for a moment in the middle of the album for the layered and romantic Seek It and the soulful, wistful (and genuinely moving) Don’t Stare At The Sun, we’re treated to something with real heart.  Any lingering sadness from this mid-set melancholy is cast aside with the cathartic Leave Your Body Behind You, big chords and a big chorus raising spirits before the record closes with the – mostly – gentle epilogue of Before.

It’s all a bit strange, really.  It’s big and expansive while at the same time caring and personal.  It’s also great fun to listen to which, after all the goings-on about “ooh, he’s got a new pedal!”, is all that really matters.

This beauty now extends to this collection of songs, Orcadian in subject and spirit – and it’s this spirit of Orkney that pushed this project into existence in the first place.

The story of Betty Corrigall’s life is a short and sad one, and it was almost 200 years before she found her final resting place, complete with fibreglass headstone (her tale can be read here).  It was a visit in a dream from her to Erland that set off the events that led to the creation of this album that is both elegiac and celebratory in tone.  Alongside Carnival bandmate Simon Tong and E&TC touring partner Hannah Peel (who made one of my favourite records of last year and who has also appeared on one of my favourites of this year) as well as a local pub choir – which in itself is a wonderful thing – Orkney is brought to life through this music.

Anyone familiar with Erland & The Carnival’s music will have a vague notion of what to expect, although their playful reinterpretations of old words and music are honed into something more sepia-toned, thanks in no small part to Hannah’s arrangements of string, brass and choir that bring the landscape to life.  The quirky electronic flourishes are still there, but sat in the background as support and as a way of tying the artists and subject together.  A fondness for picking out the words of others is a thread continued here, with an adaptation of the work of local poet Edwin Muir in Nethertons Teeth set to music here.

It’s probably no surprise that the song dedicated to Betty Corrigall is the album’s quiet highlight, moving and thoughtful throughout and playing to Erland, Hannah and Simon’s strengths as writers and performers.  Another favourite of mine comes in the form of Orphir, joined by the Stromabank Pub Choir in a hymnal rendition that takes in both the reverential and communal.  ’Homely’ is a strange term to attach to a contemporary album, but I guess when the focus is on a home this is the best word I can find as compliment to this group’s achievements in bringing the windswept isles to life.

Named in part after a 1930s travelogue of the islands, Symphony Of The Magnetic North feels like a treasure map of sorts, leading the listener through the geography and history of the islands.  Lavishly packaged in book format, the whole affair feels as special as it sounds and is tied up wonderfully by the image of Erland tending Betty’s final resting place with what appears to be a copy of the guidebook poking out of his jacket pocket, and also the picture of the Grave of James Flett that explains to the listener who the Old Man of Hoy is, and where he now rests.  There’s a slight deviation from the path with the inclusion of a string-embellished cover of French popsters Syd Matters’ Hi Life which sits happily in the rest of the environment mapped out for us, although I’m intrigued as to its inclusion in such a specific album.

Hopefully this collaboration isn’t a one-off as much as I really enjoy E&TC and Hannah Peel’s own solo work, this is a very special collection and I’m sure that there’s much more of the islands to be described to us.  Or maybe we should just go up there and find out for ourselves.  In the meantime, I hope that Betty’s next hypnagogic visit is one of gratitude, as this is a very considerate and affectionate album, with a warmth to it that the somewhat parky nature of the front cover image belies.

I was still at work earlier this evening when someone sent me a message with the news that Adam Yauch had died.  To say that it was a shock is something of an understatement: I knew of his battles with cancer but I thought he’d won, or was at the very least winning.  And the depth of the sadness I felt was also a surprise, as although I’d been listening to them since around 1987, the Beastie Boys were always a band on the edges of whatever I was listening to rather than being a particular focus.

But I guess this is it – they were always there, doing whatever felt right for them to do, blazing their own trail and making it sound like whatever fun anyone was having, they were always having more.  Yeah, they were silly but they were silly with an intelligence and aptitude that sets them apart from their peers in whatever genre they felt like habiting at any given time.  And without me really noticing, they became an intrinsic part of wherever I went with my own changing listening habits and a look around a shellshocked internet tonight shows that I’m not alone.

It’s one of those obvious things to say, but I Hate Cancer.  It takes away the brightest lights from around us whether they’re close to us (in a couple of days, one of my best friends will have been without her husband for a year because of this awful disease, and I don’t know what to say to help) or whether they lifted our hearts and illuminated our days without ever knowing that they were doing so – like Voivod’s Piggy or Manchester’s own Tony Wilson, MCA’s passing leaves an empty space that I never really knew was there until today.  Thanks to Adam for being part of something truly amazing.

