Review by Rob
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The Polyphonic Spree The Beginning Stages Of….(Good Records)
 

“This is a choral symphonic pop band” reads the sleeve.  And with 12 instrumentalists and 12 choristers, and a definite off-kilter pop sensibility, it’s the truest statement on the album.  They might look like a happy-clappy Southern church choir, all river baptisms and scary grins, but those robes are there to be tarnished.  There’s nothing remotely religious or cult about the band: they’re more Flamin’ Lips than fiery chariots. It’s the Sun is a rousing, upbeat song, gradually building to a relentlessly smiley climax with the humane statement “suicide is a shame”.  Reach for the Sun is similarly joyous, if slightly more baroque.  They have a darker side too: on the primeval, pagan festival tune Call Your Father, Tim DeLaughter sounds like Pere Ubu’s David Thomas, and on Middle of the Day they resemble Mercury Rev performing the Beatles’ ‘Blue Jay Way’.  All are interesting without being essential.  We’ll discount the closing track, the 36 minute long electronic filler Exit Music: picture yourself being tied down and played an incessant loop of the opening bars of Laurie Anderson’s ‘O Superman’ and then imagine the swiss cheese like effect on your brain.  Skip it for your own sanity. 

Writing for such a large number of instruments and voices must be difficult: sometimes a song demands a close and personal touch that the larger format can’t deliver.  Days Like This might be better if delivered more intimately.  Where the Spree’s size is used to full effect, it produces rousting, glorious, singalong tunes like forthcoming single Hanging Around, with a lovely melody and uplifting lyrics.   Previous single Soldier Girl is the best thing about the album and perhaps one of the singles of the year.  Taking a discarded Pixies riff, they supercharge it with strings and flutes; every repetition of the simple vocal begets more voices, different instruments and even yodelling.  Wondrous.  The hype that surrounds the Spree make you fear it’s the dawning of the Age of Aquarius again.  Thankfully, they’re too much in touch with the dark side for that.  

Reviewed by Ged
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Paul Weller is evil. Oh, but he is. He represents all I despise and discourage in British music. Why? It’s that unshakeable belief that all 60's rock records were ever great. The predictable faux cool mod clothing. The repulsion of journalists ("Except you, Paulo!"), the willingness to go through the same chords, the same hackneyed old lyrics. The way he gets his fellow Dadrock plodders to numb his records into even darker submission. Paul Weller is evil.  

Yes, yes, The Jam you'll say. And they were great. A ton of great, life-affirming, fresh pop singles, a great album in All Mod Cons, and a fine example of splitting up at your peak. The Style Council you'll say. Good. A brave piece of experimentation, a decent political flirtation, and loadsa cool white boy soul/pop tunes. But then came the solo albums. Apart from the passable Wild Wood, they've all been as described above. Jesus.

Illumination ? You mean I really have to discuss it? Shit. Well, admittedly, on two tracks, Weller shines. Single It's Written In The Stars is fab, his best for ages: a St.Etienne-esque brass sample, and a fine example of a different romantic lyric, do a good tune make. And the title track, a simple acoustic album closer is also a charming, winning little tune, very much in an English Rose kinda way.   But it's that word "acoustic" that strikes fear into any real music lover's heart. Weller whips old the old wooden 12 string FAR too many times on this album. On the truly dire Leafy Mysteries it pains like genitals in a sewing machine. On the passable opener Going Places it bastardises a perfectly good tune, by making it tired and safe. Horrible.

The guests are out in force as well. Kelly Jones (possibly an illegitimate Weller offspring) croaks his way through Call Me No 5 and Noel Gallagher and Gem Archer snore through the remarkable One x One. Remarkable in its sheer awfulness.  The nadir is Standing Out In The Universe. Even the title sounds like a Seahorses B-Side. It's simply a dreadful song. It sounds like a million others of its kind. It's pointless, almost scary drivel.

Help me. Pass me The Streets album.  Ah, better.

