Some people say songwriters are simply the product of the environments in which they grew up and live (think Marr and Morrissey and miserable Manchester, think The Clash and the graffiti-riddled London Underground, think U2 and a blossoming Dublin).  It goes without saying then, that Mull Historical Society’s own brand of quirky indie-pop, in the form of this latest collection, could only come from an Island where the sheep outnumber the people and, to plagiarise a certain ex-Beatle, you can see the mists rolling in from the sea (……my desire – ahem) on a daily basis.

Performed almost entirely by the one-man-band-in-arms that is Colin MacIntyre (with a little help from his ex-Strokes supporting backing band) this is indeed a fine album, if not one that may be a little odd for straight thinking indie types. I guarantee however that you’ll be whistling along to the haggis-fuelled, guitar riff and pub-piano driven choruses for weeks after your first listen.

This release’s real charm radiates from its intentional, yet deftly comedic lyrical surrealism that certainly wouldn’t be out of place in an episode of “The League Of Gentlemen” (Local?).  “The Supermarket Strikes Back” for example, is an engaging tale of an eccentric yet ailing supermarket owner (yes, I know what you’re thinking) performed over a quirky, Mansun-esque soundtrack, whilst “Minister For Genetics And Insurance M.P” is as offbeat lyrically and musically as the title suggests (think poppy Beta Band or straight laced Flaming Lips instrumentation with lyrics that do actually tell some semblance of a story).  

That’s not to say its all experimentation and off-paced oddness though. “Asylum” is cheesy piano-laden Coldplay-lite that still manages to be undeniably catchy, “Live Like The Automatics” struts along like only a “supergroup” comprising of The Beach Boys, Fleetwood Mac and Weezer could until now, and current single, the rather plodding but FM-friendly “The Final Arrears”, are about as “safe” as you can be without going all Travis on us. 

Don’t expect pure riff-based indie bedwetting here then – and certainly don’t expect anything even close to the output of the current wave of trendy bands beginning with “The….”.  This is a barren, surreal, off-beat and off-kilter collection of sometimes overly-grandiose and awkward guitar based tunes, noticeably underpinned with a definite yet gentle twisting of standard pop sensibilities.  

It’s an album that also reflects the jagged and surreal environment of its songwriter perfectly. Rather like Mull itself however, it’s well worth a visit if you like straying from the well beaten tracks.

Reviewed by Dave B
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Like the White Stripes, the Kills are making 21^st century blues music, music that’s stripped down and raw, so that communication comes in a hypnotic guitar riff or a wounded sigh.  It can be grungy and dirty or raw and alive but there are no places to hide when there are just two of you.  It’s all in the attitude. 

For two people, they wring a surprising number of permutations from voices, guitar, bass and drum machine.  There’s a dirty blues boogie, located somewhere between Beefheart’s Californian desert and Bolan’s glam London on the wonderful, singalong Fuck The People.  Listen to the bile with which VV sings “Hey! Fuck The People!” and feel the rumbling feedback that makes your bones hum.  VV on Superstition sounds like PJ Harvey but in a more aggressive and feral way.  Her voice is breathy and panting but there’s a hunter/hunted feel to it.  She sings sweetly on the organ-softened Monkey 23, a hazy tale of the “monkey on my back”, which sounds like one of the Jim Reid/Hope Sandoval collaborations for the JAMC.  Hotel takes lead vocals on the slow and echoey Kissy Kissy and, accompanied by scratchy guitars and stomping beat, on Fried My Little Brains.   

The two tracks from the ‘Black Rooster’ EP stand out, not only because they’re familiar but because they’re so instant and powerful.  Cat Claw in particular is mindblowingly simple and rhythmic, with VV sneering and spitting the chorus “you’ve got it, I want it”.   Wait is at the other extreme, with VV’s unaffected singing accompanied by simple guitars and a la-la-la chorus that is the nearest to a love song on the album.  The scariest track is Hitched, with its dark blues feel that puts you in mind of an electrified Robert Johnson.  It seems to be a tale of out of control passion and obsession, with insistent guitars that throb like a headache on a stormy summer night: “get my name stitched on your lips so you won’t get hitched”.  That whole sinister feeling is felt through the album in songs mentioning black magic, pulling milk teeth and monkeys on backs and reflected in the samples of, presumably, drug-addled banter.   If you thought the EP showed promise, you’ll love the album. The Kills have made something deceptively simple but brutally raw, honest and dirty.  And, just as important, it’s catchy as hell. 

