Remarkable. Captain Wilberforce is supposedly a two-man band, but the sleeve notes mention but one Simon Bristoll as the guy who wrote and performed everything (except drums on a couple of tracks) on this nine-track, 32 minute CD of jaunty jangly indie pop. I’m sure the press release that I accidentally lost for this thing mentioned Radiohead at least twice, yet with all the harmonies and bright guitars playing major chords going on make me think of the mid-nineties, and Teenage Fanclub in particular. Impressive stuff for just one guy, especially as he’s tighter and more inventive than most of all those big indie guitar pop bands that Captain Wilberforce is so reminiscent of. He’s got a nice line in droll lyrics too, reflected in the song titles. My favourite is “Singer Wanted, Preferably Dead”. All the layers of instruments are well-constructed and everything locks together like an efficient machine of indie mayhem.

All very good, but Cpt. Wilberforce also managed to create 32 minutes of music without a particularly memorable hook to stick in your mind. Which is a shame, because everything else about this record is perfectly fine. Keep on going Captain, in this vein you’ll soon reach that treasure ye be seeking.

http://www.captainwilberforce.com/

There’s little worse than the conceit of the record reviewer. Personally speaking I despise any so-called critic who moans about the free music they receive and/or the accompanying joke of a press release. This said; there are some rules of press releases that everyone should be made aware of. So here’s lesson number one:

1. Never attach a glossy photo of the band with your usual promotional guff.

Divina Icon are an extremely handy case in point. Here we have three young (or not so young) men of vaguely sketched backgrounds and a real desire to mark themselves as “different” from yer usual indierockguitars bullshitters that currently clutter up so much of London. Unfortunately, their clothes and make-up appear to have been obtained exclusively from Camden market in London. That is; they appear to be men in their twenties or thirties dressed like teenage Placebo fans. Look at their very professional website here: www.divinaicon.co.uk. (Actually, go take a look at Claudio in the gallery. Poor guy. That eyeshadow doesn’t do him any favours.)

All of this would be pointless bitching if the music didn’t sound like men in the twenties or thirties playing at being in a sub-Placebo/Smashing Pumpkins/early Manics/Suede band. Yes, that’s GLAM and GRUNGE and [WEAK AS SHIT] ROCK combined with KEYBOARDS and HORRIFIC PRODUCTION to make one slightly filthy product geared towards getting signed and making it big in continental Europe. Aha, you observe that they have lyrics that are supposedly pointing out “western social issues” and making cutting political comment about modern issues. Aha, you’re not always sure if it’s a boy or girl singing, such is vocalist Dale’s nasal whine. Aha, you hear they have power chords and are aware that you can use a distortion pedal with a guitar to have quiet verses and loud choruses (though unfortunately no wanky Billy Corgan-style solos). Ooh, they seem to have hired in a session drummer for this CD because there isn’t one in the line-up they present for your delectation. And there are keyboards and all kinds of wanky over-production thrown into the mix to show that they are not only a truly modern rock band for all ages, but they’re also prepared to throw away lot of money in order to present themselves a professionally as possible to A&R men all over the country. Oh Jesus, there goes my finger on the eject button. Oh God, the CD’s gone out the window…

So, um, yes! People who review music on the internet are horrifically conceited. Like me. But then you get bands who are horrifically conceited towards “making it”, and the promotional photograph of a band is always their calling card. Why Divina Icon didn’t just knuckle down and write some songs and start playing together instead of obviously spending far more time and money on clothes, paying people to do them a flashy website, press shots, CDs, stickers and some really bad production on their demo. I just hope it didn’t cost too much, because the results really weren’t worth it.