Review by Joe
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Here’s a first: a band with indie-boy cred that would still go down a storm at Donnington.   You must know the influences by now: AC/DC, Deep Purple (they must be checking their diaries to see if they didn’t spawn little Purplettes on some late 70s tour down under), Ramones and Stooges to name a handful: basically, everything that a bunch of Kiwi teenagers could suck up in their provincial backwater has been spat out as something loud and fierce and energy crammed.  MF From Hell (bit of corporate censorship there V2?) is cranked up around a persistent Stooges riff and a motormouth vocal.   Lady has a big Mudhoney sound, with an MC5 type testifying vocal.  Harmonic Generator is a welcome change to 70s glam pop with a chorus built on the rhythmic syllabic progression of “har-mon-ic gen-er-at-or, in-ter-mod-u-lator”, made all the sweeter by the addition of Von Bondie girls Carrie and Marcie on Blondie-style backing vocals.  The hypnotic single I’m in Love we’ve reviewed already: more Purple organ, Jack White-like distorted, keening vocals backed girl gang style by the Von Bondies again, and rampant MC5 guitar riffs.   Some tracks are pure rock that would have Tommy Vance creaming: At Your Touch is Rainbow with cock-rock vocal histrionics, while What Would I Know shows off their axe god potential.   This is so testosterone-packed, it could make hair grow on a billiard ball.  It’s not stupid rock though, but a clever hitching of a retro sound to the new garage bandwagon.  No wonder V2 are so keen on the band: talk about hitting every target audience.  The Datsuns play guitar rock but keep the ties to Seattle and Detroit and the backing vocals on tracks like Lady, You Build Me Up (To Bring Me Down) and I’m in Love show that they’re innovators as much as worshippers.  You’ll hear a lot about the Datsuns in coming months.  Fans of the new acoustic movement should better hibernate now.  

Reviewed by Ged
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They say you should never judge a book by its cover but if that applies to music too what would the debut long-player from Hoggboy tell us?  A group of skinny good looking tousled haired and leather jacketed young men pictured on a Manhattan street?  Well, bearing in mind Sheffield based Hoggboy are about as New Yawk as Yorkshire pudding, it suggests they have at least glanced across the Atlantic for influences.  Fortunately these Tykes aren’t merely a Strokes covers band despite physical appearances, with a fair bit of garage, Velvets and glam thrown into the pot too. 

Whilst its ingredients are fairly standard rock recipe (guitar, drums, bass and vocals) it’s pretty tasty in places due to the vocal talents of frontman Hogg and the added benefit of a few succulent tunes.  The highlight is the beautiful and pensive Don’t Get Lost, the only ballad on the album which has more than a hint of the Strokes about it. Other spittle jewels include the marvellous pendulum-like snared second single Shouldn’t Let the Side Down, the thrashy garage of debut So Young and the defiant strutting wailer, Upside Down.  There’s no real filler on here though the Velvet Underground-ish Mile High Club is somewhat overlong and maybe the presence of so many previously released tracks is disappointing.  Ultimately however despite its obvious qualities it does not quite capture the raw and humourous live Hoggboy experience but, in spite of this, it’s still hardly a pig in a poke and undoubtedly better than a poke in the sty. 

Review by Paul
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The album collects the four singles released around ‘Disco Volante’ in 2000.  Of the Gedge originals, the love-rat count is 3 tales of guilty male infidelity, 6 of being dumped and 2 of being duped by a woman.  An authentic Northern Soul, Gedge’s talent is to keep some of the oldest song ideas in the world sounding fresh.  He does it with charm, lyrics and some of the loveliest arrangements heard on modern pop records.  Sometimes his charm is cheesy (Yesterday Once More), sometimes sleezy (Lollabrigida) but more often he’s got the sensitivity and fluency to say something so piquant about such simple yet big feelings that you’re won over: for evidence, listen to the thrilling way he sings “how pathetic is this sounding/I’m unquestionably [slight pause] captivated by your charms”.  At times the lyrics are so image-intensive they’re like cinema scenes; that visual sense is backed up titles like Girl On a Motorcycle, which could be a 60s spy film title track, and Reel 2 Dialogue 2.  Sometimes the lyrics almost fall off the meter: “are you sure he treasures you/cos I think he’s a philanderer” (Sly Curl) or you can’t take seriously the accented way he talks about “flimsy lingerie” on See Thru but more often they’re barbed and bittersweet, in perfect harmony with the arrangements.  Ah, those arrangements!  The wonderful Wow might sound like a Wedding Present guitar fest but the other songs show a songwriter at the peak of his powers (who else could tuck away songs like 10 Denier and Starry Eyed as B-sides?), backed by supremely sympathetic musicians.  Evidence? Hear the gorgeous strings that contribute to the overpowering sadness of Superman, or the droning viola on Reel 2 Dialogue 2 or just the tinkly pop gorgeousness of Your Charms.   Pop music is usually fast, dumb and expendible.  When it attempts anything more sophisticated, it slips into preciousness, pretension and pomposity.  Not Dave though.  Even though it’s hard to think of anyone covering a Gedge song, it’s not ridiculous to mention Gedge in the same sentence as Smokey Robinson or Dan Penn as writers who can capture a universal feeling in something as simple as a pop song.  The evidence is before you, and as the newest Cinerama album shows, it keeps on getting better.   

