2012 - Top 25 Tracks

25

H Hawkline - Black Domino Box 

A bleak, darkly comic video brings this austere, wry song to deathly life. A compelling live performer Hawkline is also a member of Cate Le Bon's travelling band, cosmic folkists who trade Hawkwind guitars with Goth bucolic Welsh traditions. Solo, Hawkline takes on all comers, so talented it's frightening.

EP : Black Domino Box

24

Craig Finn - Rented Room

Away from the compressed full tilt bustle of The Hold Steady, Craig Finn's solo album allowed him to stretch out and let his insightful lyricism breathe. This is just the wrong (good) side of seedy, a neon lit reflection of an outsiders look at love.

Album : Clear Heart Full Eyes

23

Lightships - Sunlight To The Dawn

In a Teenage Fanclub-less year I had to console myself with Gerard Love's side project. He delivered an album capable of going head to head with some of the Fannies' best. His delicacy and finesse, the ear for a shard-like melody that lingers on the rim of the brain like a waking dream - serendipity brought to the senses - is encapsulated in this song which is beyond beautiful.
Album : Electric Cables

22

Plank! - La Luna

A track that pre-dates this year but now found on Plank!'s debut LP in a new version. A surging instrumental that gets into the bones, it has a propulsion seldom heard this side of CAN - clearly an influence but who cares when the motorik groove is this addictive.
Album : Animalism

21

Jason Lytle - Get Up And Go

A live highlight this year was the (temporarily) re-formed Grandaddy. A few weeks later came Jason Lytle's solo album, parts of which compete with some of his former band's best work, including this sublime 2.16 of glitchy chamber pop.
Album : Dept Of Disappearance

20

Pond - Leisure Pony

I was gripped by Pond's album over the summer. They sound like Headonists on the verge of spontaneous combustion. Psych has taken over this year, with a slew of daring, multi-coloured stabs at capturing that chemical rush. Pond's instinct for a good song sets them apart.

19

Nat Lyon - The Gardener Waits For Winter

I wrote about this album here :-
http://swiftysteve.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/nat-lyon.html

since when it has continued to unfold and reveal its layers in a way that promises true longevity. This is no disposable piece of work but a finely-wrought suite of songs from the gut and the heart of an artist who deserves a much wider audience.

The song is available for free download here:-
http://natlyon.bandcamp.com/track/the-gardener-waits-for-winter
Album : LCRV

18

Elephant Micah  - If I Were A Surfer

Joseph O'Connell is Elephant Micah and a more understated yet pregnant with below the radar profundity piece of music I haven't heard all year. The yearning gives way momentarily (more than once) to fragile beauty that departs as soon as it arrives. It's intriguing, beguiling and stunning.
Album : Louder Than Thou

17

Zachary Cale - Mourning Glory Kid

Complicated things presented effortlessly always have me scratching my head, bemused and baffled at the instinctive knack some people have for displaying unadorned, natural talent. It's easier to embellish and gloss, braver just to be live or die on what you have - not a bad motto for life itself but put a guitar in this young man's hands and the depth of simplicity is just breathtaking.

In September I wrote a bit more about him here:-
http://swiftysteve.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/zachary-cale.html
Album : Noise Of Welcome

16

Sun Kil Moon - Sunshine In Chicago

(One of) the alter egos of Mark Kozelek, a virtual airbrush of a song that slips by on the outer reaches of the consciousness until the intensity of the lyrics, and a sudden expletive, focus the breezy refrain as something else - the ruminations of a man not sure about fame, or the lack of it. Kozelek has a devoted following - he refuses to compromise and his delicate guitar picking and fragile voice disguise a real-time punch that sets him above and beyond the ambitions of the vast majority of other songer songwriters.
Album : Among The Leaves

15

Dark Dark Dark - Tell Me

Occasionally a song will emerge that seems greater than the sum of its parts, that has been carefully crafted and which is sincere and the very best statement that the artist can make of themselves at the time. These lyrics appear to me to be universal yet deeply personal - a genre defying, possibly timeless piece. The drums are heavy yet gentle, the voice dreamy yet seemingly rooted in uncertainty. There is no question mark after the title, presumably because the questioner already knows the answer.
Album : Who Needs Who

