Album Review Compendium (Part One)
I wonder what Sonic Youth make of all the fuss being given at the moment to the reformed Pixies. Contemporaries of Black Francis and co. from the 80s, and arguably an equivalent influence on Nirvana (for what that's worth), their reward for keeping going with what they believe in is regular indifference to their mostly excellent output. Their latest (nineteenth) offering is Sonic Nurse, which is worth purchasing for Richard Prince's vivid and sensual nurse paintings in the cover artwork alone. There's barely anything approaching a conventional tune across the whole record, but this hardly matters as their combination of louche vocals and stirring guitars continues to seduce and enthrall. On initial listening, my favourite tracks, as ever, are the ones with Kim Gordon singing - opener Pattern Recognition; Dude Ranch Nurse and the genuinely unusual I Love You Golden Blue.
People who dismiss the new P J Harvey record Uh Huh Her as a return to her 'difficult' form of 'Rid Of Me' really need some sense knocking into them. I don't mean that in a metaphorical sense, I mean that literally they should be set upon with repeated blows to their head with a block of wood until they stop contaminating people's minds with their idiotic outpourings. Aside from superficial aspects like the supposedly unpronounceable album title and the curious dedication of 'The End' to beau Vincent Gallo, there's nothing wilfully perverse about Uh Huh Her. In fact, the trip-hoppy ballad 'You Came Through', the Siouxsie stomp of 'The Letter' and the Karen-O-does-50ft-Queenie of 'Who The Fuck' are arguably some of the most straightforward and accessible songs Polly has recorded, and there's a pleasing variety to the material which to my mind makes it one of her most satisfying releases to date. It's about as difficult as farting and chewing gum at the same time, but maybe that's why some critics are confounded by it.
May was the month of Morrissey, bless him, and we were all mostly glad to have him back after several years absence, although after his indefatigable media blitz, most of us were equally relieved when he sodded back off to his LA tax exile afterwards. In the meantime, of course, he released You Are The Quarry, a better album than we really had any right to expect, although perhaps his first when the lyrics were the least interesting aspect. It's sad that his most sparkling set of solo tunes are accompanied by the usual score-settling, grudge-bearing, wilfully contrary and hopelessly lovelorn lyrics that suggest 45-years-old Mozzer's emotional development is terminally arrested, and at this point in history, surely only Stephen Patrick could consider the right to wave a national flag the compelling human rights issue of the day.
Another album that turns out to be better than anyone had any right to expect is the second album from Mike Skinner's The Streets, A Grand Don't Come For Free. The follow-up to 'Original Pirate Material' is a darker, more complex affair than the debut, although the formula of street poetry, chirpy chappy banter and haunting beats and rhythms pretty much remains intact. It's all given a bit of extra emotional punch by using a 'concept album' style narrative about the loss and rediscovery of those important things in life - love, money and the trust of your friends. The album's still steeped in enough beer-and-tits culture that you'd struggle to call it mature, but it definitely represents a heightened level of emotional development from Skinner, and this is why, while Morrissey has delivered 'merely' a great pop album, A Grand Don't Come For Free approaches the status of a fine work of art.
I wonder what Sonic Youth make of all the fuss being given at the moment to the reformed Pixies. Contemporaries of Black Francis and co. from the 80s, and arguably an equivalent influence on Nirvana (for what that's worth), their reward for keeping going with what they believe in is regular indifference to their mostly excellent output. Their latest (nineteenth) offering is Sonic Nurse, which is worth purchasing for Richard Prince's vivid and sensual nurse paintings in the cover artwork alone. There's barely anything approaching a conventional tune across the whole record, but this hardly matters as their combination of louche vocals and stirring guitars continues to seduce and enthrall. On initial listening, my favourite tracks, as ever, are the ones with Kim Gordon singing - opener Pattern Recognition; Dude Ranch Nurse and the genuinely unusual I Love You Golden Blue.
People who dismiss the new P J Harvey record Uh Huh Her as a return to her 'difficult' form of 'Rid Of Me' really need some sense knocking into them. I don't mean that in a metaphorical sense, I mean that literally they should be set upon with repeated blows to their head with a block of wood until they stop contaminating people's minds with their idiotic outpourings. Aside from superficial aspects like the supposedly unpronounceable album title and the curious dedication of 'The End' to beau Vincent Gallo, there's nothing wilfully perverse about Uh Huh Her. In fact, the trip-hoppy ballad 'You Came Through', the Siouxsie stomp of 'The Letter' and the Karen-O-does-50ft-Queenie of 'Who The Fuck' are arguably some of the most straightforward and accessible songs Polly has recorded, and there's a pleasing variety to the material which to my mind makes it one of her most satisfying releases to date. It's about as difficult as farting and chewing gum at the same time, but maybe that's why some critics are confounded by it.
May was the month of Morrissey, bless him, and we were all mostly glad to have him back after several years absence, although after his indefatigable media blitz, most of us were equally relieved when he sodded back off to his LA tax exile afterwards. In the meantime, of course, he released You Are The Quarry, a better album than we really had any right to expect, although perhaps his first when the lyrics were the least interesting aspect. It's sad that his most sparkling set of solo tunes are accompanied by the usual score-settling, grudge-bearing, wilfully contrary and hopelessly lovelorn lyrics that suggest 45-years-old Mozzer's emotional development is terminally arrested, and at this point in history, surely only Stephen Patrick could consider the right to wave a national flag the compelling human rights issue of the day.
Another album that turns out to be better than anyone had any right to expect is the second album from Mike Skinner's The Streets, A Grand Don't Come For Free. The follow-up to 'Original Pirate Material' is a darker, more complex affair than the debut, although the formula of street poetry, chirpy chappy banter and haunting beats and rhythms pretty much remains intact. It's all given a bit of extra emotional punch by using a 'concept album' style narrative about the loss and rediscovery of those important things in life - love, money and the trust of your friends. The album's still steeped in enough beer-and-tits culture that you'd struggle to call it mature, but it definitely represents a heightened level of emotional development from Skinner, and this is why, while Morrissey has delivered 'merely' a great pop album, A Grand Don't Come For Free approaches the status of a fine work of art.
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