ceol canoe

hear with your eyes, see with your ears

[ceolcanoe]

The Correspondents - Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club, 23rd July 2015

Bethnal Green Working Men’s Club feels as though it was made especially for The Correspondents; as though someone in 1953 knew that in sixty years’ time, Chucks and Bruce would need a place that was glorious, weird, dingy and spectacular to showcase their diverse and inspiring talents. Tucked down a backstreet in working-class East London, the BGWMC is everything you would hope for – wood panelled walls, red velvet curtains and heavily-patterned carpets, dulled by years of spilled stout and dropped cigarettes. There are a number of things that make it stand out from others of its ilk – the foil streamers, the giant, festoon-lit love heart that hangs behind the stage, the glitter trodden in to those well-worn carpets. They don’t take card, they do serve crisps, and you can just as easily buy a local craft beer as you can a pint of cold, familiar Fosters.

I’ve seen the Correspondents here once before, just before Christmas. Gaudily decorated in decorations they’ve probably been reusing since the Queen’s Coronation, Bethnal Green threw a Christmas party like no other. The crowd was pissed, beautiful and sparkly, Chucks’s beats were dirty and Mr Bruce sent the Christmas tree flying with his flamboyant moves. (The baubles that landed at my feet went on to hang on my own tree, dented and sticky with cider.) 

Now it is summer and a lot has changed. The Christmas trees have been packed away, the Strongbow is off and Mr Bruce is bald. More importantly, though, The Correspondents have grown from an unlikely duo into an even more unlikely quintet. Squeezed onto a small stage at a not-so-safe distance from Bruce’s flailing limbs are three newcomers – Axel on keys, Ned on bass and the barefooted Holly on drums. The new line up and live instruments add a bite and a dynamic to the band that truly highlight the talents of Chucks, who, with the skill of surgeon, has dissected his back catalogue, removed a few organs, rearranged the remainder and sewn them all back together again. The unlikely conductor keeps the band in check from behind his decks, his Motown polo shirt and knackered trainers a stark contrast to Bruce’s pristine white converse and 80s-mum-style jumpsuit.

The band is tight and if you hadn’t been told, you wouldn’t know this was their first gig together. A slight hiccup midway through the set showed the bands camaraderie, highlighting the fun and hard work that goes into backing the wild and untamed Mr Bruce. Pleased to be surrounded by friends in an intimate venue, Bruce is grateful they got the mistakes out of the way before hitting the main stages at WOMAD and Secret Garden Party this coming weekend. 

The set list featured old favourites as well as a few new songs, reworked by Chucks to include the live instruments, and was as electric and dynamic as always. Mr Bruce, dripping with sweat, smacking spotlights and kicking the Korg, is always a sight to behold – a whirlwind of energy that is infectious, exhilarating and even puzzling (how does he get those legs so high?). 

There are other bands that mix swing with electro, and there are other bands that incorporate jungle, drum and bass and Disney soundtracks into scratchy, danceable tracks, but very few bands do it with the sheer enthusiasm and fierce approach of the The Correspondents. The addition of the live element proves further still that they are one of the most exciting live bands on the festival and touring circuit at the moment, and this venue, with its rag-tag bunch of customers, is the perfect starting point for the next stage in the Correspondents adventure. 

Looks like Soho’s reprobates have found themselves a new home.

[ceolcanoe]

One Last Match - Black Ink Breakdown

If you’ve been missing the sound of brash, indie-leaning rock with screeching guitar solos, growled vocals and strident rhythms, then you need look no further than One Last Match, the debut album from four-piece Black Ink Breakdown.

Online, you will find Black Ink Breakdown labelled as alt rock, punk and alt country. Whilst the two former genres are here in abundance, I struggle to find much in the way of country. Infrequent steel guitar nods gently to the south, but the main drive here is big electric guitar and thick rolling drums. The vocals can at times sound stuck at the turn of the millennium, but vocalist Jay Rapp possesses a surprisingly versatile range, allowing for anthemic choruses and stripped-back acoustic tones as well as gruff, goth-infused punk-rock. The variety of tones is competently melded, but not as chaotic as it could be – or perhaps as I would like it to be. Ultimately, I find it hard to connect with or get excited by many of these songs.