Reviewed by Ged
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Chris Martin is an intense, complicated man. He may not seem it, but beneath his cheery 'lucky student' exterior, his mind is a swirling pit of contradiction, of pain, joy, and pretty much everything inbetween. This album proves Martin is a force to be reckoned with in this hackneyed old world of rock and pop.

2000's "Parachutes" was a nothing if not satisfactory debut, containing one absolute killer tune (The claustrophobic "Shiver"), a few other crackers, plus enough to filler to deal with a troublesome skirting board. There was always a danger that its follow up would be dreadfully anti-climatic, that it would contain songs either too adventurous to have any kind of appeal to anybody but the hardest fanatic, or that it would contain carbon copies of "Yellow" with the same chords rearranged, and the same whiny, skinny white indie boy vocal.

All fears are dispelled seconds into album opener "Politik". It crashes in, resounding around your mind, delivering its hard hitting, politically charged message with little complication. Martin's vocal is now urgent and vital. "Give me love over this" he pleads, like a prophet preaching to his indie masses.

Single "In My Place" is strangely one of the weakest here. It bears too much resemblance to the "Parachutes" era material to pack anywhere near the emotional punch of its predecessor. "God Put A Smile Upon My Face" however, sounds like nothing Coldplay have ever attempted before. A driving, almost funky beat, stunning cameos from Berryman, Buckland, and Champion, and a ‘sexy’ Martin vocal. When the phrase "Honey, Honey" oozes out his mouth, he sounds like a man, and very little like the little boy lost that told you didn't mean to cause you trouble just two years ago. In fact, the cameos from his bandmates become leading roles as the record goes on. When Martin's songs are anything less than outstanding, such as "Daylight" and "A Whisper", they make up for it, producing near awe inspiring playing that lift tracks to another level. Although Martin is very much the main man in Coldplay, to discount his friends as nothing more than capable session men, is to do them a great injustice.

Not that this album has to rely on them at any great length. "A Scientist" is just about the perfect Coldplay song. Martin pleads over a beautiful piano line, but he never sounds cloying, as he's been accused in the past. This track, along with the equally stunning "Warning Sign" are timeless emotion tour-de-forces, songs for all time, breathtaking records that will echo down the ages like loving gifts passed down through families.

If you need any more convincing, then the title track is another politically charged, Pink Floyd-esque acoustic lament. But you really shouldn't.

This is an album with very little wrong with it. With this, Coldplay will conquer us all.

Review by Joe
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Subway Sect Sansend (Motion)
 

Subway Sect have been going as long as I have been listening to music which is probably too long for either if us.  Anyway, they’ve gone through various line up and musical direction changes intermittently over the years but here we are in 2002 with Sansend, with the Sect sounding more of a project or collective than a band, and a thoroughly mixed modern sounding record it is too.

Generally, these are not so much songs (verse, chorus, middle 8) as tunes based around repetitive rhythms and raps of extended lyrics.  Rock may form a basis for many tunes but this is mixed with various beats and sounds such as on Americana ?Fire which has a jaunty South American rhythm feel to it.  Vic Godard, singer and the head of the sect, adopts a more vernacular estuary accent then previously, sounding on occasion like Phil Daniels or mockney rapping over hip-hop-rock beats and programmed rhythms.  He sounds freed of any convention of having to ‘sing’ and it is invigorating and startling to hear.  As always, the lyrics are intelligent, observant and witty (“who smashed every mirror in the place/so as not to see you losing face. Which one?” Turn your back on everyone) and a treat for anyone who actually likes lyrics.  And if you think the Sect view is all internalised the demo indie rock of Drop a bomb on ‘em is a timely observation – “So here comes another sequel/with dollars soaked in blood/of millions of people/from one side of the globe to the other/got to drop a bomb on ‘em” . What also surprises is that on three of the songs others take lead vocals – Don’t take it all out on me, Turn your back on everyone and the 70s reggae sounding Heavy Heavy Heavy Load which ends the album.