This review is unfair. I am not a fan of the kind of sounds that Divina Icon make, nor am I part of their target market. So I apologise wholeheartedly for my cynicism and finger-pointing. Let’s face it, I’d probably be far fairer in my attitude towards this CD if it had been recorded in a shed by three illiterate tramps. But the kind of bullshit that Divina Icon display really makes you question why people make music in the first place. Is it because of the sheer love of playing together, or a way to exorcise yourself of particular feeling, emotion or energy? Or is it because it’s all about the money? I’ve got a feeling I know what motivates these three boys, and good luck to them. Joking aside, that CD’s out on the road in front of my house. I’m going to stomp on it right now.

www.divinaicon.co.uk

The singer of the songs on this album reminds me a lot of the wonderful Andrew Beaujon.
That’s a fantastic place to begin.
The Floating City have a lot in common with The Lucksmiths (reviewed in the same pile of records as it goes).
Simple, sparse arrangements of guitar, organ, drums and bass – the sound is breezy, wide open.
The whole album sounds like it’s been recorded live in the studio. Actually it sounds more ‘live in the library’.
In places I’m sure I can hear shelves creak and there’s definately someone reading Brautigan in the corner.
And that brings me back to Beaujon – The Floating city make me think of a very particular kind of mythical Americana, that place that Brautigan goes, that Hunter Thompson goes, that Andrew Beaujon goes. It’s not that the band are in any way attempting a Pavement-esque oddball thing.
Not by a long chalk.
But they do make music that feels like Trout Fishing in America. And that’s a good thing in my book.
“You are a weapon in the hands of your enemies”, they sing in “Oh Laughing Girl Upon the Brinke of Death”.
Now there’s a line I wish I’d written.

I won’t go on again about all the things that make Th’Franz meaningless.
BUT.
This single is being pushed by the label using such phrases as, “The finest parts of […] Franz Ferdinand”.
What this record actually is is a band that may as well be a Franz covers band. It really is that close a call.
A record of no importance.

I wasn’t expecting this at all.
Before pressing play and sitting down with a cigarette and yet another coffee I decided I might just read the press release for this album.
There are A LOT of words on the press release.
A lot of very flowery words.
I’m not one for huge tracts about music.
Let the record speak, maaaaan.
So it was with some trepidation that I did eventually press play.
And I’m damn glad I did.
This is a beautiful, melancholy, uplifting album.
From the opening “A Hiccup In Your Happiness” (a good title, no?) I began to get excited. There’s a certain something that antipodean bands do incredibly well. I’m not even sure what the something is (I’m not sure that the bands in question would realise they do it), but it’s there in The Cannanes, Ashtray Boy, The Go-Betweens, and it’s there in the NZ pop of The Chills, The Verlaines and The Bats.
The Lucksmiths’ arrangements are sparse and fragile.
Guitars chime.
Minor chords ring out.
Drums shuffle under the foggy quality of the lilting vocal.
Later in the album “The Chapter in Your Life Entitled San Francisco” is a subtle monster with string arrangements added to great effect.
I don’t know what else to say.
This is a thing of gentle pop loveliness.
Now, what was I saying about flowery writing?

Apparently, the 250th issue of I-d magazine declared the suitably-named I Am Zeitgeist to be one of the 250 hottest new bands/artists/filmmakers/fashionistas of the moment – which, i suppose, is highly plausible. They say they make “music to make your head nod and your feet tap”. I say: a noisy, slightly messy love-in between Kurt Cobain and Steven Malkmus. Their peculiar art-pop strut contains Pavement wooze and Nirvana drawl among other elements – all shot through a darkly-cheeky post-Britpop filter. It’s too early to say whether or not they’re genuine contenders, but they’re an interesting band, who, thankfully sound nothing like the increasingly-tiresome angular punk-funk/skag-fuelled yob-pop musical zeitgeist. Wait and see.

www.iamzeitgeist.com

According to the accompanying press release, Cadillac aspire to the dizzying heights of QOTSA and At The Drive In in terms of “…drive and aggression”.

This single, produced by Black Crowes stalwart Rich Robinson, doesn’t quite scale the summit of their ambitions, despite boasting a truly profane guitar sound they can all reflect upon with some pride.

The problem? “Locomotive” isn’t really a single. It’s a fiery, rocking number to be sure, which starts well but waits far too long to bring in what sounds like a slung-in chorus and the song in general rather pales in terms of a melodic hook when compared to backup track “The Saint”.