14

Thee Oh Sees - The Dream

Just the two albums this year, then. Occupying that place between CAN and the Banana Splits belies the intelligence and nous of these almost veterans. As a live outfit they are as good as music gets and this near seven minute mangum opus is a sustained adrenalin rush of trademark false-setto yelping and drum skitter.
Album: Carrion Crawler/The Dream

13

Calexico - Splitter

A more intelligent, self-aware, ego-less band anywhere? Probably not. Yet Calexico continue to challenge and ask questions. Their album of this year  - Algiers - is named after the neighbourhood in New Orleans in which it was recorded although their message goes out across the deep south or North Africa and beyond.
Album : Algiers

12

Go-Kart Mozart - Retro-Glancing

Lawrence from Creation's 1980s babies Felt, basically. Tesco Express rap, the melody is in the amazing bass line and the clue is in the title, a nostalgic yearning for a bygone era - which wasn't really much fun anyway. If there's a more infectious pop song this year, please show me it.
Album : On The Hot Dog Streets

11

Dirty Projectors - Gun Has No Trigger

Of all the brainy Brooklyn popsters Dirty Projectors are the only outfit that tug at the non-cerebral bits of my music sensibilities. They invoke the intellectualism of Talking Heads in their precision-led beats but when the choruses ascend - as they do on this amazing record - it's a bit like Handel's Messiah. Controlled passion, and music so intricately constructed that there's little point in working out HOW they do it, just rejoice that they DO.
Album : Swing Lo Magellan

10

John Murry - California

Murry's album is hewn from granite, shot through with biographical newsreel that tells his tale, the point of which is that he's glad to be even alive to open his voice to let the demons out. It's also a very optimistic LP (although this track isn't) that will resonate with survivors everywhere.
Album : The Graceless Age

9

Dan Deacon - Lots

Like nothing else this year, Dan Deacon raged against the state of his country. Like nothing else insofar as his rage was set to beats so brutal, with interludes so tender, that it could either have been read as a state of the address, or just the opportunity to have a good time
Album : America

8

Sweet Billy Pilgrim - Arrived At Upside Down

English and brainy with feet in plenty of eclectic camps, this album continues to floor me with its pained incredulity, music that tries to make sense of the grey areas meaning it can mean as much to you as your open mind will allow. Banjo as well.
Album : Crown And Treaty

7

Guided By Voices - Waves

Three albums in a comeback year, each steadily more addictive than the last  - 61 power pop nuggets from Robert Pollard's conveyor belt pen and at 3.23 the third longest, a relative wig-out that thankfully grinds out the propulsive groove towards a major chord denouement. Guitars never sounded this good.
Album : Let's Go Eat The Factory

6

Bruce Springsteen - Jack Of All Trades
Album : Wrecking Ball

http://swiftysteve.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/jack-of-all-trades-bruce-springsteen.html

5

Chuck Prophet  - Castro Halloween
Album : Temple Beautiful

http://swiftysteve.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/chuck-prophet-castro-halloween.html

4

Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Ramada Inn

Where to start with this? Well, it's too short. It's a spun-out tale of a couple lost towards the end of their lives - like the record their lives are going in one direction. For a man not personally blighted by the illness of addiction Young shows incredible insight into the minds of his characters. As importantly, he wages heavy war with the guitars, making this the most memorable track of his best album for many years.
Album : Psychedelic Pill

3

Bill Fay - Cosmic Concerto (Life Is People)

A fascinating back story of redemption and a first record for 40+ years was enough to grab the attention. What had been doing all that time? Finding peace and making sense of the world is what - big things that are communicated with sincerity and a fracturing voice that tugs at the senses. The most uplifting, joyous and life-affirming set of songs - this being its spiritual zenith.
Album : Life Is People