A genuine surprise.  Not so much as a return to form as a new direction for the Sect, and one well worth going a journey with them.  Perhaps it’s a journey sans end, if you excuse the franglais.

Review by Kev
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Although dusted with punk trappings such as Ramonesy radio links and Dead Kennedys introductions (First it Giveth), the album from the grunge supergroup kicks off in a distinctly trad metal vein.  The first five songs pick over the legacy of the early seventies even more faithfully than the original grungesters did ten years ago, producing serious, melancholy, metal for bedroomheads.  This doesn’t mean that the riffs don’t kerunch with genuine power, but they are cut with drifting vocals courtesy of Screaming Trees’ Mark Lanegan, who brings some of the sombreness of his solo acoustic efforts.  The mood starts to shift with the screamier, short Six Shooter and the intriguing Hangin’ Tree, which brings a Divine Comedy feel to the Led Zeppiness (honestly).  Go with the Flow sees a more familiar grunge sound return, leavening the mix slightly with more of a pop sensibility that comes in and out through to the end and the garagey Kinks cover which closes the record.  Overall elements from four decades of metal are mixed into a strangely muted album which feels a bit long in stretching to over an hour, but that provides an interesting counterpoint to the cartoonish hi-jinks and tuneless doom-mongering purveyed by the modern greasy men with guitars. 

Review by SPT
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I had thought the ‘Bar’ referred to was to whiskers Tennyson’s poem ‘Crossing the Bar’, which is all about death, so thought this might be some ponderous stygian work.  But there’s a picture of the band at a...pub bar.  Oh well, quite literal these rock types.  

It says “beautiful string laden country tinged psych” in the promo blurb on the back.  And generally that’s not far off the mark even though the record starts off with nothing like it but a sort of Oasis/Vines rock hybrid in A Grave to Go to [mmm, death?].  Thereafter it follows a Verve-like ponderousness: mid tempo stadium rock rhythms with breathy emotion wringing vocals, as displayed on the single Don’t Lose Your Head [mmm, death?].  All in all, possibly a perfect soundtrack for one of those Glastonbury moments where the night is falling, there’s a breeze on the air that swirls the machine-made smog and the crowd holds lighters aloft.  No doubt it is all well done but it is hard to feel any real enthusiasm for what sounds like heavily mannered – but ultimately lightweight – material.  Fans of Richard Ashcroft/The Verve will find this appealing – it is better than either of them but it borders on the soporific.  If this is the bar at the end of the world I hope it’s not a lock-in.

Review by Kev
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Many bands have tried to merge ‘dance music’ and ‘indie music’ over the years. You’re usually left with something fairly dire and very few bands pull the dangerous combination off to good effect, but Saint Etienne have done it consistently for over ten years now. 

Sarah Cracknell’s voice still sounds annoyingly like she’s in the middle of having sexual intercourse (how truly vulgar of me) and as usual in attendance are some of those annoying snippets of film or television style dialogue that don’t really have much purpose other than to ruin mix-tapes. Then I’m annoyed further by the fact that they seem to have dropped the pop styling of hits such as ‘You’re In A Bad Way’, a personal favourite of mine, in favour of what seem to be very dodgy dance songs suitable for Dave Pearce to play on his comically bad show. Single ‘Action’ is a bad song; it really does sound like a chilled moment of something cheesy European chart-friendly dance pioneer Sash might spill out. 

Don’t fret though boys and girls. The album might have shuffled away from the indie/pop styling that attracted a lot of people to their music, but the record is still an interesting one. The songs ‘Amateur’ and title track ‘Finisterre’ have enough controlled funky synthesiser sounds that work rather splendidly. I’ve used the word ‘interesting’ once already and I’ll stress that point again. Usually this kind of sound is merely background music, perhaps something to relax to or to read a book to, whatever tickles your fancy. However, I believe this album needs a bit more concentration than others like it. The subtle touches and lyrics are all suitably stimulating and absorbing, they’ll keep you listen with your ears pricked up. 

I believe I have been fair. It’s got Saint Etienne written all over it with big black non-washable marker pen, but I preferred all their other releases (not that I’ve heard every last one of them). They were poppy and fresh, ‘Finisterre’ seems only tired and drab and the slight jump away from the ‘indie’ basis towards the proverbial dance music we all know and despise. Nonetheless, it’s certainly an intriguing listen and an album you should give a chance, perhaps it’s a grower…we’ll see.

