The Maccabees - Given To The Wild

After two albums of fairly standard (though accomplished and certainly acclaimed) indie fare, Brighton’s Maccabees serve up a relaxed, pastoral album which NME has called ‘the first classic album of 2012’. Now, I’m not one for such hyperbole, but certainly something about the album made me come back for more, and want to like it. Perhaps it’s the melancholy guitar tones, the mostly-indiscernible vocals, or the fact that it’s their third album and I feel bad for not paying much attention to them before. Add the fact that they played a perfectly-paced pre-evening slot at Bestival last year which really whetted my appetite for this album, and ‘Given To The Wild' quickly popped up on my radar.

The first impression I get is that it reminds me a lot of the second Foals album. The quirky disco jerks were replaced by something altogether more sedate, and Maccabees take this template and run with it. The intro merges into ‘Child’, which starts off with a gentle guitar riff and a groove akin to Beth Orton’s ‘Paris Train’, and envelops you with a steady beat evoking lazy seaside days, which compares favourably to how Metronomy opened their ‘English Riviera’ album. I would hope this song becomes a live favourite of the band’s fanbase, there’s just so much to enjoy. The track begins as a skeleton, which sprouts a brass accompaniment and, later, guitar solos and really sets a pace.

However, things don’t continue in this vein with ‘Feel To Follow’. Instead, syncopated beats with piano and synth chords almost reset the pace, before the Bloc Party-like, high, reverberated harmonising guitars. Even at this early stage of the album, I get the sense The Maccabees are reaching for the epic, but never for the anthemic. There are few sections in this track particularly that would invite mass sing-alongs, but some really beautiful guitar and drum work, whose invention puts many of their lazier contemporaries to shame.

Next, we’re in piano arpeggio triplet heaven for ‘Ayla’. The brass makes a return to compliment Orlando Weeks’ voice. Although the arrangement of the song feels a little clichéd at times, especially with the predictable chord patterns in the chorus, the production quality makes it hard to be negative about the track. There’s so much going on, even with the simple harmonies and melodies, that the track does actually shift slightly from epic to anthemic. If only I could tell what Orlando was singing!

Now, granted that this may be due to my own inability to perceive, or for that matter really care that much about, lyrics on such a record as this. However, like the Cocteau Twins or My Bloody Valentine, I find the ambiguity in some of the lyrical passages really appealing; it lets me concentrate more on the delivery of the singing itself, and give it my own meaning. The barer instrumentation of ‘Glimmer’ does let me catch little snippets here and there: “through it all…”, “how could it ever go wrong?”, etc., and the fact that the song sounds like its title, with the ethereal guitars and ghostly brass is hugely effective.

‘Forever I’ve Known’ features very little percussion at its start, and the disjointed guitars call to mind windswept moors, before my mind’s eye is swept upwards to rapidly moving clouds when the drums eventually kick in. The song is more repetitive than others on the album, with slightly fewer ideas. Instead, the ideas layer on top of each other in the mid-section and repeat at the end. Next up is ‘Heave’; again a slow start, with that now-familiar high-reaching reverberated guitar, to be accompanied later by choir-like vocals. Again, this is languid stuff, and close to being unsettling before the drums come back (again) and save us. This is sacred-sounding stuff, but again the song is repetitive, despite the lovely outro, and some discerning listeners may arrive at the conclusion that the ol’ ‘start-quiet-add-drums-get-a-bit-louder-continue’ template is set for the rest of the album.

So thank goodness ‘Pelican’ arrives to save the day. This is more like Maccabees of old, with those Biffy-like stabs at the beginning; the vocals are clear and meant for singing along to. “So we take a lover, so we take a lover” is an awesome line, with a slight switch in drum pattern. It’s definitely an album highlight, a different beast, but doesn’t abandon the features that The Maccabees have carefully built up over the previous seven tracks. And after that, the atmosphere just changes. The brittle, chilly nature of the first half of the album just eases into an upbeat, positive journey through ‘Went Away’. The vocals are clearer, and though the guitarplay is no less intricate, it is more typical of what one might expect from The Maccabees. A slight hint of electronica pervades the introduction to ‘Go’; but the synth motif remains true to ‘Given To The Wild’’s features. Then, suddenly, a guitar line erupts like a whale’s tail breaking the surface of the ocean before slipping back into the depths of the album, it’s positively the most euphoric moment on the album and actually gave me goosebumps. Safe to say, that if you had switched off a little when first starting this album, you would now be paying the fullest of your attention.