At this point (I must have been about 8), my only experience of reading comics was Whizzer & Chips, so this stuff absolutely blew my mind.  After I had read through the entire pile (which took a couple of days of literally just sitting there silently going through one after another like a chainsmoker), me and my sister convinced Dad to have it delivered every week.  This is such a happy memory me not just because of the comics themselves, but as far as I can remember this is the only thing that me and my sister truly shared whilst growing up.

Anyway, central to all of this lavishly illustrated and wonderfully written malarkey was one Judge Joe Dredd, who ran the rule of law over a post-apocalyptic Mega City One with an inhuman zeal and absolutely no sense of humour.  Yeah, there were other great characters in 2000AD but Dredd - and the world he occupied – was probably the first pastime that became an obsession for much of my youth.  Even if the Dark Judges gave me nightmares (especially Judge Fear).  So it’s brilliant to hear that someone’s finally done a proper soundtrack to those heady, inky days.

Of course this isn’t the first venture into Mega City One for musical types – Sheffield New Romantics The Human League and New York Thrash exponents Anthrax both enjoyed mild chart-botherings with different songs, both entitled I Am The Law, and Carl & Suggs of Madness went all electropop on us in frankly bizarre fashion as The Fink Brothers with Mutants In Mega City One.  And now we pretty much have the Real Deal thanks to Geoff Barrow from Portishead and composer Ben Salisbury (whose work I last heard gracing a few tracks on Malachai’s excellent Return To The Ugly Side), creating a soundscape for the imaginary City-State that brings back fond memories of the comics and the time that they occupied, using the “one size fits all” fictional Mega City swearword DROKK as its title.

Opener Lawmaster/Pursuit sets the tone perfectly – I’m sure this comparison has been (and will be) mentioned elsewhere, but if John Carpenter had got the gig to score Blade Runner, this is how it would sound.  Incessant, oppressive and urgent, it has late 1970s and early ’80s sci-fi dystopia written right through it, perfectly retro-fitted for today’s ears.

Given the title, theme and approach to instrumentation, you’d be forgiven for thinking that this is an incredibly nerdy album.  And you’d be absolutely right.  Because if that wasn’t enough already, old fans will be drooling at the track listing and the imagery they evoke – from the Planet Of The Apes-style percussive 301-305 (named after the City’s isolated North West Hab Zone which is a sort of futuristic Kowloon) via Justice One (the spaceship on which Dredd pursues the Judge Child, accompanied by a suitably spacey soundtrack.  I’m so loving the recollections here, as you may notice) and the understandably Moon-Basey Port Luminae (co-written with Geoff’s other project Beak>) through to quirky electronic noises of the chemical agent that turned people into cannibals in 2T(FRU)T, it’s just a constant source of geeky nirvana.

Drokk is so much fun because it’s something that takes itself utterly seriously.  The source may well be a series of comic stories from way back when and aimed at young teenagers but now that these kids have grown up , Geoff and Ben have created something that the rest of us can sit back, listen to, and go all dewy-eyed as we recall the lovely Judges Anderson and Hershey whilst trying desperately to rinse away the Stallone film – especially all of the bits with Rob Schneider in.  As a soundtrack to a terrible urban landscape that doesn’t exist with a ‘hero’ that borders on the fascistic, it’s absolutely spot-on.  And while it may not necessarily be something to get parties swinging (although the 6-minute Inhale has a sort of Joy Division groove that will get the odd toe tapping here and there and End Them has something of UNKLE about it), it’s certainly something to interest comic nerds, film nerds, synth nerds and anyone with a vague fascination for darkly-synthesized scores.  Which is me down to a T.

It’s been another strange week here, there’s been a couple of interesting bits and bobs that have appeared recently and the impending arrival of a month that promises to be very exciting indeed for me, with a couple of oddities out tomorrow, a couple of nicely-anticipated things the week after and then two of my most looked-forward to albums of the year out on the 21st. And to put the tin hat on everything, I’m going to be a bit rude and blow my own trumpet again and link you to this, where – after I said that I didn’t like doing book reviews! – a snippet of my review of this book is used as proper promotional blurb.  Considering this is just a hobbyist blog talking to itself for the most part, it will never not be a source of a constant mix of bemusement and pride when this happens.

The Fireman – Nothing Much Just Out Of Sight

Apparently, it used to be quite the secret that The Fireman was/is Paul McCartney.  No idea why this should have been the case, as even if one of the most recognised pop voices of the last fifty years could slip by unnoticed (which he seemed to have done for two albums), this is the finest stuff he’s done post-Beatles.  Maybe it’s the whole way that this project was formulated that allowed him to really have a go at doing something extraordinary, but he’s really letting loose in this guise and on this record, sounding more like Plant than Macca.