A shift in gear towards the middle of the album takes things down a few notches, and the latter half becomes the stronger half, mixing in acoustic textures and classic Latin-rock. Detached, soothing vocals add the warmth that was missing from the workmanlike first half of the album, creating a more eclectic and interesting sound.

Overall, One Last Match is a rock album, and one that would have sat happily in CD racks circa 2001, with the singles featuring on summer Kerrang! compilations and late night MTV Rocks playlists. Whilst this is by no means the heaviest record to come out of Oregon, it does pack a punch, particularly when invoking the spirits of late 80s–mid 90s rock and metal. Leave the head-banging to other artists and albums; this is more of an enthusiastic nod than a whiplash-inducing rebirth.

[ceolcanoe]

BUSH - Snoop Dogg

BUSH is not your average hip-hop album, but then Snoop Dogg is not your average hip-hop star. The Californian, Coronation Street-loving former pimp and self-proclaimed reincarnation of Bob Marley is one of hip-hop’s more eccentric characters, and his albums explore his various influences and extra-curricular activities in an amusing and unique style. 

Three years on from the bizarre and slightly comical Reincarnated, BUSH is Snoop’s thirteenth studio venture. The re-reincarnated Snoop has dropped his Rastafarian moniker of “Lion” and reverted to his canine comfort zone, but while you could file BUSH under contemporary RnB, soul, funk or even disco, fans hoping for a rap album will be a tad disappointed. Snoop sings on most songs, ditching his trademark vocizzle stizzle in favour of a more melodic nineties sound that invokes images of oversized dungarees and backwards caps. 

The purists won’t be wholly disappointed though, as Snoops lolloping lilt is present on a handful of songs, while guest slots from Kendrick Lemar, Rick Ross and T.I. lend the album some grittier moments. BUSH proves that hip-hop can still be experimental and varied, and there’s a whole lot more to it than bitches and bling. 

Produced by he-of-catchy-intros Pharell Williams, BUSH is filled to the brim with infectious, hip-snaring earworms. This is a record for hazy festival afternoons or blaring out of heavily-pimped hydraulic cars as they bump through the streets of LA, London or Vegas; for grabbing yourself a big ol’ bowl of peaches ‘n’ cream, washing it down with a gin and juice and turning the stereo up until your face vibrates and you can almost smell the perfume of the one woman that Snoop, with all his furs, pimp-sticks and be-bootied harems, has ever had eyes for – Sweet Mary Jane.

[ceolcanoe]

It’s a Sunday evening in the Fine City as I sit down to conduct my interview with Elliot Wright, singer and lyricist behind up and coming Santa Cruz hip-hop-rock band Eliquate. At half 8 in the evening, it seems likely that Elliot is hardly awake (11:30 am on a Sunday and I’m usually still...

[ceolcanoe]

Love Story - Yelawolf

Only Yelawolf’s second studio album, Love Story has been three years in the making, and is likely one of the more diverse releases from Shady Records. It is an explanation of Yelawolf and the world he grew up in, and the influence of his hillbilly surroundings are clear from the off. The man likes a drink, and having kicked his weed habit a few years back, he takes every opportunity to proclaim his love for the sweet dark liquor that his homeland is famed for. 

At first, the thought of an 18-track rap album is daunting. Many rap artists fill their long players with weird, mostly unfunny skits and invite half of their ’hood to come and rap alongside them, but Yelawolf thankfully avoids this overused trope. There is very little filler on Love Story, and the wide range of genres on display means that there doesn't need to be – it stays fresh from start to finish.

Also keeping it fresh is the impressive list of guest spots Yelawolf has chalked up, from more-tattoo-than-man drum machine Travis Barker and syllable-mangling hip-hop luminary Busta Rhymes to the inoffensive auburn toddler Ed Sheeran. Meanwhile, Eminem’s guest slot will be familiar to anyone that heard the Marshal Mathers LP2 – skipping, frenetic and expertly crafted, offering a stark and angry counterbalance to Yelawolfs sing-song verses on many of Love Story’s songs. Of course, Eminem’s influence is not limited to his own spots, and the album’s weakest moments are its forays into Shady-esque introspection and reminiscing of family troubles. But a couple of songs out of 18 are easy to forgive, and for the most part, Yelawolf’s wild, super-fast vocals are infused with confidence, as blistering and dangerous as the midday ’Bama sun. 