After that, we have the album’s darkest moment: ‘Unknow’. Weeks’ vocals, the bass and the groove in general combine to make something that really reminds me of Mew at their bleakest. The momentum really gets going here, too. There’s a slight dip in pace with the penultimate track ‘Slowly One’. It’s a slight track, which doesn’t really do much until a synth portamento solo takes over, and some frenetic guitar stabs join the chord sequences. Then it all ends with ‘Grew Up At Midnight’, which is uptempo, yet relaxed. All elements are used sparingly at first before they all come together at the end with the refrain “We grew up at midnight, we were only kids then”. You wonder if they are commenting on the nature and stature of this new work they have done. Then suddenly, where some bands may drag out a good instrumental section, they pull back and stop…

Now, I can see where some people might lose The Maccabees on this album. Unless you were a particularly big fan of the more tender moments on, say, the second Foals album, there’s not a lot to excite you here. I’m also reminded of criticisms of the first Bloc Party album, which some (not me!) thought outstayed its welcome at 13 tracks. But with repeated listens (this review was done after about 4 or 5), there are little hooks and sections to each song, which really do reward you. ‘Pelican’ is an obvious highlight as I said, but it’s really worth getting acquainted with the more laidback, restrained first half of the record as well. There are ideas aplenty, but they are used sparingly, perhaps in such a manner that some will mistake for style over substance. I only hope they come back to this album, because it really is good. In my view, the only bad things about ‘Given To The Wild’ do come down to repetition. Despite their wealth of ideas, there are some recycled ones in some songs. For those who like their lyrics, too, this is an album where you’ll have to work hard to derive the intended meanings (but this wasn’t a problem for me). And to be fair, in a time where the music press has started to wonder whether artists have run out of things to say, maybe it’s a good thing that people can’t tell what you’re saying quite so easily.

85

I'm back...

New year, new start. I'm going to really try and bring you reviews of albums that I find that I care about and think people should hear this year. Not just new releases, but overlooked classics (in my opinion anyway!) and maybe do some reviews of gigs, festivals etc. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to do this as life is busy right now, but, I suppose, watch this space and subscribe to the blog. As always, any comments, feedback, or suggestions will be very much appreciated!

Happy New Year, Nick x

Guillemots - Walk The River

Guillemots are a very interesting proposition to say the least. After 2006’s avant-jazz/pop debut ‘Through The Window Pane’ followed the successful ‘From the Cliffs’ EP, they returned two years later with the very slick, streamlined pop record ‘Red’, which, though quirky and rhythmic, lacked the versatility and vast eclecticism of their first album. Fyfe Dangerfield then played out his pop and MOR side for his solo album ‘Fly Yellow Moon’, and became one of John Lewis’ advert-darlings with his accomplished cover of ‘She's Always A Woman’ last year. Now, Guillemots are back with their new album, ‘Walk The River’. How will it compare to their previous offerings?

The title track is muted and haunting; Fyfe’s vocals ring out over a shuffling drumbeat. Paranoid and sleepy, simplicity is the order of the day here, though a reverberant chorus effect on the guitars and a suddenly catchy vocal on the song’s refrain add a ray of light. This track, with its building layers of verse and chorus, is a song that lazily enters your mind but will not leave quietly. Also, it features the award for a lyric that completely suits its place in the song: when Fyfe sings “I never said I was right, I just hoped you thought it anyway”, it feels like a true moment. By the time the finale enters after some Editors-style reverb-shredding guitars, Guillemots have won you over with their new, more subdued sound, which is at complete odds with their in-your-face catchy pop harmonies of ‘Red’.

‘Vermillion’ follows, waking you up slightly after the seductive lull of the first track. Guillemots steadily add parts to this simple pop song; “Play on, play on” implores Fyfe until, again, the listener is won over by the simplicity of the structure. “Play on, play on” indeed, appears to be Guillemots’ mantra for this new album. As good as most of the songs are, they don’t need to last more than 5 minutes, and sometimes risk outstaying their welcome. ‘I Don’t Feel Amazing Now’ is a prime example of this. The song itself is fine, with the slight strings, but the way it progresses is frustrating, with the needless Katie Melua-esque piano solo two-thirds of the way through and a fadeout beginning just as some sweet Fyfe “oohs” make an entrance and create a really sweet, scattered timbre that is far too short-lived.