2

Jonah Tolchin - Godforsaken World

I wrote about Jonah's album in April :-
http://swiftysteve.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/jonah-tolchin.html
since when he's toured the US relentlessly and recorded a fantastic session for the Daytrotter people. For one so young it's silly to jump to conclusions but as you can see from this performance of 'Godforsaken World' he not only means it (man) but his instinctive confidence and belief in himself means that pencilling him into the lineage of boundary-pushing American singer songwriters might not just be an act of premature wishful thinking.
Album : Criminal Man

1

Dexys - It's OK John Joe

From the opening Moonlight Sonata-style bars to the Sinatra-style croon Kevin Rowland deploys vintage vehicles to put across this inner dialogue, a confessional conversation with an alter ego - maybe his soul - to climax this perfect album. He's learnt to be kind to himself, to get that elusive perspective which finally sets his spirit free. To call this track honest is to belittle the addictive granite he's chipped away at for so long, finally revealing a human being he's happy to live with.
Album : One Day I'm Going To Soar

Nada Surf

So when did I first hear Nada Surf? Must have been the early 00s, a guitar rush around the time of the album 'Let Go'. I recall the lyric to 'The Way You Wear Your Head' making my eyebrows arch and thinking 'I have one here'. If ever a band is made to blow away the blurry thinking with a pure melody surge then it is Nada Surf - an uncomplicated yet frighteningly proficient package of compressed indie pop.

Getting to see them live had proved to be frustrating. These New Yorkers are relentless tourists but the UK seemed to be off their radar, unlike mainland Europe and the US. So I was on it like a shot when they announced a date in Manchester on the back of their latest album, the wordy (for them) 'The Stars Are Indifferent To Astronomy'. On record, they are like a blood transfusion - an intravenous shot of aural anti-coagulant. Listen to 'Hi Speed Soul' or 'Whose Authority' and I defy you not to be swept away by their warm wind of optimism.

The smaller top room at the Manchester Academy was full-ish but demonstrated the fact that Nada Surf are still under most people's radar. The lack of a big hit or movie/ advert soundtrack has kept the band nicely niche. I was surprised to learn how old they are - all easily into their 40s. Matthew Caws, the frontman and main songwriter, seems disarmingly ordinary as he fumbles with his guitar strap. This is their first date for a good while - the start of a world tour - but instead of it being shambolic and disorganised, the between-song delays help build the audience rapport (most are confirmed fans anyway)-  this appears to be a band without ego. As each song quickly discovers its relentless groove it's as though a switch has been tripped and a seamless energy flows, the telepathy developed over the years shifts into gear and they're off.

Daniel Lorca on bass is a revelation. Low slung, almost scraping the floor, he adds the propulsion and the urgency - they play so fast that I'm reminded of the early punk bands and the frenetic race to reach the end of the song as quickly as possible. Caws is no Dylan but at times - such as the sophisticated reflections on mortality in 'See These Bones' -  he pauses the band for thought and depth emerges. The new LP deals with big issues, it just so happens that they are cloaked in choruses and major key chord modulations that invoke euphoria, palpably the best of both worlds.

The gig flies past. Doug Gillard (Guided By Voices) on extra guitar adds a heft to the trio's ferocious muscularity  - it's great to see this understated icon of 90s American indie peeling off the scatter-gun solos.

There is an effortless connection with the audience. Caws continually beams at the front rows going mental.

The wistful 'Paper Boats' is the cue for a pleasingly in tune accompaniment from, it seems, every female in the room. A looming curfew causes a frenetic dash for the end, they cram in the 'hits' - 'Happy Kid', 'Killian's Red', 'Blankest Year.'

It puzzles me how such a radio friendly, open-hearted power pop band can remain so relatively obscure. Far more will be familiar with Death Cab For Cutie and Fountains Of Wayne - literate, indie, Pixies-inspired groups who made their names on the same US college radio circuit. Nada Surf seem happy and secure about it. On this showing they have nothing to prove - a band that doesn't need to re-invent itself. Keep it high energy, keep it simple and just take everyone along for the ride.

Zachary Cale

When a rare recommendation arrived from a respected source (eminent musician Hans Chew) I sat up straight. The recommendation was Zachary Cale from Enon, Louisiana and he was playing in nearby York within days. Hearing his album 'Noise Of Welcome' made me instantly change plans to see another band the same night in Sheffield. I was taken by the fragile voice, the confident arrangements and the intriguing juxtaposition of disparate words in his lyrics.

