You could speculate that it’s something in the water up there, but surely not? Everyone in Oxford would then insist on walking sideways in odd time signatures, frowning and taking a frantic unmapped stroll around the suburbs at midnight in order to just get round the corner before midday. No, but there’s no denying the influence of that town’s most notable musical sons on Psychid. But like geographical neighbours The Young Knives are a rowdy step along from Supergrass’ solid Continue Reading

It’s almost a little churlish to have to compare and contrast new Super Furry releases with the old, not to mention being a pointless waste of energy. Inevitably we’ll end up doing so before the end of this review, but here they are, six proper albums on, nearly a decade down the line, tinkering with the boundaries of possibility like they’ve got the whole room to themselves, like they always have had. Like they’ve been hitching aboard the Weird Train Continue Reading

Eponymous? It’s a lovely word, isn’t it? And so seldom used. But this is what you have here Duran’s Duran’s first album, Duran Duran. An album by Duran Duran, called Duran Duran. Neat eh? And not at all unimaginative. Perhaps pressing home their neo-romantic faithfulness to their sci-fi roots, Duran Duran released the shiny, bright and nimble wristed Duran Duran to a faintly suspecting public in 1981. Bouffed up nicely by pirate-shirts, jodphurs, cravats, bandanas and wonderfully silly haircuts, it Continue Reading

Classy, modest, subtle and persistently engaging. So it may come as some surprise that ‘Fleshwounds’ is the debut album from former Skunk Anansie vocalist, Skin. More renowned for the hapless run-around the volatile Brit-Pop market gave them in ’97 and ’98 than for their icy (if manicured) peculiarity, Skunk Anansie unleashed their wiry political tracts to a soft-rock favouring audience to a fair degree of acclaim. However, any longevity was most certainly going to be scuppered by their awkward lack Continue Reading

“Ghostly swirling pop“. That what it says on the box. And that’s just about what you get. If you like Interpol and Radio 4 and the whole current crop of fertile new wavers then as sure as eggs is eggs you’re going to like this. Currently in an undisclosed Montreal studio recording their debut album for a October 7, 2003 release with a full U.S. tour to follow. The extended remix of ‘Still In Love Song’ might demonstrate just how Continue Reading

There continues to be no shortage of shiny new retro punksters rolling off both the major and indie label conveyor-belts like kids just out of nappies and straight onto e-numbers, cheap liquor and the payroll of MTV2. So you probably wouldn’t be the only one out there craving a simple raucous cacophony of 3-chord idiocy that sounded like it was recorded onto the back of a cornflake packet in half the time it takes to listen back to it. And Continue Reading

“And we don’t give a fuck if it rains!” bawls Dan Glendinning over the billowing and actually-really-sodding-anthemic chorus of ‘100% Proof’. And face it, when there’s bound to be the odd Travis comparison it’s worthwhile having your defence sorted from the off. However, it’s not always been strummed serenity for Dan, who was last seen impersonating Eddie Veddar in the thinking man’s grungers Headswim, snapped up by Sony in the mid-90s during the scramble for a Brit response to Seattle’s Continue Reading

Everything’s in its right place. But then it would be wouldn’t it, it’s screwed down. And The Rain Band don’t have a screwdriver. We have no evidence to say they’d know how to use it even if they did. This debut album only goes on to confirm what’s already been hinted at with their preceding singles and gigs. And that is that although they approach their victim (Manchester’s revered and danceable musical output of the ‘80s) with bulbous adrenaline coursing Continue Reading

Taken from the recently released album, Waiting for the Moon, new single ‘Sometimes It Hurts’ finds the crooning, treacle baritone of Stuart Staples lubricated by the equally oiled and moist, Lhasa De Sala – she of French-Canadian persuasion. Dour, anxious, morose, bleak and so painfully, painfully tender it could bleed at any moment, it’s everything that your average art-house loving chamber-goth would have wanted for Xmas. Accompanied by a faintly amusing short film by Martin Wallace, the release pretty much Continue Reading