Thank goodness they learn their lesson on ‘Ice Room’. This is closer to the Guillemots of old, the little icicle-sounding accompaniments during the verses are a nice touch and we can forgive the Arcade Fire-aping “Whoa-ahh-ohh” hook, the almost-defiant “I’m still alive” chorus and Win Butler-like delivery because Fyfe and co. serve up a truly upbeat cut here which is great to listen to loudly. However, perhaps due to the context of where it is on the record, or the way in which the song is recorded, it never escapes the monochromic nature of the album and becomes the sing-a-long anthem Guillemots perhaps wanted; there’s just too much restraint there.

This is the order of the day throughout the middle of the album as well: ‘Tigers’ opens with a Gemma Hayes-like piano introduction, but doesn’t utilize the chance to use some of the jazzier chords a Guillemots fan may expect and is all a bit pedestrian and repetitive. ‘Inside’ is one big, pretty riff that Fyfe’s vocals seem to wrap themselves around. It’s very pleasant, never really going anywhere, shifting to different ways of presenting the main theme. ‘I Must Be A Lover’ takes things a bit slower still, but with more of a focus on rhythm. The gospel-choir influenced choir is a lovely touch to the end of the song though and results in a wider range of timbre in a track than most of the other numbers on the album. 'Slow Train' employs some nice John Barry-esque effects and manages the incredible feat of making the backing vocal 'oohs' actually sound like trains! ‘Sometimes I Remember Wrong’ seems a tough sell at first: nine minutes long when all the other songs on the album don’t really pack in the ideas, just repeat them in subtly clever ways. But on repeated listens, the arrangement does shine through with the tranquil string section, the affecting backing vocals, the spooky piano samples in the bridge; Fyfe’s pedigree as a classical composer really does show here.

And, finally, something with a bit of colour to it. The first single, ‘The Basket’ houses a fuzzy synth intro and what has almost become a standard Guillemots soaring vocal hook. However, the song seems a bit patched together, with a verse that doesn’t really match the chorus and some effects in the hook before the chorus that don’t really complement the song very well. The “You knock me over” chorus is a clanging reminder of Fyfe’s own "I want you endlessly" repetition from his solo album’s ‘When You Walk In The Room’ and is another sign in that Guillemots may be starting to recycle ideas somewhat. And just as the disparate entities do somehow sum together in the second half of the song, we get an unexpected key change, which will either come across as genius or bizarre depending on how taken you are with the album so far. It definitely stands out from the other tracks on offer at this stage of the record.

And it only serves to highlight the sombre nature of ‘Dancing In The Devil’s Shoes’. Again, it’s a perfectly fine song, but very static, not really going anywhere in terms of musical ideas or in terms of Fyfe’s vocal range. ‘Yesterday Is Dead’ isn’t really much different, but they repeat the trick of using every second of a song approaching nine minutes to showcase some very accomplished development. Some gated percussion and a couple of synth sounds work very well with the reverberating, tremolo guitar in the background, and multitracking the chorus vocals actually creates a thick, yet sparse, atmosphere. The album then closes with a tender vocal from Fyfe on ‘Nothing You Feel Is True’, backed by slight organ and simple acoustic guitar arpeggios, with a slight tap marking the beat in the background. From the rest of the review, you may think ‘same old, same old,’ but actually this song works really well, and possibly should have been placed earlier in the album to showcase a bit of variety, but as a finale, it definitely sums up the album: simple and repetitive, but never grating. Though it also has what sounds like a French ukelele solo midway through. Which definitely gets extra points from me.

All the songs on the album seem to come from the same place: simple drumstick-tapped intros, acoustic guitar chords, simple drumbeats, repeated choruses and phrases dotted throughout and, unlike the previous albums, no utter standouts. There is no infectious ‘Trains to Brazil’ or ‘Get Over It’ style pop anthem. Likewise, there are no long and inventive epics. Yes, there are songs which are over nine minutes long, but to be honest, these are an exercise in amiable repetition, rather than exploration, such as their debut’s closer ‘Sao Paolo’. This shouldn’t detract from the fact that Guillemots have returned with an assured third album. It is earnest and serious, rather than sweet and playful like their previous efforts have been; it suffers from its opening song being the best song on the album; it isn’t the summer soundtrack we have come to expect from the band and a cynic may say that Fyfe is playing it safe on this record. But once you know what to expect, forgive its flaws and rather limp middle section, ‘Walk The River’ will reward more in the long-term than most other albums of its genre this year.