Review by Richard
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Having jettisoned the baggage of Kula Shaker hippydom (sitars, mysticism, dodgy clothes and naïve politics), Crispian Mills has flown back into chartworld in a spangly new aviatory popcart - well, as new as new can be, co-piloted as it is by two former members of indie no-hopers Straw.  Has the journey been worth it?  Well, yes and no.  Mills still fills his pockets with the baubles of others, liberally plundering and reusing riff gems, buffing them up and passing them off as his own.  You can either admire his pluck and enjoy the results or be irritated by this disregard for the basic rules of song ownership. 

One of the most obvious thefts is the single Virginia with its note for note re-use of the riff from Bowie’s classic Queen Bitch but with the addition of some appalling childlike lyrics - “The Man in the moon loves his children” delivered at the quietest lighter raising point in the record.  Other classics are rebranded too, the Clash’s reggae-ish Bankrobber becomes a rocky Once Upon A Time in America whilst Teenage Breakdown is little more than Steve Harley’s Judy Teen mixed with I Am the Resurrection by Stone Roses.  At least with their pub rock version of the Undertones’ You’ve Got My Number they don’t try to rebadge it.  One track that doesn’t leap out as a blatant piece of riff theft is the final track Edge of the World, a lovely melodic item.  Unfortunately I feel sure someone will remove the mask and expose the original identity of that one too.

It’ll be interesting to see how many of these songs survive the potential stampede of the original songwriters claiming their royalty dues.  That will probably be dependent on the album’s success – and to the less pedantic listener there’s probably enough decent tunes on here to make it a worthy purchase. 

Review by Paul
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Ska punksters [spunge] have been slogging away for around seven years without making the big time, and people either love them or loathe them.  This third album starts with a guy laughing and declaring ‘You’re just a bunch of amateurs’.  Self-deprecating humour or a bitter truth?  The former I suspect.  With their official site listing the band members’ favourite drinks and sexual positions you know you’re not exactly on the same intellectual level as Radiohead.  Musical reference points are Less Than Jake; there’s a mix of Madness, Bad Manners and Sum 182 pop-punk with vocals that are like a Tewkesbury cross between Damon Albarn and Billie Joe. 

Alas, they’ve made a dog’s breakfast of the tracklisting on the review copy, the band’s site doesn’t give one, nor does the record label, and a quick check of the internet shows the same tracklist.   So, first track ‘Story So Far’ is a potted history of the band, what they’ve been through and why.  It starts as reggae with added scratching before speeding up into punchy ska-punk with some Blink 182 guitars.  Next up is the infectious single ‘Roots’, more punky than ska.  ‘Change Of Scene’ is brilliant [spunge]-go-emo, ‘Skanking Song’ is exactly what it says in the title, ‘Dotted Line’ is more conventional rock but at times sounds like Madness on speed and has some great keyboard playing.        

It’s easy to see why ‘Jump On Demand’ was a top 40 single; it’s catchy, energetic and fun.  In fact that pretty much sums up the whole album.  Bugger the NME and their cretinous reviews; this is a hugely entertaining album, there’re no fillers, and bags of vitality.  Go and buy it. 

Review by Sleezy
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Nextdoorland is the second full album by the original line up of the Soft Boys and it’s not so much a reunion as carrying on unfinished business.  Some these songs were aired on their 21^st anniversary ‘Underwater Moonlight’ tour of 2001.  I’m glad this is as great a record as it is because reunions are about carrying on good work. It’s not making a fast buck because solo careers haven’t gone too well.  In fact, songwriters Robyn Hitchcock and Kimberley Rew have had more successful careers post-Soft Boys!  Both are excellent guitarists and showmen, as very much demonstrated on Mr Kennedy and in their live show where it closed their Electric Ballroom set.  Nextdoorland is a 41-minute album of very tight rock ‘n’ roll, great jangly guitars, great lyrics and clever observations of life by master wordsmith Robyn Hitchcock.  The Byrds and Pink Floyd are just two of the influences on the band that you can hear.  The Soft Boys have come of age and are as relevant in 2002 as in 1983 when I was listening to ‘A Can of Bees’ and they’d already been and gone the first time; to be honest, though, I can’t see them finding a new fanbase now, just people who always got it and who have spread the word.  In truth, The Soft Boys are too damned clever for the rock ‘n’ roll world.  A great band, a great record.  Do yourself a favour and discover the Soft Boys.