To stand out in the overcrowded singer songwriter genre these days an artist has to find an angle or, more impressively (Josh T Pearson, John Murry), deliver their music from such a position of brutal conviction that the listener identifies and engages with the person before finding a way in to the music itself. So this was a feeling I had. My sixth sense (located in the gut) positively screamed at me.

True enough, the album continued to revealed its layers over the next couple of days and we found our way to the Fulford Arms in York where he was playing solo on a mid-week night.

He is a very disarming individual and we managed a quick chat during which he revealed his love of British/ Irish music (Waterboys, The Fall, The Kinks ) before delivering a set of songs (including Mourning Glory Kid, above) that invited those watching into his interior world. His guitar playing is deceptively complex, featuring runs and chord sequences that turned the instrument into an orchestra. I was reminded mostly of English folk legend Michael Chapman, who I saw in February.

http://swiftysteve.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/michael-chapman.html

Live, his voice comes and goes, dropping and then rising on lyrics themed around the trials of being human. I sensed that, deeper than this, he is pre-occupied by forgiveness and, who knows, loss. Cale's version of lyrical folk balladry intertwines the urban and the pastoral - his songs are rooted in real life - this is no daydreamer's charter or means of escape. He contemplates to find answers, only for those answers to slip away in the cold light of day. But this is OK -  he has his music to re-discover those solutions and to begin to make those choices.

Zachary Cale is different. He has the searing honesty which will see him through and the work ethic to make it happen.

http://allhandselectric.com/zacharycale.html

Note Bleed

I'm drawn to music that doesn't quite fit. Increasingly it's work on the outer fringes which lulls me in. Don't get me wrong I love straight-ahead pop and isten to as much old music as new. But when, as in the case of Note Bleed, I hear an artist freely experimenting to find a voice, dipping in and out of this and that, wilfully and honestly communicating with themselves so that they may, perhaps one day, communicate with a much wider audience, I feel duty bound to listen.

There are just three tracks on the Soundcloud link below. I know nothing about the people or person who made them. The lyrics to 'Austerity Measures' are profound and ambitious and the song is blessed with a melodic sensibility that hints at a songwriter who understands the intrigue that can be created by combining chunky major chords with an introspective vocal, the song builds and swells but then ends uncertainly..as the words to the song turn round on themselves. 'The Quiet Ones' is mainly just a keyboard and drum machine  - the sparseness of the production mirrors the singer's struggles and pain with a relationship. Listening to it again I can only guess that the relationship is with himself.

'What Johnny Would Say' is a tongue in cheek pastiche of Johnny Cash's 'Folsom Prison Blues'. I feel comforted that Note Bleed take inspiration from one of my heroes, one whose influence has spread beyond the prison confines to genres of music he could never have imagined. Here, it's a vehicle for the singer to rage at personal injustice but to do so with a humour and lightness that suggests to me that finding a voice through making music is the antidote to whatever life has thrown at him. It's how we react to events that defines who we are and on the evidence of these three songs Note Bleed has found a medium to lighten the load and to share some wisdom, in the process to find a voice and, who knows, that elusive wider audience.

http://soundcloud.com/notebleed

Nat Lyon

I've been suffering from a touch of writer's block lately, hence this first blog post in a good while.

All it takes to get my adjectives flowing, though, is music which gets me in the gut. I like it when I can't find the words and the feelings that come with just being lost in whatever that moment might bring. My eyes will probably be closed, my head will be emptying of thoughts and there will be a stirring of emotion and a tangible sensation of striding forward, of being taken down new paths. It doesn't happen very often - how can it, for if it did my musical filters would surely overload. I like to think I can discriminate. The acid test is that gut feeling, a connection for which words are inadequate. So when I try find the adjectives I'm happy to come up short. It's a good sign.