After 2011's R’n’B influenced, slow jam-heavy Radioactive was disappointing to both fans and the artist behind it, the time away had allowed Yelawolf to hone his skills and focus on his true influences. The blues and hillbilly sounds lend an endearing element to Yelawolf’s music, showing a softer side to the self-proclaimed Slumerican. He samples Patsy Cline, he name checks Johnny Cash, and he performs alongside The McCrary Sisters. This is clearly a self-assured album, one that knows where it came from as well as where it’s going. 

Featuring some insanely catchy hooks and crafty wordplay, Love Story stands out as a unique and interesting hip hop album, enjoying the 21st century hick life that Yelawolf has built with his clique of white rappers and black punks. It is as sure to satisfy existing fans as it is to surprise and entertain new listeners, who could pick a song at random and hear anything from acoustic blues, Jim Reeves samples or Dixieland fiddles to balls-out, drum-heavy punk-rock rap, all strung together with a thick and fast Alabama accent, a bottle of Jack and a deep love of Chevys.

[ceolcanoe]

Dropkick Murphys - Brixton Academy 21st March 2015 Live review

Fists are pounding tables, hands are clapping and a chorus of “Let’s go Murphys!” is ringing out from the pubs that line the streets of Brixton. Shamrocks, Strongbow and skeletal pirates are a common sight tonight, as hordes of black-clad punks in all shapes and sizes gear themselves up for the Celtic Invasion tour. The capital is brimming with lingering St Patrick’s Day euphoria, Ireland have just claimed the rugby title and Boston’s very own Dropkick Murphys will soon be taking to the stage of Brixton Academy. Rougher than a scrum and as dirty as Shane MacGowan’s molars, Dropkick Murphys pack a mean punch with their growling Celtic punk; an electrifying blend of traditional Irish music torn to shreds with heavy drums and ferocious guitars. “Out of Our Heads", from 2013’s Signed and Sealed in Blood, sets the tone – and mantra – for the rest of the night, as over the course of twenty-sevens songs from over eight albums, the crowd are insane. The mosh pit burst in to life at the off, and remained a living breathing force throughout. Fan favourites “I’m Shipping Up To Boston”, “Rose Tattoo” and “Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya” were met with drunken, glorious cheers, whilst the Murphys tradition of the stage-invading girls during “Kiss Me I’m Shitfaced” solicited loud singalongs, waving arms and high flying pints. Whether they were playing an original, an old Irish rebel song or a well-recognised cover, The Murphys made sure that there was something for everyone. Marking the location for the show, they first gave a blistering rendition of the Clash’s “Guns Of Brixton”, followed shortly by AC/DC’s “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”. The final cover of the night – the show closer – was a good old knees-up; an appropriately raucous rendition of Sham 69’s optimistic belter “Kids Are United”. The showmanship of dual frontmen Tim Brennan and Al Barr is electrifying, and the onstage camaraderie mimics the love felt in the pit below them. Adding to the crazed throng, canons fired green and white confetti into the auditorium, covering sweaty naked torsos or being snatched up, Crystal Maze style, by euphoric fans. With nearly twenty years under their studded belts, The Dropkick Murphys are undoubtedly the kings of the Celtic punk scene, and tonight they showed everyone exactly why.

[ceolcanoe]

The Pale Emperor - Marilyn Manson

Guess who's back? No, not Slim Shady; this time, it's that nice Mr Warner from Ohio, here to ease us in to the new year with his cheery collection of hopeful ditties. Known as Brian to his mum and Marilyn Manson to the rest of the world, the man behind many parents' nightmare has returned with The Pale Emperor, his first album in three years.

Whilst he has been away, our Brian has been reading up on German folklore and playing with firearms, littering his vocabulary with words usually reserved for hip-hop artists, and evolving his fairy-goth mother persona into a sharp-suited, sharp tongued rock-star with a hint of sartorial elegance. 

