“A man with a fork, in a land of soup!” Indeed. This is what you get if you bung Trail Of Dead mop-tops on a bunch of ‘How Soon Is Now’-addicted garage rock pretenders in a land before Hot Hot Heat. It's not bad. It's got good pop hooks, early on, and kicks like a ramshackled modern da»
It was the lesbians that dunnit. Finger-licking good they were too, stealing JD from that old pub and having sex in swimming pools full of beer. Or something like that. Yes music fans, try and remember, the Stereophonics' last good single, ’The Bartender And The Thief’. That doesn’»
The photo of Jason McNiff on the inside sleeve sums up this album: he's caught informally walking along a cobbled street, wearing a battered full-length coat. The photo is in crackly sepia and could be a hundred years old. Until you notice the modern cars in the background. Only the cars give away any sense of t»
When bands try to add samples and effects to their demos it's usually an unpleasantly-messy affair. Kid Samson, however, kick against this trend presenting three tracks of unrelenting quirky guitar pop backed by synthetic swooshes, robot vocals, drum loops and what sounds like in-game music on a Commodore»
*Stacey sits in her bedroom, stereo blaring out The Sounds' 'Living in America'. They aren’t living in America as they come from Sweden, but maybe that is the point.* Oh my god, I’m like in a time warp. The Sounds look like some kinda '70s punk band. Now there’s a surprise»
Owsley Sunshine – experimental indie stuff from Lincoln. First thoughts? Gomez. Of course OS don’t have Ben Otterwell, and they don’t have quite the same depth and vibrancy to their tracks that years of music making has lent our friends with the Liquid Skin. Still, let’s not get too carried away wit»
Prejudice is a dirty word, and an even more difficult trait to overcome, so when you're entrusted to listen to an album that's splattered with the words "garage" and "punk" it can prove to be a thankless task hearing the finished product in its entirity without becoming entrapped in a sense of deja-vu»
‘As I walked up the house I could see it was slightly run down, yet quaint in the way it sloped slightly to one side. There was an almost Victorian edge to it and the door was open, blowing to and fro in the cool night air’s breeze. Brushing off the dust from the name tag I could see the words FOUR TET.»
There’s a strange moment about two-thirds of the way through the video for ‘Not Gonna Get Us’. At the point when the song’s seventeen-stone super-heavyweight backbeat gives way to a solitary featherlight keyboard, the images of a t.A.T.u.-driven juggernaut pelting it full-kilter through Siberia are replac»
A two-piece, heavy-blues outfit from the states? You’re talking about Jack and Meg White surely? Afraid not, matey. This is Dan and Patrick. They’re from Ohio. They’re The Black Keys, and they squeeze, sweat and drip the blues. The Black Keys’ second album is a continuous, energised ramble through a»
The Wildhearts are well-known for writing B-sides that normally outshine the A-side, and in the case of their latest offering this is a bloody good job, because 'So Into You' is not an altogether brilliant track. What's good about it is that it has a hugely infectious verse, it gives Ginger and CJ a chan»
It's the sound of heartbreak. It's the sound of that quiet sob when you realise your 'last-forever' love is slowly wilting; the sound of an adolescent's diary, documenting some unrequited obsession; and the sound of wide-eyed optimism melting into melancholy. 'Give Up' is all these things, but above all, it's th»
Summer's here kids, and with it comes the sound of a wasp being shredded by a Kenwood Chef, its eyeballs scraped out by a cocktail stick followed by its wings until it's a piece of fluff waiting to reside in your navel. "Give me one chance? Please?" But this can't happen, oh irritating black and yell»
Ignoring the fact their singer can't actually sing and the lyrics are barely more literate than the latest effort from the Cheeky Girls (with added swearing and wit), 'Me And Giuliani…' is a triumphant 9-minute shimmering dance/funk beast with hand claps, "do do do"s, and sounding like it has The Edge on guitar.»
Laid out on your bed, what are you really searching for from a record?
…the answer to those big questions about existence? Read a book.
…or a friend? Phone one.
When your friends come over and you put on a record, what are you in need of?
…to show off how hip you are? Give up.
…or to show o»
And it went: de-dih-de-CRASH-dummm-dummm-dee-dee-dummmm!!
It was the return of the Deftones. It was triumphant epic-ness straight from the purple shores of Star Wars. It kicked the security outtatha way and stood preaching from the throne of Dubya the Nazi. Glowing in the light of Mus»
Bit of a strange bunch, these Indentikit tykes. Darting frequently from savage punk rock to a more tuneful expanse they kinda give the impression of two radically different bands battling it out with each other, rather than making a compromise and melding the two styles together; something not achieved in the mo»
HO! Hello BABY! I’ts 4 am and I’m lucky enough to have found an all night record store. Course I HAD to hop on a plane to the BIG APPLE first! But what sight did I see? Rows and rows and rows of SHIT records all lined up like they were THE NEXT BIG THING! There’s pictures of THE STROKES e»
Gah, I fucking love the Stereophonics. It was a love affair sparked by those beautiful, melody-enriched anthems which stuck to me in the way an overly-citrussed cocktail does to the tongue. Scrape and scrape, but it just hangs there; unwanted and only slightly malleable. ‘Word Gets Around’ was delightful»
Imagine the ear-cutting Reservoir Dogs soundtrack of ‘Stuck In The Middle With You’ melded with the dulcet tones and poppy hooks of The Only Ones and you have the superlative debut from south London duo Davey La and Ben Castle, and their band, Ambershades. Jangled, acous»
After a furious A&R storm surrounding the Lincolnshire three-piece, The 22-20s offer us their first 7” single release. A-side ‘Such a Fool’ is a guttural guitar assault, driving through its bluesy three minutes with psychotic guitar flourishes, and a languid stomp that would make The White Stripes »
There's nothing worse than having your hopes built up only for them to plunge from a great height in a matter of minutes. When you see a name like The Revs you tend to expect them to sport mohicans and studded leather jackets and have names like Jerry Attrick and play the most visceral churning buzz»
There are few things to get excited about in this unoptimistic musical climate, dulled by the graceless squawks of American post-grungers, backwards-looking Englishmen and denim-clad Aussies, so it's perfectly understandable to question whether the entrance of Keane is actually a trick of the light, or is »