Nat Lyon's album LCRV (Lower Connecticut River Valley) arrived first as a download and then in CD form with a note from the man himself. As the title suggests it draws inspiration from Lyon's local geography. It's a sparse collection of deeply personal songs that deal with universal themes. Like the very best singer songwriters, he's able to show us something about ourselves in the mirror of his own experience. Some of these experiences are harrowing and his depictions of relationships take no prisoners. This is an uncompromising set of songs that do not suit themselves to a passive listen. Think twice before soundtracking your dinner party to 'Where To Find Me' and I doubt your kids will want to sing along in the car to 'An Imagined Delta'. He's political, profane and unafraid to tread on toes. He'd rather you hated the album than fail to have an opinion. He's making this music for himself and you don't have to listen.

But there are gorgeous melodies and the album is beautfully produced. At three minutes 'The Gardener Waits For Winter' pauses for thought and the organ figure gives ways to a guitar, discordant piano and drums and it's like a parched stream has found it's waterfall. It opens up like a tribituary into a fast flowing river and then finishes in a cascade of random notes.

Forget this album if you're after an easy ride. But let Lyon take you into his discomfort zone and you'll be onwardly rewarded with shards of recognition about yourself. Musically, it'll remind you of plenty of influences but the honesty - the honesty is uniquely him - and after writing this I now understand it is that which got me in the gut.

 http://natlyon.tumblr.com ,
 @natlyon

Dave Pilla

Living in Leeds I'm sometimes embarrassed at my inadequate knowledge of the local music scene. There is clearly a lot of talent on the doorstep which I miss and, although the city's reputation down the years has been dominated by certain Goth and indie names, we have a thriving industry backed up by plenty of live venues.

So Dave Pilla is a new name to me but as you can see from the clips below and a listen to the tracks on his label's website, he has a certain....something.... a fragility and an ear for melody that's crying out for a lavish production. Maybe he doesn't want that, which is fine. His songs work effortlessly with just him and a delicate guitar. I like the understatedness and restraint behind the voice. His lyrics are world-weary but optimistic and I can picture him as a support act, resolutely calming a chatty crowd with his quiet power.

Hopefully, he'll get lots of opportunities like that, but for now...

http://www.heartonsleevemusic.co.uk/davepilla-dave-pilla-ep.html

                              http://davepilla.bandcamp.com/

Hans Chew

Sometime in 2010 the CD that comes with Uncut Magazine threw up a name which intrigued. Noting 'Hans' and knowing how the Americana genre is rippling out from the the land of its birth and spawning all kinds of The Band-derived artists from Scandanavia to Singapore I half expected a vaguely country/ Teutonic experience. Instead, what leapt out of the car stereo was piano-driven southern blues that had me shaking my head in a kind of silent ecstasy, content in the knowledge that I'd found another unknown artist to explore.

The album from which the track was lifted - 'Tennessee and Other Stories' - was an instant classic. The influences, from Jerry Lee Lewis to John Prine, were undermined by the intelligence, singularity and originality of the songs. There were also shards of Leon Russell and definite echoes of the darker recesses of Nick Cave at work. His cover of Tim Rose's 'Long Time Man' was a daring choice and added a gritty texture to a collection that just flew along. I was absolutely convinced that this was a musician of special talent.

I tweeted him and a regular dialogue was established. My girlfriend and I went to see him on his first solo tour in Leicester supporting Darden Smith. We met him and his fiance in the pub beforehand and (as well as cadging a lift to the venue) struck up an immediate rapport (as much about British football as music, I should say). There must have been less than thirty people at the gig but he played as if his life depended on it. He returned to New York promising to return.

Which he did, last week and almost a year to the day. I met him again at his first show in Sheffield and then again twenty minutes up the road from Leeds in the very un-rock and roll market town of Otley. This time round he's acompanied by the impressive David Cavallo on guitar and has a batch of new songs destined for a second album. He is a remarkable piano player blessed with a voice which adds light and shade to the wonderfully propulsive songs  - that 'high lonesome sound' borne out of New Orleans gospel. Cavallo's Telecaster adds an edge to the live show - the rootsy blues of the piano is shredded (in a good way) by a series of solos which create a real frisson around the room. This is ambitious stuff, a clash of instruments that send the older songs travelling in completely different directions to the recorded versions.