After a career spanning two-and-a-half decades, there’s very little Manson can do now to shock or alarm. Fortunately, he seems to know this, and the gimmicks have been pushed aside to make room for a well-structured and considered long player.  

The Pale Emperor is less likely than previous outings to spark the curiosity of pissed-off youth, but equally, it might also struggle to lure back the twenty- and thirty-somethings that played Holy Wood to death. It's pleasing to discover that time has not dulled his vitriol, and he vents his disdain for the human race, picking apart its ugliest characters and parading them around for us all to witness. This album is by no means tame; it has the darkness and flamboyance that we have come to love of Marilyn Manson in spades. It’s just not as flamboyant as, say, The Golden Age of Grotesque, or as dark as Antichrist Superstar and the self-styled goth gangster is now more likely to be seen in a clean pinstripe suit than a white, anatomically-bereft morph suit.

Thick, heavy drums, which have always played a pivotal role in Manson’s music, are here in abundance, and when coupled with harsh industrial guitars, they provide the perfect filthy bed for Manson’s shrieking vocals. However, there are no quirky covers this time, nor are there big cheerleader-led shout-alongs. This is not the most exciting of Manson’s releases, but it is still a solid rock album; more complete and more mature than previous outings. It’s just a little lacking in its own identity.

[ceolcanoe]

George Ezra - Live at Brixton Academy, 20th February 2015

Brixton Academy is buzzing tonight as 5000 people wait for the golden boy of 2014; the baby-faced, baritone George Ezra. His memorable, soulful singles get airplay on almost every radio station, spanning audiences and genres in quite an unexpected way. His diverse audience is out in force this evening, as groups of top-knotted lads mingle with gaggles of over-perfumed women; families and loved-up couples of all ages and races stand alongside a strong, central crowd of teenage girls. Entering the stage from beneath a billowing black curtain, his name shining in big white letters behind him, Ezra resembles a young, confident Johnny Cash, head-to-toe in classic black, his guitar hanging just below his nipples, and his band waiting dutifully behind him.

Without little introduction he breaks into the brilliant Cassy O', his “lovely” band adding an extra country-flavoured kick to his folk-pop sound. The crowd, whooping and cheering, join the honey-voiced Hertfordshire boy in belting out one of the catchier moments of the album, hips swaying and glasses raised. Over the course of the next 90 minutes, Ezra and his band treat the audience to the majority of the songs on Wanted On Voyage, as well as some earlier, EP-only songs and two very different covers.

The first, which came in a mid-set solo slot for Ezra, was Bob Dylan’s 1963 "Girl From The North Country", which unfortunately lost half the audience to idle chatter and drunken selfies – some out of disinterest for a song they didn’t know, but perhaps a few out of the irritation of the excessive reverb surrounding Ezra’s guitar that distorted the sound (and not in a good, grungy way). Following his stint on the Radio 1 Live Lounge, the second cover version of the night got everyone dancing and singing along like it was 1999, as Macy Gray’s “I Try” was given the Ezra treatment with huge success – his voice suited to the rasped longing of Gray.

Whether with the band or on his todd, Ezra had a big smile on his face throughout, showing just how at ease he was here; recalling his first visit as a fourteen-year-old, walking into what he felt had been “the biggest room he had ever seen”. Seven years later here he is, playing to capacity, with the audience mostly hanging on to his every word. Laid back and comfortably joking with crowd, he even gave a shout out to anyone who had been dragged along tonight against their will, and advised they watch the video for current single Blame It On Me, in which he is shat on by a bird, run over by a car and attacked by a rugby scrum.

The most passionate sing-alongs came about for the spine-tingling A Blind Man In Amsterdam, the whispered refrains of Leaving It Up To You and one of the biggest singles of the past year, Brit-award contender Budapest. After closing the main set on his Hungarian ode, Ezra and his band returned shortly after to finish off with three more songs, including the enormous Did You Hear The Rain. Although it packs a punch nestled in amongst the subtler tracks on Wanted On Voyage, on stage tonight is was as big and ballsy as any blues-rock American band could muster, lights flashing insanely and strings and skins taking an unexpected battering. With a closing number like that, George Ezra is destined for main stage slots at big festivals, and if his second album could harness that power, he will be a force to be reckoned with outside of his usual singer-songwriter bubble.