68

Josh T. Pearson - Last of the Country Gentlemen

When Bat For Lashes was still a relatively undiscovered secret, a friend and I went to see a gig of hers at a church in Brighton. It was a beautiful evening and she was supported by a member of her band at the time, Ginger Lee, and by this gentleman, who also featured on the Bat For Lashes track ‘Trophy’. After Mr. Pearson stood on top of the altar of St. George’s singing ‘Silent Night’ acapella, the silence that ensued would have made a pin drop deafening. And from then, I discovered Lift To Experience’s ‘Texas Jerusalem Crossroads’, then, when I met the man himself in December 2009, he told me he would be putting out a “country record” soon and I got very excited, but, at the same time, didn’t really think it would ever show up, as it had already been about 8 years since his last output. Thank goodness my doubts were unfounded!

The closest record I can compare Pearson’s debut to in terms of structure is Joanna Newsom’s ‘Ys’ – ‘Last of the Country Gentlemen’ spans seven tracks but, with four of them over ten minutes, lasts either just under or just over an hour (depending on whether you have the bonus title track, available on the vinyl and the iTunes versions of the album) and truly takes you on a journey.

The record opens with a slight drone and Pearson’s strong-yet-delicate voice (not completely unlike the deep tones of Mark Lanegan) accompanying the comforting backdrop of constant finger-picked acoustic guitar. “I’m off to save the world,” he sings from a reverberant-rich well of sound in ‘Thou Art Loosed’, and you imagine, in a world where the pop-charts are designed to be played from a cellphone, he just may succeed. This is the easiest track to listen to on the album, merely due to its short length; apart from the final song, the rest of the pieces on this album are lengthy, mostly consisting of just guitar and voice, with the odd violin accompaniment. The songs don’t always seem to follow a particular structure, and indeed most are too long to do so. Instead, Pearson wanders from passage to passage, touching on religious connotations (as well as Simon and Garfunkel references!) in ‘Sweetheart, I Ain’t Your Christ’. It is almost as if he sat down in front of a microphone and literally played his heart out. His voice whispers and soars, drawls with restraint, drifts away and comes right to the fore, all the while accompanied by idiosyncratic guitar accompaniment, sometimes slight, sometimes precocious. Almost halfway into ‘Woman, When I’ve Raised Hell’, something amazing happens. A completely unexpected violin bridge enters and when Pearson sings above it, you get the sense he is trying to force the tears from your eyes, such is the considered beauty of the piece. The beauty is not in the catharsis the song title would suggest, but actually from the change of tone the strings provide, converting a song about devotion momentarily into a state of contentment, before the chord changes become slighter and sadder, and eventually Pearson whispers his way to the outro.

The halfway point of the album is the mammoth 13-minute epic ‘Honeymoon’s Great! Wish You Were Her’ – which incidentally is almost guaranteed to win my Song-Title-of-the-Year contest come December. In this song, Pearson is "in love with an amazing woman, it’s just that she is not my wife". The music in the song plays the role (in my mind, anyway!) of the background music in a film where a drunken wretch at the bar pours out his woes of his love to a sympathetic listener. The tragic narrative where Pearson describes the woman’s reply, saying that "she wishes she was her" in reference to the singer’s wife, is incredibly heart-rending, and makes us, the listener, feel nothing but complete sympathy for this couple unable to express their mutual love, and particularly for Pearson’s agony at knowing what he is feeling is completely wrong. A special moment.

‘Sorry With A Song’ ebbs and flows; Pearson speaks and sings with the same pattern as the guitar in places, leaving little gaps where the final cadence of a phrase will be left to ring out. As the song goes on listing Pearson’s faults, he varies the ways in which he fills in these gaps. This song, which should by all rights be very repetitive, is saved from being so by these little twists in performance, which begin to refer to each other: the speeding up of syllables, the repetition of tiny phrases, the introduction of little guitar phrases built up against the main chord sequence. Next, the album version of ‘Country Dumb’ (there is a single version as well) starts with Pearson accompanying himself with an embellished version of the vocal melody with his guitar, before the violin returns to join, and then replace him in this setup. This really emphasises the melody of the song, which hasn’t really happened before on this album, and as a consequence, it actually detracts from the emotional impact of the lyrics a little, as the listener’s ear has something to easily hook onto. This song also gets quite busy between about 6 and 7 minutes in, followed by an almost acapella section, it really is quite amazing to witness the range of sound available with so little instrumentation.