Review by Tone
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Hand of Glory is the Royal Trux's lost album, recorded by Royal Trux in between their first and second official LP releases, and recently rediscovered.  Approaching this with a traditional rock mindset, expecting tune, rhythm, and sense, the neophyte Royal Trux listener would be forgiven for walking away somewhat puzzled.  This is a real head-scratcher of an album, not dissimilar from their Twin Infinitives release of 1990.

The Work (the word "album" doesn't really do something like this justice) is divided into two parts.  The first twenty-minute hum-dinger of a track, Domo des Burros, is a complex, multi layered noisescape. Imagine your favourite old-skool middle-of-the-road folk rock track thrown into a food processor, cut up into tiny pieces and strewn all over your living room.  The second part of the work is where your reviewer began to lose the plot.  Without the comfort blanket of nearly-sounding-like-rock,  The Boxing Story consists of what Royal Truxistas would no doubt describe as classic stuff, but which many will simply describe as cacophonous shite.  As someone who, to the bewilderment of his friends, understands and appreciates Autechre's Confield as a work of utter genius, I'll give this the benefit of the doubt.

This is an interesting album, the like of which I'd frankly never heard before.  If you like your rock with a prefix (free-, post-), or you just want to hear how Autechre would have sounded had they persevered with the guitar lessons, buy it. 

Review by Simon
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This is a thirteen track compilation that captures some of the groups involved in a scene (called neo-Realist) dedicated to embracing the traditional elements of the French music scene (accordion, double bass, etc) whilst infusing it with the styles and musical influences of modern France, including Arabic, Brazilian and US hip-hop.  It’s tempting to dismiss the idea behind the movement as a load of pretentious twaddle and indeed some of the music does little for these English ears but fortunately there’s a fair few Gallic jewels amongst the pommes de terres. 

La Tordue’s Rene Bouteille is Madness, if they’d been from Paris’s Left Bank rather than Arsenal’s North Bank and their Les Lolos is Message to You Rudy performed by a barber shop.  Tetes Raides’ Un P’tit Air is pleasant and quirky – imagine Sacha Distel fronting the Divine Comedy playing the theme to a sitcom but the pick of the bunch is the opener Baji Larabat by Lo’jo, a thigh slappingly brilliant North African sea shanty reminiscent of the occasionally useful Les Negresses Vertes. 

Compiled by David Byrne, former Talking Heads frontman and respected guru of world music, the album will definitely receive a lot more coverage than this type of music might otherwise expect and the more adventurous pop picker will reap the bereted benefits.  Bon appetit.

Review by Paul
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Hands up if you remember ambient music? In the early 90's ambient started to define the shape of techno with visionaries such as Pete Namlock (and the whole Fax record label to a tee), The Irresistible Force, The Orb et al producing some surreal work before disappearing up it's own backside with every single release having it's own ambient mix.  Now it seems ambient is back under the name Blip Hop! This compilation, with the tracks being co-selected by David Byrne' claims that "blip hop is true world music" but luckily Deep Forest (shudder) do not make an appearance here. So what do we get? Well we get 13 tracks from some of today's pioneers of electronica from the UK, France and Germany.

Mouse on Mars kick things off. This German duo get madder by each release I hear. Their track "Myklogics" is an excellent ska influenced affair, giving one of the best types of music genres a modern makeover. To Rocco Rot and i-sound pick up the baton with "Pantone" a delightful, laidback piece that would not be out of place on a movie sound track - superb. Mental Overdrive and Schneider TM pick up the theme with their contributions but suddenly the album veers from the original to the banal. The reggae and the tribal influenced works by Pickadelic and Trineo are two of the worst pieces of music I have heard in some time and both fell victim to the skip button on my CD player, a rare occurrence indeed. They were simply boring as was the minimalist effort from Skist, another track which had very little in it's favour.  Pole, with the dubby "Taxidub" start to pick things up before Tarwater produced another fine dub effort with "To Moauf" which was very Andrew Weatherallish like. A jazzy track from Doctor Rockitt (aka Matthew Herbert, who produces so much better material under his Wish Mountain guise) follows with the compilation ending with some weird and wonderful robot noises from Vibulator.