As the houselights go up, the grins on everyone’s faces are solid proof that Ezra is more than your average folk-pop troubadour. As they file on to the crisp streets of South London, the ecstatic, still-singing crowd are sweaty and grateful, smug in the knowledge that this will be one of the more intimate venues that Ezra will be playing for a long time.

[ceolcanoe]

Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance - Belle and Sebastian

As we approach awards season, it’s nice to look back at some of the greatest success stories of the past couple of decades. And what a better place to start that with 1999 Best Newcomers Belle and Sebastian, who pipped such hopefuls as Steps and 5ive to the proverbial post? Like a well-orchestrated school assembly, all xylophones and triangles, Belle and Sebastian bashed out sing-along ditties that managed to avoid falling into twee-traps and instead paved the way for a legion of similar and equally likeable Scottish pop bands. If you voted for them then, now is the time to pat yourself on the back. Recorded in Atlanta, Georgia, Girls In Peacetime... taps into the broader world of music that is usually heard from Murdoch and co, encompassing Europop, world folk and NME-baiting indie-dance. The music is simultaneously buoyant and yet melancholy; varied, freewheeling percussion and chirpy harmonies give Belle and Sebastian’s song their signature nursery-rhyme quality that brightens even their saddest passages. It’s this combination that has allowed Belle and Sebastian to remain interesting, despite rarely straying from the indie-pop path. Girls in Peacetime... explores the romantic nuances of the everyday. In Murdoch’s lilt, otherwise mundane moments take on a whimsical new feeling. The lines between innocence and debauchery are creatively blurred, resulting in music you could play to toddlers whilst still having a quiet chuckle at the innuendos. Approaching their twentieth year, the Scottish sextuplet are still going strong, and over the past two decades have released some truly superb albums. This, their ninth full album release, is one of the best yet.

[ceolcanoe]

Old Time Religion - Parker Millsap

With its sombre song writing, gravelly vocals and soulful, Nashville strumming, Old Time Religion, the full length debut from 21 year old Parker Millsap, is a perfect antidote to the sweetness of Christmas and the bitter cold of January. A recent star of the Grand Ole Opry, Parker Millsap showcases a powerful voice and a knack for song writing that belie his years. Leaning on his Pentecostal upbringing for inspiration, Millsap explores love, faith and the hypocrisies of religion with a mature and world-weary outlook, sounding like a man that has experienced and seen much more than befits his mere two decades on earth. Whether speaking from fact or fiction, fairy-tale or first-hand accounts, Millsap’s storytelling is gripping and insightful, and each song is a compelling and often stark snippet of a life lived and regretted, told through the eyes of all-too-real characters that will feel eerily familiar to most. Be it the overzealous preacher, the young newlyweds or the famous Tin-Man of Oz, each character comes to life like only those from small towns can; small towns where community means everything and secrets are impossible. Invoking the weary alt-country of the sixties and giving it a kick up the arse with bold horn sections, New Orleans jazz and a just-on-the-right-side-of-cheesy honky-tonk stomp, this is Bible belt music with personality, passion and not a rhinestone Stetson in sight.

[ceolcanoe]