The final track, ‘Drive Her Out’ is the shortest on the album and features the reverb effects of the first track again, as well as some background piano and multiple vocal tracks. It is as simplistic as the first track and suddenly ends, with neither a dramatic closing flourish or a long sustained note, nor a fade-out. It just stops and waits for you to notice the absence of sound.

Overall then, this album is really quite unique. Yes, it has elements of Ryan Adams’ ‘29’ album, and of Jeff Buckley and that whole vibe (which is generally attributed to Bon Iver’s ‘For Emma…’) of one man locked away putting all his heartbreak and demons onto record, but the end result is truly individual. The religious connotations, absurd song lengths, and skeletal accompaniment available on the album should not make for such good and easy, if introspective and cathartic, listening. What I really love about ‘Last of the Country Gentlemen’ is that Josh T. Pearson, in this world of Mumford and Sons and Noah and the Whale, does not care one iota about making his brand of acoustic music in the slightest bit palatable to the masses and consequently has made the most impressive album of its kind around. The quality of this man cannot be overstated – I have seen him live and can give testament to both his vocal and guitar-playing skills. Yet he doesn’t go all-out virtuoso on his debut, but merely does what is right for these singular compositions, fitting them with truly engaging performances. If I were to find fault with the album, I could only suggest that maybe it could be fleshed out with more musical ideas as opposed to the variations employed in Pearson’s delivery. But in doing so, I think this would tarnish some of the magic of this album.

A high mark for this album then. At the same time though, I’m well aware that it won’t be everybody’s glass of single-malt.

94

Radiohead - The King Of Limbs

Radiohead spent the first decade of this century finding a balance between their newfound love of electronic sounds and the guitar-based repertoire of ‘The Bends’ and ‘OK Computer’. Having achieved a near-perfect synthesis on ‘In Rainbows’, the world has waited eagerly to hear where the Oxfordshire quintet would head next. On Valentine’s Day, a new album, ‘The King Of Limbs’ was announced.

So, what exactly is on the album? Like its title, ‘Bloom’ unfurls: piano sample, electronic pulse, scattered drums, tiny glitchy squelches, nimble bass. Then Mr Yorke enters with a beautiful, searching vocal turn. The chorus, if you can call it that, is a succession of Yorke “ooh”s, which eventually merges with a glorious string and brass section. A repeat of the verse then returns and is immediately more comfortable on the ear, having heard it before. The end of the song fades away with all the echoes of its counterparts in a very ‘Everything In Its Right Place’ way. After this very ambitious opening, it’s little wonder that ‘Morning Mr Magpie’ falls a little flat. Despite the slightly dark overtones lent by the vocals and some lovely (presumably Jonny Greenwood) effects, I think it’s just too chirpy (pardon the pun!) and repetitive for a Radiohead song, with the syncopated drum rhythms and the bouncing muted guitar. There’s also not much in the way of development, but in all fairness, this is enhanced by its juxtaposition with the opener.

‘Little By Little’ is an interesting song; it has a similar tone to 2009 stand-alone ‘These Are My Twisted Words’ (descending bass line in particular), yet little of the darkness that pervaded that track. Listening to the song feels alternately like driving at night and frolicking in a sunny meadow, such is the morose tenderness of Thom Yorke’s vocal set against the light, pattering rhythms and coupled with lyrics in the vein of ‘You are such a tease and I am such a flirt’. Up next is ‘Feral’, the big brother of Amnesiac’s ‘Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors,’ complete with vocals but no lyrics, but containing more ‘somethings’ that resemble melody. According to Radiohead’s website, they were listening to a fair amount of Burial and other electronica artists around the time when they were recording this album, and this track certainly demonstrates those influences. Its rolling bass is pretty special actually, giving the song both groove and high remix potential!