There are some excellent tracks on this compilation but it is a very hit and miss affair.  It may appeal to those who enjoy releases on, say, the Warp label, but the poorer efforts may deter others. Hopefully it will need another Blip Hop record to get the faith going again - roll on volume two.

Review by Tom Bola
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"Try this motherfucker out man!" came the surprisingly blunt request from one of the songs on the album. Subsequent tracks urged me to "Get the fuck up!" and "Play that fuckin’ track!". A little later, on hearing the words "I fuckin hate you! I take your drawers down and rape you!" it gradually dawned on me that I was not listening to S-Club Juniors after all. Some rascal must have swiped their CD from the box and replaced it with something called "Never Mind the Bootlegs - Here's Sex with Nid and Sancy" so soundsxp readers will have to content themselves with my review of that instead.

Following the highly acclaimed "Best Bootlegs in the World Ever" (reviewed
here a few months ago) this is another collection of bootleg hybrid mixes,
containing tracks such as Missy Elliott's "One Minute Man" mixed with U2's
"Numb". But how disappointing! After the high standard of "Best Bootlegs"
this sounds like it's been rushed out to cash in on that album's success.
Part of the problem is that all the tracks are mixed by the same guys,
Belgian duo Nid and Sancy. Thus we get far less variety. Whereas "Best
Bootlegs" contained tracks that were adventurous, humorous and highly
listenable, "Nid and Sancy" relies too much on the same formula (a rap vocal
twinned with dance backing) and the same artists (of just nine proper mixes
here, two are based on Beastie Boys tracks and three of them feature rapper
Kurupt).

There are some good points, notably the great fun of Captain Sensible's
"Wot" mixed with Busta Rhymes and the well-executed electro-rock romp
version of Eminem's "Guess Who's Back", but there's just not enough of these
moments. Also, as you may have noticed from my opening paragraph, most of
the tracks are replete with obscenities. This is great news for Diamond
White-drinking, Raffles-smoking 14 year old boys but it tends to limit the
number of places the album can be played in, which is a shame as half the
fun of these mixes is playing them to friends or colleagues. And by the way,
the inclusion - in full - of the now tediously over-familiar Sex Pistols /
Bill Grundy interview is about as dangerous and exciting as a Boyzone
record.

Disappointing in its lack of imagination and predictableness.

Review by Alex
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Opening with I don't wanna rock must be the worst idea since Hitler tried to take over the world, as the song lacks everything, talent being at the top of it.  It is too repetitive for words and the words are just randomly thrown together. The second track Emily is, well if it ain’t the same kinda subject as the first song….and already I am thinking that if the first two songs don’t have any sort of imagination then what the fuck is the rest of the album gonna have? Oh shit not another song about a girl. Wow that’s three in a row! This band’s on a roll… do I need to go on?  

Well I was thinking that Oasis were good at making all their songs sound the same but they have a long way to catch up with this band, whose lyrics are stuck on the same subject and a whole album about how love hurts or how girls affect the singer.  And with poor guitaring to back up those oh so samey lyrics these pop punk wannabes will have you asleep in no time. Which is not bad if you have things on your mind and can't sleep. Best track on this pile of shit is track three [the single, Girl all the bad guys want] which gets boring and sounds the same after the 30th second. DON'T WASTE YOUR TIME LISTENING TO THIS. You are better off listening to other bands that are a bit alike but can pull of funny lyrics and have more memorable tunes, like Blink 182 and NOFX.

Review by JB
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The Conspiracy hail from Gothenburg and, having spent an excellent last new year there, I was inclined to generosity.  However, while they are clearly groovy kinda guys who would make for a good drunken evening down the pub, the majority of what’s on offer here is fairly straightforward 60’s space pop/rock with leanings towards Commitmentsy white bread soul.  Probably most interesting tracks on offer are the Doors-like St Michael Theme (not that I can see M&S running with it) and the up tempo Super Sweet with its Howlin’ Pelle-lite vocal (I know it seems trite and lazy to mention the Hives in a Swedish band review, but if for some reason you were still tempted to have a listen you’ll hear it’s entirely fair).  An untitled psychedelic-lounge instrumental work out at the end (that I’d gamely endured twice before I’d realised they’d looped it) demonstrates the band’s true muso leanings.  Sorry, but I don’t dig this.

Review by SPT
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