Am I biased? I suppose so. Hans is a man without ego - definitely a 'mate'. We bond about a lot of stuff but his talent is there for all to see. I can't wait for his new album and the promise - yes the PROMISE - of a full band tour.

I wanted to take some live footage in Otley but my phone let me down. This is from a previous show in Cornwall and underneath is some older footage that gives a good idea of the man's power.

http://www.hanschew.com/

Bowerbirds

Brudenell Social Club, Leeds  - 3 May, 2012

I should take notes at these gigs. Adjectives and observations flood over me but as I walk out of the venue I can sense them drifting into the night air. On this occasion I recall 'ethereal', 'intricate', 'lovely', 'cinematic' and 'filigree' (the latter prompted by an oblique feeling that the Cocteau Twins had just entered the room). These are words not necessarily associated with the making of music but Bowerbirds are like that, they offer an experience which is far greater than the sum of its parts. All that's required is an open mind and a readiness to allow the sound to wash over you.

I'm not sure if they've listened to the Cocteau Twins. They are miles apart in many ways but it was the coming together of the various elements that reminded me of them. Filigree  - "delicate and intricate ornamental work made from gold, silver or other fine twisted wire".

The parts that equal the sum comprise five members who (apart from the drummer) swap instruments at will. The ingenuity and prowess is boggling and there is a confidence and ease which transmits an air of purpose and belief thoughout the room. Philip Moore's vocals rise and fall across a series of complex melodies that occasionally coalesce against a major chord. For the most part the vocals are yes - ethereal - semi-spoken at times but catching the flight of the syncopated rhythms which skitter and nurdle underneath. There is SO much going on yet the skill of this band is in rendering it so unadorned and naked. The harmonies are glorious and the warm open air feel disguises the darkness of the songs - they write and sing of nature and of its cycle, the death and the renewal.

The latest album 'The Clearing' is yes - cinematic - and moves them away from the more folky production of its two predecessors. Tonight, they are stretching out with the new material, showing off a bit with an easy air to their body language and occasional chats with the audience.

Just over an hour later and I'm scratching my head, trying to find the words. It doesn't matter. I've been left with a feeling of powerful warmth that will eventually translate into words. Maybe it won't - that is the beauty of live music.

http://www.bowerbirds.org/

Sweet Billy Pilgrim - Crown And Treaty

Around the fourth track of this utterly glorious album - 'Arrived At Upside Down'  it's called - I ceased my habitual mind shenanigans of trying to spot the influences at work, instead allowing the rest of the nine tracks to take me on their own highly original journey. The phrase "Radiohead with balls and heart" persuaded me that I should stop over-thinking it and I'm glad it did as there will be plenty of time to excavate the outer reaches of these songs.

Like many I was a convert to Sweet Billy Pilgrim on two counts. That they take their name from a Kurt Vonnegut character meant that I would have listened to their re-mix of the shipping forecast with an open mind but also I'd come to love their second album 'Twice Born Men' (2009) and was growing impatient for its successor. The Mercury nomination this album received was, I guessed, the reason for the delay as they pored over very bar and syllable in an expensive studio paid for by the ensuing sales and royalties garnered by that record. That or they'd killed themselves after Speech Debelle scooped the award.

So the album was announced and set for release and then delayed and then a stream popped up and the real thing dropped through the letter box on Tuesday. I'd listened to it a few times already and it was absolutely clear by then that the music on it was far too big for my brain. I tweeted the band to say it reminded me of spatial Aussies The Triffids and got a reply that didn't piss on this inadequate observation. Relief gave way to the realisation that this is an incomparable set of songs which stand up to the most forensic scrutiny.

Where to start? I don't know. SBP's Wiki page refers to them as 'thrash pastel' which is better than I can do. The themes of being human, of failing and then trying again are couched in a lightness and a grace which constantly defy expectations, even after several listens. It is intense, funky, existential, poppy, indulgent, pastoral, spiritual, humble, respectful, anarchic. There is a track called 'Archaeology' - case closed.

