Music RECORDS
MINIMAL POP THE XX Coexist (Young Turks) ●●●●●
The xx have that most cherished bond with the listener – they make you feel they are performing for you and you alone. Yes, the hushed and elegant reticence displayed on their 2009 debut was soon played to death, but in those moments of quiet solitude, the album still remained a soulful, soothing companion. The follow-up occupies that same echo chamber of the heart, resonating with those depth charge basslines, moments of half-lit élan and plaintive vocals, like a fireworks display shrouded in fog. This chiaroscuro is what gives the band their satisfying, uncluttered sense of isolation. Instead of bombarding you, The xx possess that Burial-sequel atomised grandeur, reducing and distilling their nocturnal pop into small, graceful fragments. Opener ‘Angels’ on the surface is a small song, but the barely-there simmering guitars and delicacy of Romy Madley Croft’s breathy timbre quietly usher you back into The xx’s cocoon. Oliver Sim’s vocal on the relatively luminescent ‘Chained’ possesses that same restrained poise and the refrain of ‘We used to get closer than this’, sung by him and Madley Croft is heartmelting in its searing simplicity. Elsewhere, on ‘Reunion’, Jamie XX crowbars in some of his burnished steel pan amidst the contemplative clubby atmospheres, but the song remains tethered to the band’s sombre central nervous system. Less is always more with The xx. (Mark Keane)
ALT FOLK ADRIAN CROWLEY I See Three Birds Flying (Chemikal Underground) ●●●●●
Autumn was made for Adrian Crowley. His sixth LP sees the Malta-born, Galway-raised troubadour further hone his gift for warm, rich, fertile psalms that hang heavy with melancholy, earthly wonder and mellow fruitfulness. From the russet, philharmonic glow of ‘Lady Lazarus’ to the swell of ‘The Saddest Song’, the album is fortii ed by Crowley’s peat- crackling baritone, and embellished by gorgeous instrumentation – as heard on the brooding, stark-rock of ‘Juliet I’m In Flames’, and cock- crow pulse of ‘The Morning Bells’.
‘The last rays of summer have all but l own,’ Crowley croons on windblown reverie ‘At The Starlight Hotel’, but I See Three Birds Flying continues to soar, warmer than boni res and Indian summers. (Nicola Meighan)
DREAM POP BAT FOR LASHES The Haunted Man (EMI) ●●●●●
Natasha Kahn released exquisite second album Two Suns months before Florence and the Machine’s inferior and overrated Lungs in 2009. The latter went multi- platinum, while the former has considered going back to her old job as a primary teacher. The Haunted Man will hopefully
help redress that commercial imbalance, as BFL bids to make three Mercury nominations out of three. Standout singles are lacking, but in the lush vocals and lavish dream pop stakes, there are tunes of the highest order; see lady-themed ‘Laura’ and ‘Marilyn’, following the single-named pattern she set with ‘Sarah’ on her debut Fur and Gold. ‘Laura’ is a majestic piano ballad as butt naked as Kahn on the cover, ‘Marilyn’ a glacial, pulsing wonder like Cocteau Twins gone arena epic. (Malcolm Jack)
ELECTRONIC/ DANCE DAPHNI Jiaolong (Jiaolong) ●●●●● LO-FI INDIE ROCK PAWS Cokel oat! (Fat Cat) ●●●●●
Dan Snaith of Caribou has spoken about his Daphni project as a rite of passage he was compelled to undertake to re-engage with the sweaty allure of the dancefloor. It certainly has that mystique he was hoping for. The siren-like draw of early single ‘Ye Ye’, with its unfussy 4/4 rhythm coiled around some brooding analogue swashes, has the listener quickly keening for the darkened embrace of the club.
It takes you there – to that gloomy sweatbox wrapped in rushes, bliss and anxieties. The same goes for ‘Ahora’ and closer ‘Long’, both of which have that same idiosyncratic mix of lush euphoria partnered with a looming sense of comedown. It’s not a project that needed an album, but Snaith’s willingness to explore always yields returns. (Mark Keane)
The latest Scots to release their debut on Fat Cat, this Glasgow trio don’t have the breakout potential of a Twilight Sad, Frabbit or Jetpacks – each ex or of the same parish – but when it comes to noisy, fuzz- loving, I Can’t Believe It’s Not Sub Pop alt-rock for turning on, de- tuning in and wigging out to, Paws are any group of their ilk’s match. Treating American lo-fi circa
1985-1995 as if an endangered rainforest, its affectionate riff recycling galore here – from ‘Homecoming’s Pavement-esque slackerisms to the speedy Hüsker Dü-ish thrash of ‘Miss American Bookworm’. Frontman Phillip Taylor even mimics J Mascis’ atonal sung- through-a-trashcan drawl. Sticklers for originality will sneer – the rest of us will be too busy jumping about like idiots to care. (Malcolm Jack)
FOLK ROCK MARTHA WAINWRIGHT Come Home To Mama (V2) ●●●●● It would almost be easier not knowing that ‘Proserpina’, this album’s standout track, was the last song composed by her mother Kate McGarrigle before she died in 2010. It’s such exceptional songwriting – performed beautifully – it doesn’t need to pack any more of an emotional upper cut than it already does. It’s a reflection of Wainwright’s talent that the rest of the album doesn’t feel like musical window dressing to one song. From the playfulness of ‘Can You Believe It’ – which opens with the line ‘I really like the makeup sex / it’s the only kind I ever get’ – to the raw honesty of ‘Everything Wrong’, a song from a mother to her child, Wainwright plays everything just right. This is torch passing at its most triumphant. (Rachel Devine)
EXPERIMENTAL POP DEERHOOF Breakup Song (ATP) ●●●●● Predictably unpredictable, San Francisco freak pop trio Deerhoof threaten a downbeat dissection of doomed relationships in the title, only for Breakup Song to end up resembling a joyful comment on their sideways approach to songcraft – that is, playfully messing with a tune until it sounds so laugh-out-loud screwball, it can’t be by anyone else. ‘There’s That Grin’ weds robotic electro- funk to carnivalesque breakdowns; ‘Mario’s Flaming Whiskers III’ lives up to its moniker’s eccentric Nintendo music promise and more. ‘Flower’ – its warped lounge jazz groove verses bumping into a shiny happy chorus – is trippily hypnotic and yet childlike enough to soundtrack either a round of pass the bong or a game of pass the parcel. (Malcolm Jack)
80 THE LIST 20 Sep–18 Oct 2012