Stylistically, the band appear to want to draw parallels between themselves and fellow Scandinavians Glucifer and The Hellacopters, but musically they still seem to be searching for a peg to hang their coat on, blending Monster Magnet, Screaming Trees and latter day Cult in solid but ultimately uninspiring fashion.

cadillacweb.com

Remix projects are always a bit odd, especially those that try to bridge the gap between indie and dance. I’m not too familiar with Zea, a Dutch electro pop duo, but this is some line up of remixers, a quadruple A side 12″ of international talent. The 1-Speed Bike remix is massive breakneck jittery glitch techno with one of the nastiest and catchiest basslines I’ve heard in a while. In all honesty this would have been better with less of the indie vocals. Surprising for a sometime member of Godspeed but marvellously so. Similarly surprising are Melt-Banana with an out of character, delicately restrained piece that seems to build on the original rather than remove and replace. On the other side Jason Forrest aka Donna Summer feeds things through some banging techno with hints of sweetness peering through breaks in the madness. Felix Kubin finishes things on a downbeat note with beats and brass before going a bit nutso with weirdy electro and distorted vocals. So, I loved this but it’ll be 1-Speed Bike and Felix Kubin I’m excited to hear more from before some Zea originals. Probably not the intended result.

Transformed Dreams

I played this album without first reading the accompanying press release, not twigging that the whole thing was recorded on a 4-track in a kitchen. Not that it sounds impossibly polished given the available hardware. It’s more that the recording process has wrapped these songs in a warm and dreamy fug that so perfectly compliments their gently ambiguous nature that I had assumed that it was the product of deliberate, and brave, production choices.

And what songs they are. This is an album steeped in folk tradition, but refreshingly dogma-free. Although wistful harmonies and acoustic guitar dominate (performed by one-man-band Duncan Sumpner) , the arrival of a drum loop or a distortion pedal through the mist doesn’t shock and disjoin as it might. Things are kept safely free of nu-folk cliche, contributing to some bravely ambitious arrangements, and finding new scope in a field that lesser acts would find restrictive. Lyrically, this is an album of sweet obscurities and half-caught imagery that refuses to force itself upon you, preferring instead to insinuate rather than demand, and opting not to give into ego and push to the front. Every component feels as though it has been placed with surgical precision and a rare sensitivity for both the needs of the listener and the bigger picture that is the song itself. On a first, casual, listen not much might seem to be going on, but boredom is unlikely. Having said that, I defy anyone to listen to trance-inducing closing track “From Here To Somewhere Else” without adopting something of a glassy stare. This is traditional music filtered through a post-rock lens, expertly smuggling it past the modern listener’s cynicism filter to give it a new lease of life.

Apparently there are plans to go on tour with a full band. Would I enjoy these songs live, face-to-face and unmasked, kitten-soft dreaming replaced by the awful consciousness of a sweaty, noisy pub? I fear that the qualities I admire in this record have a fairly low evaporation point and would soon vanish under spotlights, and are best appreciated under carefully controlled conditions in the home. And what of the second album? There’s no doubt about the pedigree of the songwriting, but I (pessimistically) can’t imagine a big-budget follow-up quite recapturing the same fuzzy warmth. But I’d love to be proven wrong.

By keeping the listener at a slight distance, Songs of Green Pheasant gives the impression of a performance that would take place whether anyone was listening or not, granting it a purity increasingly lacking in a world of arm-waving “look at me” acts wetting themselves in desperation for a fragment of the public’s micro-attention span. This is a record that genuinely deserves your full attention for its entire length. Please give generously.

Fat Cat

I think that The Sound Explosion have, in their own minds, lined themselves up in the rock lineage which stems from the blues-based stomp of the Bluesbreakers, wading through the excesses of Led Zeppelin and ending up in the murky place inhabited nowadays by bands like the Hellacopters, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion and Primal Scream. I’d tend not to disagree, either; all of the requisite parts are here – hard-riffing bluesy workouts with liberal doses of wah-wah, topped off with impassioned vocals which speak of a life made up of sex, drugs, rock’n’roll and nothing else. Whilst the lyrics – and vocal delivery – make me think that they’re not quite living the life which they would have us believe, the music is packed full of enough vigour and energy to make this CD album, if nothing else, one to play whilst punching the air on a long night out.

Captains Of Industry
The Sound Explosion