It's an album that will change as I change. It has the textures to reveal themselves over months, perhaps years. It's the best £7.99 I've ever spent.

Jonah Tolchin - Criminal Man

The surfeit of what used to be called singer-songwriters and the opportunities offered by social media and the internet for men with guitars to put their music out has meant that it's a competitive environment out there. But there is an unappeased appetite in the UK, for raw, confessional Americana and those smart enough to come up with songs and a sound that sets them apart.

Thanks to the immediacy of Twitter (@natlyon) I was alerted to Jonah Tolchin and his album 'Criminal Man'. The opening finger-picked chords of 'Without A Sound' are nothing special but the first words "All my heroes and my idols, my friendships and my ghosts, leave me stranded here this morning, too close away from home" immediately sucked me into an intelligent mind at work. A few lines later  - "The car is filled with reasons to never get back in, I was once a stronger man till I confessed to all my sins". These are great lyrics, made even more remarkable that the writer of them is just 19 years old. People have walked this earth for many decades without being able to summon up the intelligent ambiguity contained in them.

The album develops these themes of honesty and personal responsibility in a voice which is resonant of a deep American music tradition. The playing is ambitiously simple, raw in places but confident in its naked soul-searching. There are some daring sonic departures - 'Fracking Nightmare' deploys the saw to wonderfully off-centre effect. The track 'Unless We Change' is as far removed from the self-pitying strains of traditional country music as you can get, it's a positive statement that we can create what we choose to apply our minds to - exactly the process Tolchin himself is engaged in.

Is this so called 'outlaw country'? Certainly Johnny Cash would have endorsed the dark human thoughts that stir in amongst the thirst for being alive and the damaged characters that inhabit the songs. 'This album is dedicated to change' it says on the tin and I can only begin to wonder at the future forks in the road we're set to take with this very rare talent.

http://jonahtolchin.bandcamp.com/album/criminal-man

http://www.jonahtolchin.com/

Jah Wobble

Hebden Bridge Trades Club 23/3/12

This was always going to be an odd one. I've been a long term fan of Public Image Ltd and intermittently appreciated Wobble's solo work and ecelectic collaborations down the years. I hugely enjoyed his 'Memoirs Of A Geeser' - a high velocity autobiography shot through with deadly humour and a survivior's instinct. I'm no musician but even so can appreciate his influential, self-taught bass technique. His book goes into some detail about his love of the instrument and how he learned it by touch and feel, as an external extension of his inner pysche. This relationship with the bass makes for compelling watching. He's not so much in a zone but he seems to have created an organic relationship with the instrument. He cradles it, the fingers constantly ablur.

Tonight he's re-united with original PIL and The Clash guitarist Keith Levene, himself recovering from long-standing drug issues. They are here to re-create 1979's Metal Box, undoubtedly PIL's finest album - largely responsible for what we now know to have been post-punk.

Hebden Bridge is the perfect setting for this re-creation, a suitably down-to-earth crowd, largely pissed by the time they get going around 9.10pm. The stage is a caged area, barely elevated above the floor itself, and it's sold out with a mixed bag of around 250 ageing punks, the curious and, this being Hebden Bridge, the downright weird.

I'd been speculating how Wobble would address the vocals and after the first warm-up instrumental on strolls Nathan Maverick, in full length leopard skin coat. He IS John Lydon, complete with sneer and shoulders back arrogance. His voice is uncannily like the man himself but he plays it straight - this is no impersonation but a re-creation, neither is it a tribute, but a homage. It's a make or break moment, one that I fear may have me fleeing for the exit, but it works. Levene's shredding guitar sounds magnificent. There is a lone trumpeter who frequently picks out the only melody amid the minor chord wall of sound but the beat is propulsive, veering towards post-funk, if there is such a thing. It works, the songs sound as fresh as ever and Wobble orchestrates it beautifully, seamlessly calling the shots as the songs just keep on coming. His eye contact with Levene is constant, like a Dad leading his errant son through the songs he had once learnt but had since forgotten. Levene seems to gain energy as the show progresses. His frailty gives way to a broad smile and he relishes the opportunity to show off the kind of guitar skills that so heavily influenced bands from the post-punk era.

