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 »
According to Lennon, life is what happens when you're busy making other plans. Death on the other hand, is a cold, long and inevitably-torturous disease. Of the all the names to survive 25 years of Madchester, Vinni Reilly isn't probably one you've heard of. Commercially overshadowed by former co»
Huddersfield eight-piece Mr. Shiraz certainly have a lot of experience when it comes to the art of punk. Since their conception in 2000 they have toured with punkers Reel Big Fish, the awesome Skindred, Therapy?, Alkaline Trio, Hell is for Heroes and the Voodoo Glow Skull»
Resistance is futile. You see: like email, Easter Eggs, text messaging, and Father Christmas, pop is about massive worldwide acceptance of something intimate and personal to you. A bit like sex you could say. The Hidden Cameras have made the best pop record you will hear this year. It's totally gay, bu»
'Fever to Tell' is messy. Very messy. Empty yet chaotic. It touches you, punches you, then pushes you away. 'Rich' kicks it all off with a simplistic keyboard melody, a bit like one of those musical birthday cards, then follows the drums, Karen’s vocals and finally bass-heavy guitar chords.»
King Prawn, in my opinion, have always been one of the most underrated bands in the UK, if not in the mainstream and fanzine press, then by music fans, regardless of musical preference. As one of the most hardest working and hardest touring bands in recent years King Prawn seem to be stuck permanently in the sam»
Emo has become a dirty word in recent times. Pre-Strokes the NME thought you were cool if you cried about your girlfriend dumping you over loud angry guitars. Still, even if Hundred Reasons didn't quite make the impact people (not least their label) had hoped for, "emotional hardcore" app»
Nine times outta ten, Max Tundra is one of those frustrating entities who – while you listen at least – gives off waves of utter untouchable brilliance. Switch the CD player off, however, and you may struggle to remember a single note. And perhaps herein lies the reason why Ben Jacobs – who incidenta»
Without even opening the slightly dog-eared plastic case before me I can see that both time and love (probably with a greater emphasis on the latter) have gone into this record. A perfectly hand crafted green paperclip has been gently placed in the back of this little package. It fits the mood of the CD perfectl»
If the genius of a guitarist is really measured in what they don’t play, then 'Think Tank' is Graham Coxon’s greatest work. After all the high profile fall outs (Albarn’s hair, and lifelong pal Graham have both departed), the band’s seventh LP is a genuine pleasure to behold. It’s take»
Usually the notion of the phrase [radio edit] placed next to a Calexico track is as mirthsome as the possibility of seeing [rock version] aside a Belle & Sebastian song. Bizarrely however, it's a perfectly apt move. Because, much to Mojo reader's collective chagrin, the occasionally avant-garde »
Kerbang, Kerbang, Pow! Pow! Pow! Ker-langggggg!! That can only be one thing, right? The sound of Satan Presley serenading the Waltons accompanied by the emancipated grandchildren of Duane Eddy twanging away in the background. “Your head’s too big but your mind’s too small” scream»
Treading that infinitely fine line between being terribly pretentious and just being Icelandic, Sigur Rós release their first single, ‘Untitled’, from an album with no name in a made-up language. If they didn’t make such glorious and saddening music, the desire to slap them really would be quite great. »
Old Gods nearly dead they may be, but Fleetwood Mac return, not so much to save guitar pop from the quagmire of timidity, homogeny and fear of evolution that it appears happy to flap around in, but to swish swiftly past towards - forever towards - some orange pastel smudge of a Californian sunset, towards the ne»