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PICK OF Album of the Fortnight THE REST JJ72 I To Sky Lakota
ROOTS MANUVA Badmeaninggood 02 Ultimate Dilemma THE LATEST album in the BadMeaningGood series is Roots Manuva’s eclectic selection of “what constitutes Hip Hop in the 21st century”. Beyond a mutual penchant for smoking weed, you wouldn’t think there were many links between Rodney Smith, better known as Roots Manuva, and the Beatles. However, his own re-mix of Yellow Submarine has to be the pinnacle of this inventive compilation. The tracks range from those with classic Hip Hop credentials; NWA, OutKast and Ol’ Dirty Bastard, to the surreal and sublime. Old favourites, such as ska-tinged 80’s tune Mirror In The Bathroom and Soul II Soul’s Keep On Movin’, are juxtaposed with innovative debuts from the likes of Fallacy and Fusion. Move over Starsky, as Willie Hutch injects a touch of slick 70’s funk, and if you’re seeking an influx of seratonin, look no further than Priceless: four-letter words never sounded so sunny. The final track, Reachout’s instrumental Stimulation of Chaos, feels like a muchneeded wind-down after a most exhilarating work-out on the ears. An album of delicious diversity to broaden your Hip Hop horizons. Amy Lindsay
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UBLIN’S FELICITOUS trio are back following the sweet success of their eponymous album in 2000. It appears that gone are the days of angsty JJ72 and what has replaced it, is an uplifting and serene offering. Frontman Mark Greaney’s vocals still mantain that soul caressing falsetto, but louder and more potent in his deliverance than on JJ72 (See new tracks Serpent Sky and Glimmer). This was mainly helped along by the bands use of producer Flood and mixer Alan Moulder (Smashing Pumpkins, Depeche Mode),who have given JJ72 a
distinct soothing edge on their new album. Particularly seen on opening track Nameless, the lullabying Brother Sleep “I’m going to see you through this my love”, and recent single Formulae. Also despite the over-arching religious imagery, we are assured by the band that it is more to do with pondering over life’s big questions than religion itself. Hopefully I To Sky will give JJ72 the wide-scale recognition they deserve, and this wellproduced and shimmeringly beautiful album will touch the souls of many. Gemma Jones
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THE SKY’S THE LIMIT
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THE DATSUNS The Datsuns V2 THEIR JEANS are tighter than your jeans, they can scream louder than you can scream and their hair is longer than your hair, sing it. They’re also Kiwis, and while you scoffed then slammed your bedroom door when your Dad offered to “show you some real rock ‘n roll music son/daughter” (delete as appropriate) they gazed loyally into their spermfather’s eyes and took up the kind offer. Now old enough to hold guitars, The Datsuns (and yes, Dolf, Christian, Matt and Phil do share a surname, eat that Julian Stroke) raucously batter their amps and your ears with AC/DC no-holds barred filthy riffage with the rather more occasional Axl Rose banshee screech. And you really should love them for it. Now phone your father and apologise. Jamie Fullerton
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JJ72: Back In Black
Roots Manuva: Rodney - not a plonker.
THE GLORIA RECORD Start Here ARRCO THE GLORIA Record’s debut LP is one which is short on tune, but big - very big - on soul. And also swirly psychedelia, and lots of layered sound. Recalling The Flaming Lips at their most contemplative, or Doves in their pre-melody incubation, Start Here is an undeniably fine work, possessing at times a breathtakingly immense emotional power: during the extended crescendo which concludes I Was Born In Omaha, or the delicate chorales of Ambulance, the sheer sonic beauty is overwhelming. There’s a tendency to wander, and singer Chris Simpson doesn’t yet have the charismatic pull of a Jonathan Donahue or a Jimi Goodwin, but even in the most unfocused moments the strength of the arrangements shines through. Very promising indeed. Alex Macpherson
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LEAVES Breathe B Unique AHA, THE latest offering of the Icelandic pop scene, a quintet of earnest mini-Chris Martin's from Reykjavik who, according to
rumour and hearsay, all play in the same football team. But thankfully, this is no We’re On The Ball or Come On United. Leaves instead offer us smooth, velveteen, slightly camp vocals and swirling, undulating guitar lines that wouldn’t be out of place on a Bernard Butler solo album. It’s all rather fetchingly backed by great swells of strings and the odd plinking piano. Remember when Paul Draper & co. made your noses bleed, my little indiekids? The Mansun reminisce is even more appropriate, since Leaves too suffer from the same blight of excessive mediocrity that sunk the careers of Chester’s finest. At their best moments (Breathe, Crazy, Suppose) Leaves manage to raise themselves to a fairly accurate Suede pastiche, with meritable touches of shimmery dark pop. At their worst they produce material that Noel “Quality Control” Gallagher would have rejected from Standing On The Shoulder. Occasional sparks of bleak, edgy, triphoppy brilliance are unfortunately smothered by frequent avalanches of ohso-tuneful pop sugar, which is a definite shame because this album creates the impression it could be really good if only Leaves would take a few risks. A case in point is We, the closing track. At first it’s an eerie, unsettling wail, backed with Radiohead-esque computer widdlings, but Leaves just can’t resist trowelling on the guitars. Its back broken, the track peters out in a standard indie plod. Then, after a few seconds of silence the album closes with a wonderful, distorted, lazily twirling outro that’s just slightly rockward of fellowcountrymen (and minor musical demigods) Sigur Ros. Aargh, how frustrating. Overall then, Breathe gets a ‘must try harder’. Not a bad album by any usual yardstick, but its main problem is that you can find this sort of indie stuck down the back of any major band’s sofa. Mark Cobley
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GROOVERIDER Fabric Live 06 Fabric AS THE term is yet young and nobody has any work to do, post-club house parties continue to feature hopeful deejays drunkenly trying to mix their favourite records. Meanwhile, Grooverider tours the country peddling the fruits of his bulging record box. For those of us frequenting the formerly described events this 18 track mix
has been released to inform us of that which we’re missing. With the likes of Ed Rush, Peshay and Krust making due appearances, The ‘Rider’ blends his way from mechanical, driving, drum and bass touching on hectic ragga, to more chilled breaks. It’s abundantly clear that this is a recording fresh from the dancefloor as the mood rises and falls with fantastic appropriateness. Ever far from monotony, this makes for a fine example of refreshingly competent deck-work. The tempo rises and falls with clever employment of breaks amongst the relenting drums and ever-rolling bass. Lovely. Andrew Davidson
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LUPINE HOWL The Bar at the End of the World Vinyl Hiss OH LAMENT fans of revolution and diversity. The new release from Lupine Howl isn’t exactly on par with the dirge de excellence of Spiritulised. Its more kind of de-spiritulised. The life seems to have drained out of this sorry disc at some point before it got out of the pressing factory. Quite frankly its a load of indie rock poo. Avoid at all costs, unless you like your music devoid of any life, like, for example, the planet Mars. Sam Brokenshaw
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THE LIBERTINES Up The Bracket Rough Trade THE LIBERTINES have proved the musical world right. After countless Next Big Thing tags being thrust in their direction, they have done themselves proud with an album that goes someway towards justifying all of the intense interest. Rather than being one-dimensional and bland, the tracks are fuelled by a catchy, snarling and ranting splendour, that edges mercilessly into the mind. Though easy to criticise as a typical ‘garage-punk’ sound, there is an underlying humour that suggests that they know the current trend towards this kind of thing may not last all that long. Base and loose both lyrically and musically, The Libertines are taking their chance, big up them.
Lucy Jones
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