Impossible Sightings Over Shelton
The name may conjure images of men in monocles counting Guineas over a round table in a cigar smoke filled room; I expected a musical narrative on brandy drinking, beard grooming, waistcoats, pocket watches and hearty chortles at third world famine. Instead I find the band mainly consists not of gentlemen at all, but of women (Pah! Should be seen and not heard) with a whiney male singer who sounds a bit like Billy Corgan. They have a largely gloomy bass sound, embittered by jarring female vocals that randomly lapses into optimistic bursts; it�s an interesting progression of an early 90s sound.
Well, Love Does Furnish A Life
Once it�s stumbled over the ridiculously clumsy title, this new single from Mr Larrikin mixes and matches musical styles as if he�s raided his vinyl collection with gay abandon. Opening with jangling guitars that bring to mind vanished indie gods The La�s, it then slumps into a pseudo-reggae beat, before the Top Ten-friendly chorus finally surges through. Jumbled, slightly confusing, but remarkably infectious and memorable, �Well, Love Does Furnish A Life� sums up Larrikin Love in a nutshell. The jury�s still out on that title, though.
It�s worth stating from the outset that electro-house has to do something pretty special to make me sit up and pay attention. It has its time and its place � preferably about two in the morning, with a pint of tequila coursing through my veins � but outside of that it�s unlikely to make it onto my iPod, let alone my playlists. All of which makes Reead�s achievement a noteworthy one, given that I made it through all eight remixes without losing interest. Buy me that pint of tequila and I�ll probably be lovin� it.
What�s The Miles Per Gallon, Alan?
Someone�s been listening to a little too much Ian Dury & The Blockheads, I think. True, this single has an infectious urgency about it that still survives despite the unwieldy title, but unless we�re turning the clock back twenty years it�s hard to see �What�s The Miles Per Gallon, Alan?� succeeding in the modern world. Besides, they really can�t fit that title into the chorus, and the whole effort feels needlessly rushed and cramped for style. If you�re missing Ian Dury you�ll probably love it, though.
Pin That Badge
Little Barrie return (did anyone notice they’d been away?) with an unashamedly retro EP that claims to have �funk� and �soul� but in reality has as much bite as a toothless chihuahua. This sounds like it took about five minutes to write, and it takes about five seconds to forget it completely. The B-side, ‘Green-Eyed Fool’ takes a swipe at people who �haven’t had the balls to do it for themselves�, which seems a little rich, coming from Morrissey’s jobbing guitarist.
W.A.Y.U.H People Don�t Dance No More
I went to review this single then realised I�d put Talking Heads Remain in the Light on instead. Never mind they�re just the same so I�ll get away with it. Spiky, jerky guitar, clanging cowbells, electronic blips and beeps, rhythmic beats and squealing vocals. This is great if not at all original and more than a nod to the aforementioned art school legends. Complete with a Tom Tom Club ending as well…cheeky boys. �People don�t dance no more/They just stand like this/They cross their arms and stare you down/They drink moan and piss.�
Some bands end up with their vocalist because he owns a car and not because he has an especially nice voice. I’m assuming Edward Molby are such an act. A quartet from somewhere in Yorkshire who, hilariously I can assure you, feature no-one of the name Edward Molby play guitar heavy pop fronted by a singer who whines when the music is meant to be melodic and has possibly the most pathetic scream I’ve ever heard when things get ‘heavy’. I couldn’t stand to listen beyond the entirely rubbish opening track so have no idea if things improve.
The Automatic enter 2007 with an albatross around their necks, their phenomenally successful single �Monster� and a set-trashing Breakfast TV appearance that went on YouTube almost immediately. This re-issue is not perhaps as catchy as Monster, unlikely to change the world, but it�s fun. And that�ll do for now. What is not explained is who Raoul is�
Lennon Jnr could be forgiven for taking the fast track route to fame. After all, what�s the point of trying to emulate your father�s career when he has secured his place as one the greatest of all time? Surely a lost cause?
Not for this single-minded gentleman. Whilst there are elements of dad�s work spliced into this single acutely, individuality is almost certainly the defining word for this, and indeed all, of Sean Lennon�s work. Rather than be cast under a shadow of a parent�s previous success, �Dead Meat� sounds fresh, unique, and indicative of his tribulations to find perfection in the eight-year sabbatical since his last effort. Emulation this ain�t; this stands on its own two feet as a beautifully arranged, gloriously implicit record. He may be as much the spokesperson for the underground as his father was for the mainstream. Not really what you would expect from a Lennon record, and, probably, all the better for it.
The Swedish have the inimitable knack for delivering a perfect piece of pop when it�s needed most. Even in this period of nationwide, post-festive season lethargy; Revl9n (pronounced as �Revlon Nine�) manage to make a song about a Walking Machine seem appealing. It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but its sultry vocals and sugary synths make a bouncy, electro noise that could be a flatpack remedy to a Data Panik shaped hole in the world, if there is such a thing. Altogether it�s inoffensive and pretty pop.