Next, we hit the second half of the record with the incredible ‘Lotus Flower’. I personally am reminded during the verses of a sped-up version of Howling Bells’ ‘Golden Web’, which, coupled with Thom Yorke’s desire to ‘fit myself inside your pocket,’ convey a sweet fragility. The song flows effortlessly from section to section (the sustained bass notes halve in length from intro to chorus giving the song more impetus as it evolves, before leaving during the second half of the chorus to complement the angelic qualities of Yorke’s voice and lyrics), and before long, you’re either wondering how on earth five minutes elapsed so quickly, or trying to clap along with the handclaps (not as easy as you'd think!). ‘Codex’ follows, and is probably the most “traditional” song on the album: piano chords and everything. It sounds like it could have been written during the Amnesiac sessions and is grand and stately like the album’s namesake. Still, the treatment of the piano sound and the subtle, stuttering heartbeat rhythm in the background don’t allow the song to revisit the cleaner arrangements of ‘Pyramid Song’. Quasi-electronic strings/guitar effects sweep over the top of the track, and then force the piano into a quiet outro, with the more ‘modern’ elements seeing us out, like a mini-victory of electronic over acoustic.

A battle rendered pointless by ‘Give Up The Ghost’ with its slow, lulling rhythm hand-on-acoustic guitar rhythm and strummed chords accompany some looped background vocals. Again, parts build up and develop around the introduction throughout the song: clean guitar parts that sound almost like vibraphones, vocal harmonies and different vocal passages. After four minutes, you sense the fade out before it actually starts. Similar to ‘Magpie’ earlier, there is very little actual development, but I really enjoy the campfire sing-along vibe which emanates from the forest soundscape at the outro of ‘Codex’, so it almost seems a continuation from that track. Then, ‘Separator’ enters, and we’re back to business, King Of Limbs style. The lovely percussion sounds are back, with some reverberant Yorke vocals displaying their usual dreamlike tone. However, any feelings of slight repetition fade halfway through the song when an actually discernible guitar part enters with a beautiful lick and a chorus suddenly emerges: ‘if you think this is over me, you’re wrong…’ The surprise of this sudden acceleration of ideas at a point where things were getting a little sleepy means that once you are used to this development, all of a sudden the song has finished. Then, … nothing.

You have finished listening to the new Radiohead album.

The immediate impression I get from ‘The King Of Limbs’ is that there’s been slightly more focus on style than substance. Radiohead don’t do themselves any favours by only serving up eight tracks (two of which lack any real lyrics and should really be termed ‘pieces’ as opposed to ‘songs’), some of which seem to twin with each other. The drum and bass parts in particular sound very similar over some tracks, which both homogenizes the songs, but also makes distinction between them difficult. However, this shouldn’t suggest that the album is skin-deep; there are some truly beautiful moments and songs on this album and a continued determination to really continue to push their sonic boundaries. After ‘In Rainbows’ and the novel ‘pay-what-you-want’ Internet release approach resulting in their most accessible album since the 90s, it is no surprise to see Radiohead return to more abstract forms to present their fans with more of a challenge, they’re well known for this type of behaviour, as well as for not repeating themselves. It’s just slightly disappointing that, while experimenting with a more minimal approach for the last few years, they haven’t had as many musical ideas as they have had for previous albums.

Having said that, fan community rumours are rife with the possibility of a second part to the album (the last track being called “Separator” could have a more direct meaning?), which could lend ‘The King Of Limbs’, as reviewed here, a whole different context.

75

PJ Harvey – Let England Shake

Ever since her off-kilter, quirky performance on BBC1’s ‘The Andrew Marr Show’ nearly a year ago, I was chomping at the bit for more news of her impending record. News that the Four Lads’ ‘Istanbul, not Constantinople’ sample had been dropped was quite sad, as I’d been finding myself singing it in Tesco randomly for quite a while. But the opening title track sets the tone for the rest of the album perfectly; the ghost of that sample is presented with the bittersweet xylophone melody, and Harvey’s vocal delivery is half-crazed, half-sweet, both rousing her country and blaming it for whatever happened to “Bobby”. Not for the last time on the album, the juxtaposition of almost medieval-sounding instruments set to modern popular rhythms (I’ve used the term ‘medieval reggae to describe several songs on the album to friends!) works brilliantly at making those songs archaic and contemporary at the same time. ‘The Last Living Rose’ sets a musty brass hook and a vaguely militant drumbeat against Harvey’s no-nonsense delivery and clean-muted guitar while the affection she has for “beautiful England” is at odds with her criticisms: “gold, hastily sold, for nothing, NOTHING”, or loving “take me back to beautiful England”.

Whatever messages spill from Harvey’s perfectly judged lyrics (never too heavy-handed, never too understated), her subtle nuances indicate that this is a record about war. The training-drill vocal phrases present in ‘The Words that Maketh Murder’ or ‘The Glorious Land’ and the marching rhythms of ‘In The Dark Places’ are played with sometimes simple melodies, accompaniments and instrumentation of old English songs. ‘..Maketh Murder’ was a great choice for a lead single from the album, like the experience of war itself, the autoharp chords introduce themselves fairly happily, till the lyrics add a sense of foreboding and the bass implied by the brass parts add a darkness to the track.