Ryan Thomas Becker – Boys, Girls, Pills

More shenanigans from Denton, Texas (and The Angelus’ label Gutterth Records) and a singer-songwriter whose output sits happily in that “recorded as it occurs to me” style, as each song seems to appear on his Neighbourhoof album channelled and fully-formed rather than having ever being written and worked upon.  A very calm and easy song to listen to, it’s gone almost before I can get a handle on it.

The Besnard Lakes – Glass Printer

Great Big Swirly Dreampop from this band from Great Big Canada (the swirliness of which I can’t recall from my one visit there), with harmonies like a Beach Boys from another dimension (presumably the same one that the Mission popped up from, given the backing to this track).  I have no idea what the lyrics are about, although this is one of those songs where it doesn’t really matter:   the words are there to give the vocalists something to make massive harmonies over, and so they do their job brilliantly.

Moulettes – Requiem

A favourite of mine from a short while back, the Moulettes are about to release a new album so it’s only fair that I remind myself of just how much fun they are.  Approaching their craft with an authenticity missing from others who have a go at this, the baroque music is well-structured and the folktales and ghost stories contained within are graphic and salty.  This one seems to revolves around death (a favourite subject of the Moulettes), starting as a solemn dirge and becoming something altogether more upbeat as it progresses, ending up as a somewhat nautical singalong.  Can’t wait for the new stuff.

My Jerusalem – Under Your Skin

Another revisit, and one that I’m sure has got more than one mention in these pages in the past.  Drums and guitar are so lucidly reminiscent of New Order’s Temptation, which has always been part of the fun of trying to pin down My Jerusalem’s myriad and disparate influences.  By far my favourite song of theirs, it’s one of those songs that I find myself stumbling over every so often and wonder why I don’t listen to it every day.

Ozric Tentacles – Sploosh!

Something that takes me back a fair way, and bizarrely it’s one of those “inextricably linked to a specific memory” ones (I just remember the day I bought Strangeitude, the album this is from, on a particularly awful day) but one that kind of operates outside the normal “triggering of glumness” that others tend to do.  Probably because I was generally otherwise “herbally-refreshed” whenever it was on and any sense of loss and/or confusion from that day is largely lost in a haze of cravings for sweet tea and Maryland Cookies.  I love most things that the Ozrics did around this period, but nothing brings about that early-90s zeitgeist of all the little weirdy subcultures coming together than this.  Psychedelic/Prog/Dance?  Most likely.

Jason Parker Quartet – Three Hours

It’s not that big a step from Nick Drake’s slightly otherworldly folky offerings of his first album and the generally deliberately off-kilter world of Jazz, so it was probably inevitable that the two worlds would collide.  Three Hours is probably the most ‘natural’ sounding choice for this treatment of this, off the JPQ’s tribute to the whole of Five Leaves Left, a slow burning and late night song made even slower and nighthawkish here.  There’s a bit of Riders On The Storm afoot in the background throughout, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

Soulsavers – Sunrise

I suppose when someone digs out a Soulsavers song to introduce their music to a newcomer, Revival would be the destination of choice for most.  For me, it’s this – much as I love Revival‘s retreading of REM’s Country Feedback, Sunrise does something similar with Mark Lanegan’s original but there’s that little indefinable something that takes the song into that territory that defines a band’s sound, even when they’re covering someone else’s and with a vocalist not normally associated with them.  Unconventionally definitive.

Ólafur Arnalds – Lag Fyrir Ömmu

Part of the Living Room Songs collection where Arnalds invited us into his home for a week where he performed and recorded a different song every day for a week, this is the most touching installment.  Song For Grandma hits strange nerves for me as I never really knew any of my grandparents (and the only memory I have of my Grandma on my Dad’s side is something so upsetting that I cannot share it), nevertheless this song brings out feelings of such warmth and love that it’s impossible to not share in Ólafur’s sentiment.

Half Man Half Biscuit – Vatican Broadside

And finally, one I’ve been meaning to include for ages.  Notable partially for its brevity (a whole 31 seconds!) but mostly for its joyous, very sweary, top-of-the-lungs-in-the-car-after-a-crap-day chorus that makes this one of the finest songs in my whole collection.  The very fact that a song that barely squeaks past the half-minute mark and actually contains a chorus is a thing of wonder in itself.

Spotify playlist for the above can be found by clicking thusly.