Reviewed by Ged M
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They’re from the land of Nickelback and on a label that seemed to lose its way about 10 years ago.  Add to that the naffest name since Foreheads in a Fish Tank and well, the omens weren’t good.  Fortunately and almost predictably Hot Hot Heat have lived up to their name and produced a far from tepid album.  The first four tracks on this LP are as good a sequence of tunes as you’ll hear all year.  Naked in the City Again is soul rebel era Kevin Rowland staccato yelping through a Generation X number.  No Not Now is early Wonder Stuff indie power pop.  Get In Get Out is early XTC or Wire fronted by Joe Jackson and single Bandages is a breathlessly vocalled power pop stomper with more hooks than a North Sea trawler.

This is Stephen ‘Pavement’ Malkmus’s second solo album (although he now gives equal credit to his backing band The Jicks). At first play-through I wasn’t too impressed with the lack of decent tunes. However, I remembered that this was exactly how I’d felt about his first (self-titled) album which I grew to appreciate after two or three plays. So I persevered and sure enough it grew on me. Overall, it’s not as good as the first album. The hummable songs are fewer in number and there doesn’t seem to have been any attempt to explore any new musical avenues. The lyrics are still a combination of unusual words that sound like they’ve been used just for the sake of it (e.g. jujitsu) and the mystical / magical verse that he seems keen on but they seem to work so who cares? The guitar playing is excellent and unlike the first album the highlights are the louder rocking-out numbers, notably the 9 minute long Hendrix-inspired guitar odyssey ‘1% of One’. Malkmus has real talent and I’d recommend giving this a few listens but there’s nothing here that will change your life.

Reviewed by Alex M
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This is 24 tracks of full on rock’n’roll buffalo stampede music from San Francisco’s Gearhead Records, a guitar-fuelled no prisoners taken sonic assault.  It includes tracks by the Hives, The Hellacopters, The Pattern, The New Bomb Turks…not hard to guess how it’ll sound.   Predictably, these bands offer some of the best contributions but there’s also a strong Scandinavian contingent that steers the album in some 60s/70s directions.  The Maggots are the purest 60s garage rock while The Flaming Sideburns could be The Sonics on their live version of Testify.  Finland’s Hypnomen offer a straight cover of Cozy Powell’s Dance With The Devil and their Altamont Boogaloo is sassy, classy 70s instrumental rock with a dollop of funk sauce. 

The flip side of the coin though is the opportunity to get hold of some quality new music before it’s freely available to the great-unwashed general public. Cat Power (aka: Chan Marshall) has been getting quite a few column inches over the last few weeks I’ve noticed, and is being heavily touted as the next great white hope of female alternative music, so when her new album came up for review I thought I’d have some of that. Shame it turned out to be what can only be described as a bit of an anti-climax.

OK, so maybe I’m about to be harsh in my comments, so let’s set the record straight here before I get accused of being hard to please. It’s easy on the ear, it’s beautifully produced, she has a fine voice and it’s certainly not mainstream. It does on the other hand sound samey and unoriginal. Tanya Donnelly, Polly Harvey and Stina Nordestram all do this so much better, and certainly with more panache and presence. At no time is there ever a hint that the album is going to shift out of second gear and either go up tempo or get nasty and loud. Tracks tend to blend into each other without you really noticing one has finished and another has began though He War and Speak for Me do stand out against the other tracks and are both ripe for being released as singles.

Now before all you lot out there start writing poison pen letters to SoundsXP Towers, even I for a minute thought that maybe I was being a bit tough on her. Considering who she’s worked with, and what other journalists have written about her, it did cross my mind that maybe I was missing something that everybody else in the world seemed to had noticed. So being my own worst critic when it comes to being objective about a record I took to playing it at every opportunity when I had somebody else in the car with me. Virtually everybody of the large cross section of the (care in the) community who heard it said the same two things to me. “Who’s this?” and “It’s a bit dull isn’t it?” I persevered with it honestly, and tried so hard to say yes I do actually like it but just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Some of the vocal harmonising is truthfully angelic, but on the whole it’s lyrically uninspiring and too musically plain. However technically good the playing and slick production is, there aren’t enough redeeming features to make me want to put it on out of choice. Don’t get me wrong, not a bad album by any stretch of the imagination, but without doubt one with a limited appeal to a minority audience. So when it sells ten million copies and you see me ligging backstage at her third sell-out night at Earls Court, notebook in hand, listening in awe to the brightest new star ascending into the musical stratosphere, please tap me on the shoulder, remind me how wrong I was and try to explain to me just how I missed the point.

Reviewed by Micky K
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Reviewed by Matt H
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Reviewed by Tony S
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