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RECORDS Music
SYNTH-POP ULTRAVOX Brilliant (EMI) ●●●●●
Does the world really need another album, the first in 26 years, from Ultravox – a group of negligible lasting impact on music even at their mid-80s arena synth-pop zenith? The Trade Descriptions Act- violating Brilliant is another new old record for diehard fans to apologise for while ignoring that such a half- arsed exercise in nostalgia merely craps on their cherished memories.
It’s the sound of a band who either couldn’t make their music seem relevant or couldn’t be bothered to: a desolately uninteresting lunar landscape of portentous piano and wheezy antiquated synths, bombastic guitars and Ure’s clenched vocals swathed in ridiculous echo, echo, echo, as if their dull pompousness requires repeating, repeating, repeating. (Malcolm Jack)
FOLK-ROCK MARY EPWORTH Dream Life (Hand of Glory) ●●●●●
Where shall we begin? With the banjo twang, Black Sabbath fuzz and Goldfrapping blues-stomp of ‘Black Doe’? The brass-toting folk- rock euphoria of ‘Long Gone’? The swirling psych-pop of ‘Come Back to the Bough’? Or perhaps with an introduction.
Mary Epworth is an East Anglian singer-songwriter (and the sister of super-producer Paul). Her lavish sonic cache embraces distorted guitars, celestial brass, Casio beats, tape loops, space and time.
Following a couple of acclaimed 7” singles, Dream Life is Epworth’s debut album and its riches are myriad. Variously recorded in a Norfolk barn and a flat above a Berlin brothel, these songs are life- affirming yet unearthly – as only swooning arias about nature and the skies can be. (Nicola Meighan)
INDIE DISCO FRIENDS Manifest! (Lucky Number) ●●●●● There are songs you can’t get out of your head, then there are songs you wish you could get out of your head. In the latter category: ‘Hey Baby’ by DJ Otzi. In the former: Friends’ ‘Friend Crush’ and ‘I’m His Girl’. The Brooklyn band’s well- blogged hipster hits distil New York musical history (from punk to disco, The New York Dolls to Blondie) into radio-friendly three-minute chunks. This debut winds in and out of that same groove, only sometimes hitting it. Singer Samantha Urbani can’t decide whether she wants to be Karen O, Fever Ray or Cyndi Lauper, and does anyone really care as much as her about hipster sexual politics? This insidiously hooky album straddles both sides of the ‘Hey Baby’ divide, being sometimes brilliant, and sometimes bloomin’ annoying. (Jonny Ensall)
POST-ROCK COMEBACK SIGUR RÓS Valtari (EMI) ●●●●● The rumours of an ‘indefinite hiatus’ might have left us thinking that was it for Sigur Rós, but the four years since their previous album have amounted to little more than a bit of creative refreshment time. Valtari (the infinitely less satisfying to say English translation is ‘Roller’) is a typically dazzling record that follows the not-unexpected pattern of delicate piano flowerings, cataclysmic storms of bow- caressed guitars and Jónsi Birgisson’s heart-stopping falsetto. Yet here their inflexible muse is certainly hitting another peak, from the draining crescendos of ‘Varúd’ to ‘Daudalogn’s delicate hymnal and the title track’s ethereal cosmic folk. More of the same, in other words, which means beauty and emotional resonance in abundance. (David Pollock)
INDIE / COUNTRY SILVER JEWS Early Times 1990-91 (Drag City) ●●●●●
INDIE/POST-ROCK OLYMPIC SWIMMERS No Flags Will Fly (Green White Violet) ●●●●● EXPERIMENTAL/ MINIMALIST PETER ZUMMO Zummo with an X (Optimo) ●●●●●
SOLO SINGER-SONGWRITER PAUL BUCHANAN Mid Air (Newsroom Records) ●●●●●
Disbanded in 2009, David Berman’s Silver Jews project was a tremendous portmanteau of country and US indie that acted as a vehicle for Berman’s lyrics, his voice, smooth and unsteady as stretched taffy, often simply speaking the words in tune, offering up American paradigms and porchlight surrealism. This reissue of two early EPs sees
an entirely different incarnation of the Jews, when Berman was making lo-fi bedroom jams with friends Stephen Malkmus and Bob Nastanovich from Pavement. Tracks like ‘I Love the Rights’ stray off those early Pavement EPs, you know them, effortless hooks and knowing crescendos only partly given into, like semi-ironic Mexican waves. (George Michael Taylor)
The fact Olympic Swimmers’ debut album arrives in a summer when their Google search rankings might not be the best isn’t their biggest hindrance to standing out. Situated between the pillars of Scottish alternative music – Idlewild’s shrewd melodies, Mogwai’s swarm- of-bees soundscapes, The Delgados’ off-kilter pop – this Glasgow quintet can’t help but seem slightly heard-it-all-before. But an album made with this much passion and precision deserves to be judged on its own merit, and in that regard it’s a triumph. Susie Smillie’s balmy voice soothes their thundery post-rock storms, while a glorious ‘Apples and Pears’ chills the blood with cascades of chiming guitars like only great Scottish bands can. (Malcolm Jack)
An excellent reissue of the out-of- print 1981 debut from Peter Zummo, long-time session musician and collaborator of Arthur Russell’s – who lends his distinctive cello and baritone stylings throughout. With its feet firmly set in the minimalist, downtown scene of early 80s New York, opening with choppy trombone bursts and despondent strings, there’s an awful lot going on in this record despite its barren nature at first. It may be too stripped down for Russell acolytes to bite their teeth into initially, but the tabla, horns and vocal hums on ‘Song IV’ delve into some really idyllic realms akin to Russell’s World of Echo, adding a wonderful discordance between the two halves. A forgotten, post- minimalist pearl. (Nick Herd)
Written as a kind of pop requiem for a late friend, Mid Air is, quite fittingly, something of a musical flatline; 14 barely-there doodles for voice and piano with all the punch and urgency of a ghost falling asleep. Virtually nothing remains of Buchanan’s former group The Blue Nile, beyond a few trademark lyrical chestnuts involving starlight, weddings and snow. The remainder is a school-jotter full of sadness, set to backings that sound like a Grade IV player learning ‘Chopsticks’. The listener is invited to admire the tasteful, wracked restraint of it all, but just ends up praying for something as worthwhile as the title track. Eight years in the making, Mid Air makes you experience each moment of it afresh. (Allan Brown) 24 May–21 Jun 2012 THE LIST 105