After the fairly smooth flow of the opening four tracks, the jarring rhythms of ‘All & Everyone’ that eventually gather momentum (a comment on conflict?) seem to halt the pace of the record, whereas ‘On Battleship Hill’ reverses this trick by disrupting a fairly conventional upbeat chord progression with a particularly high-register Harvey vocal. The cracked-old crone voice which Harvey introduced in parts of ‘White Chalk’, her last studio album, is back in ‘England’, where she sings about “the country that I love” with the air of an 80 year old village witch; elsewhere, her voice is free of the rage and drama of her first few albums, and has become quite like her speaking voice. Suitable, then, for an album which at times becomes your own personal war correspondent.

Onto ‘In the Dark Places’ then, and in this song, Harvey seems to tell of a mission, where “some of us returned, and some of us did not”, and encapsulates the tone she sets throughout the album – simply stating these facts without reverting to hyperbole is in fact the true horror of conflict and she knows it. ‘Bitter Branches’ contains the album’s most vitriolic vocal, but it's still a far cry from her ‘Rid Of Me’ days; this is a more considered anger, which is more a fearful protest at the inconvenience of her brutal surroundings.

The last quarter of the album is fairly subdued, but does not suffer for it. ‘Hanging In The Wire’ captures a rare moment of peace with serene vocals drifting throughout piano chords, and ‘Written on the Forehead’ seems surprisingly uplifting for a song which recants the tale of people ‘throwing belongings, lifetime’s earnings amongst the scattered rubbish on the sidewalk’ and decrying the lot with the “Let it burn” refrain set against Niney the Observer’s ‘Blood and Fire’ sample. The last track of the album is a fitting end, a eulogy almost, to “Louis” who we gather is John Parish’s “dearest friend”. The final tracks of all PJ Harvey albums, without exception, are special events; so it is a little anticlimactic to not have the lady herself on lead vocal duties here. This does unfortunately detract slightly from the song and puzzles me as a listener, certainly when I imagine Polly singing John Parish’s opening verse, but overall ‘The Colour of The Earth’ sounds celebratory (perhaps due to surviving the metaphorical atrocities of the album’s twelve tracks and living to tell the tale?).

Overall then, I felt that PJ Harvey has delivered a fantastic album, which few other artists would have had the experience to produce. Since winning the Mercury in 2001, she has gone lo-fi glam (‘Uh Huh Her’) and piercingly mournful (‘White Chalk’), but here becomes the anonymous, yet patriotic, bystander and storyteller. Interestingly, this is the first album cover which does not picture Polly Jean herself.

Listening to this latest reinvention of PJ Harvey, there were no moments where I found myself reaching for the skip button when listening to this album. In fact, I usually found myself skipping backwards to hear songs again. She manages to spin the most substantial songs out of seemingly very little: the repeating chords and phrases don’t grate as they would have in another artist’s hands, and this is due to her lyrical and vocal ability to keep things interesting throughout. Not to mention a sterling production job by John Parish, whose salt-of-the-earth vocals back her up on most of these numbers. She loses a few points for giving Mr Parish lead vocals on that beautiful last track though!

93

Intro // Prologue

Hello. Thanks for visiting/randomly accessing/drunkenly stumbling across my blog, please stay and have a read. Basically, this blog will consist of things in the world of music that I would tell you myself if I had unlimited time and money to call and tell you things that I would get excited about. You can expect to find me reviewing albums, both new and old, telling you what limited-ticket gigs go on sale soon and generally just telling like-minded fans of music what I think they should know.

A tiny disclaimer, I may not always share your viewpoints when it comes to music. I do dip into first-person narrative sometimes in my writing, particularly when I feel a lot of people may disagree with me. I apologise in advance if a good review leads you to spend a tenner on something you find to be rubbish, but those cases should be few and far between. For an idea of our musical compatibility, why not check out my Last.fm profile? This should give you an idea on whether or not you can trust my opinion (hint: if you strongly hate Sonic Youth and really, really like Justin Bieber, it's safe to say this will rarely be the blog for you!)

Thank you, and please come back again soon as I will hopefully be updating all the time.