Formation - The Statue Theives

Combining British rock influences from the early sixties to the mid-nineties, the latest EP from London four piece The Statue Thieves sounds like it could and perhaps should have been released twenty years ago. That’s not to say that it isn’t welcome in 2014; just that it is very reminiscent of the British bands that made a name for themselves in the nineties by infusing standard blues rock with funk, jazz and freewheeling psychedelia. Those that are likely to enjoy Formation are also likely to own a faded Gomez t-shirt, a scratched Badly Drawn Boy CD and a framed poster of Reading Festival 1995 (by no means a combination to be sniffed at). The songs, even those with guitar solos and harmonic breakdowns, are slow, pleasant moments of relaxation. There’s no rush to Formation, and whilst the lack of urgency in the music is enjoyable, the vocals tend to be a bit repetitive and uninspiring. For the EP to really stand out the guitars need to be bigger; currently they lack the balls that you’d want from a rock-blues-funk band. Vocally too, lead singer Craig Ingham needs a bit of oomph, and a gravelly, smokes-60-a-day character would complement the music more than his laid-back timbre. Meatier than 2012’s Statues of Realisation, which featured more acoustic and dreamier electric guitars, Formation is a good Sunday afternoon EP with some promising elements; the harmonica is a gorgeous addition, the drums are simple and the bass buzzes in a violet haze. All they need now is a truckload of Golden Virginia, a rough bottle of whiskey and a Jimi Hendrix session and The Statue Thieves could be well on their way to winning your dad’s heart.

[ceolcanoe]

Flavors - bigbadwolf

Who is Bigbadwolf? It's a question many are soon going to be asking themselves. All we have so far is the debut single by the new mysterious band, with an interesting video and a game of Guess Who? thrown in for good measure. To find out more read my latest review on Amp Kicker and have a listen to the song yourself.

[ceolcanoe]

Live music and one of the best albums of the year

This week I'll be watching Laura Jane Grace belt out some of the most honest songs of her career, as she takes her band Against Me! on a tour across the UK, landing in London for a show at The Electric Ballroom on Wednesday 19th November. In support of the superb January 2014 album Transgender Dysphoria Blues, the album which documented a life-changing milestone for the lead singer as she transitioned from male to female, leaving Tommy Gabel behind, and emerging as the powerful frontwoman of the band she started some seventeen years ago. The London show will mark the end of the band's time in Europe, as the remaining mainland tour has had to be cancelled for logistical reasons. With the in mind, let's hope the London show is one to remember, and that Laura, along with James Bowman, Atom Willard and Inge Johansson, manage to bring the electricity of the album to the live stage, leaving Camden weak at the knees. Support comes from Billy The Kid, and unfortunately for some, the show is sold out.

Also this week, I'll be returning to the Scala in London's Kings Cross to see Trampled By Turtles, which will see the Duluth five-piece playing songs from the summer 2014 album Wild Animals, another beautifully crafted album of rich, foot-stomping Americana, frantic banjos and swooning vocals. Tickets are still available, with support from Scotland's The Dirty Beggars.

[ceolcanoe]

Big Fat Lie - Nicole Scherzinger

On my first listen, I thought that Big Fat Lie was the worst album I had heard all year; nothing but a box-ticking exercise, a by-the-numbers, poorly-written mess. However, this was a little unfair, and on subsequent listens I realised how I had been led astray – the opening track is diabolical. The track is like a punch in the face first thing in the morning. Even if the rest of the day is good, or in the case of this album, OK but nothing special, it will forever stick in your memory as the day you got punched in the face, or worse, the day you had to listen to track one from Nicole Scherzinger’s second album. With a hook that sounds like the Crazy Frog, a synth beat straight out of a Spanish holiday resort in 1993, and inappropriate references to retired boxers’, track one is a misguided, misfired attempt at a big club number that falls entirely flat, is offensively loud and entirely rubbish. Once those painful four minutes and seven seconds are over, the album continues in an equally predictable, though less offensive,fashion - auto-tuned dance pop that subjects the listener to all the usual egomania, misogyny and adultery that r’n’b singers seem to revel in. With uninspiring and often cringeworthy lyrics, Big Fat Lie is a reminder that this is a genre that can get very tired, very quickly. Of all fourteen songs, I can safely say that there is only one that I would listen to again, out of choice, and that can be found at the end of the album. With a skipping beat that is reminiscent of early Jackson Five, the closing song is in a different league to the opener, and a great example of a simple, catchy pop song that stands on its own merits (though if your best offering succeeds simply by virtue of being a pale imitation of something produced forty-odd years ago by a seven-year-old, then maybe this isn’t the career path for you). Ultimately, Big Fat Lie offers nothing: nothing to those who don’t like trite r’n’b (because they don’t like trite r’n’b); nothing to those who do like trite r’n’b (because there’s better trite r’n’b out there), and nothing to me, because the only constructive thing I can say about an album like this is that most of it didn’t make me feel ill.

[ceolcanoe]

I Forget Where We Were - Ben Howard

Rich, layered and full of comforting textures, listening to Ben Howard’s lush, undulating vocals is akin to curling up in a fleece blanket by a fireside in an otherwise freezing cabin, sipping a neat single malt. I Forget Where We Were follows 2013’s Every Kingdom, the debut album that saw 27-year-old Londoner Howard trump some stiff competition at the Brits and get himself a Mercury Award nomination. On both albums Howard displays a craft for song writing that straddles the line between mainstream and alternative, producing songs that allow brief peeks into the intangible loneliness of singer-songwriterdom. It initially took repeated listens for me to realise this, and even now, few songs stick in my head. Whilst Howard’s vocals are breathtakingly beautiful and stark, his blend of soulful, folk-laden indie and hazy, stripped-back blues at first fails to live up to the power of the voice that accompanies it. Indeed, it is Howard’s voice that is the most captivating instrument throughout, and the main thing that allows this album to surpass other current releases of its ilk. Allowing yourself to be swept up in Howard’s music is as rewarding an experience as it is heartbreaking. Whist nothing quite matches the majesty of “Old Pine”, the songs on I Forget Where We Were still manage to captivate. On the album’s darker turns, swollen guitars create a blistering, refracted image, as if listening through a heat wave, whilst the lighter moments offer a chance to shuffle your feet – not a full-on dance, but a gentle skitter. The change in pace keeps the album interesting, creating chances to find something new on every play through and cementing Howard’s broad appeal. Though not one for festive, feel-good occasions, I Forget Where We Were is an album to hold close and indulge in, finding the nooks and crannies that will keep you safe and warm whilst the music crashes and collapses around you.

[ceolcanoe]

Carry On The Grudge - Jamie T

When Jamie T strolled into the limelight eight years ago, with his unplugged bass and his intoxicated drawl, he was pretty much the only person mixing elements of indie-folk and grime. The result was catchy, upbeat, summery songs that hid dark tales of alcohol abuse and panic attacks. Jamie laid his roots when MySpace was still teething, allowing him to blaze a trail without too many similar artists drowning him out. Fast-forward to now, and Jamie T may find that he has some fresh competition. His style paved the way for the finger-picking, fast-talking hip-pop that emerged in his absence, with Dre-loving guitar-wielders making a fuss all over the south and east coasts. Carry on The Grudge, the third album from the South West Londoner, is an eclectic affair that still holds on to that core Jamie T sound; a playful combination of punk, rap and his signature disjointed folk, all delivered in a distinctive slur over a bed of looped strings and computerised beats. It also sees Jamie trying out something new – on some songs, he is actually singing. Whilst not unrecognisable from the anthemic barks of Sheila and If You Got The Money, this previously unexplored sense for melody adds a softer dimension to the music. Interesting to consider is that his new-found vocal chords could open him up to invitations for collaborations. With many guitarists taking their acoustic tunes in MOBO directions, it's an exciting time for mashups and unexpected duets. So far this hasn't been seen from Jamie on a big scale, but the album does feature Studio 54-esque backing singers and choruses that will make you pine for flares and afros. With Carry on The Grudge, Jamie T has crafted an album that you could listen to year round, capturing both the euphoria of a festival and the nightmares of the journey home, and allowing moments for poignancy whether you’re stranded in damp, grey Elephant and Castle or glugging crisp cider at a barbecue on Hampstead Heath. Jamie’s bleak yet amusing observations of city life can be enjoyable and relevant wherever you are, proving once again that there’s more to Wimbledon than strawberries and cream.

[ceolcanoe]

Cold Bones - Bad Luck

If you still haven't gotten over the Nolan Vs Lacey saga of the early 2000s, then Bad Luck is the band you need to hear, and their recently re-issued Cold Bones album will have you reaching for a microphone to swing around you head faster than you can say Ok I Believe You But My Tommy Gun Don’t. Read my review on AmpKicker and then go and listen to the album yourself for a quick emo fix.