So we get 'Memories', 'Poptones', 'Chant', 'Theme', 'Careering', 'Albatross' plus a couple of bonuses - 'Low Life' and the first single 'Public Image'. It IS an odd sight, half of PIL and a doppleganger imposter and it's a brave move by Wobble who could so easily have settled for touring with the current version of Lydon's PIL. Ultimately it's about the songs and a great album  - on this occasion faithfully and thrillingly executed.

'Jack Of All Trades' - Bruce Springsteen

Ever more thoughtful and articulate as he ages, Springsteen recently said that 'I have spent my life judging the distance between American reality and the American dream'. Not even the most forensic musicologist could have put it better and there have been many distilled examples of how he accomplishes this in songs that act as screenplays for much bigger issues and themes than the characters in them.This song from the new album 'Wrecking Ball' communicates the pain and ambiguity of an honest, hard working man fighting to make a living in the face of the recession. He has sight of his version of the American dream but daily exposure to American reality is testing his dignity and ability to live by his values.

Like all good art, it is simple yet multi-layered, a deceptively complex song in which every syllable counts. Its component parts coalesce around a traditional song structure but those parts are daringly confident and ambitious. It is a waltz, it is a ballad, it has a brass band, a guitar solo by Tom Morello, it is a lament, it is highly political, shocking even - and lyrically it draws together the sentiments and insecurities of a nation. Not many could attempt to pull this off but he does so by stepping into an everyman persona - the Jack of all trades.

There is plenty of evidence here of Springsteen's notorious perfectionism and attention to detail. The way he exhales on the line 'When the blue sky breaks...'; the noise distortion as the character's anger momentarily gets the better of him; the major chords of the brass orchestration as he is restored to sanity and remembers his responsibilities towards (presumably) his wife; the drum as a heartbeat, stoically keeping him on his righteous path.

There is an instinctive spirituality to the song and which Springsteen anoraks will recognise from earlier songs such as 'Factory' and 'Honest Man' in which characters struggle to maintain their integrity. In this case his hero is God-fearing, the imagery in biblical technicolour. The message is that the faceless men who have stripped him of his livelihood cannot touch his faith - 'that it'll be alright' - and it will see him through these dark times, until that blue sky breaks. It's an important song in an impressive canon of work, one which may well resound across America in an election year.

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I saw three Springsteen shows this summer and I'm not alone in thinking they are among the best of his career. He's used the tragedy of losing the gigantic presence of Clarence Clemons to re-invent the E Street Band, not just by expanding its membership but in re-energising himself and his audience with the full throttle stadium-friendly songs of 'Wrecking Ball'. A Springsteen show has always had a quasi-religious element to it, he's weaved a gospel fervour into his performances for many years. This time, it's an overt leap to connect on a soul level with his audience, and it takes a cold cold heart not to go along for the ride.

The three shows - San Sebastian, Sunderland and Hyde Park were studded with so many highlights  - from the grace and enthusiasm of the Spanish audience, the roar of Sunderland at the idea of shooting the bankers on sight to a lonesome Thunder Road in London, reprising his first live song on British soil in 1975. Despite the 13-strong band, these shows lost none of their spontaneity - his energy levels remain as high as ever but his instinctive knack of pacing saw a stretched-out 'Backstreets' merge into a gut-churning The River in Spain. 'Point Blank' in Sunderland came across like a confession in front of 50,000 people.

Strapping in for the greatest hits encore is to witness an audience like no other. It's an experience impervious to rain, cynicism, to any negativity (even curfews) and as near to living in the moment as I can get, the equivalent of charging from an energy source that transmits only positivity and the feeling that it's more than just OK to be glad I'm alive.

Whatever the superlatives  - cinematic, wide-screen, transformational  - there are live shows and there are Springsteen shows. He turned 63 today - anyone who saw him this summer will just go WOW at that.

First Aid Kit

Manchester Club Academy 25/02/12

Rolling into Manchester off yet another junction and appearing just where we wanted to be at the appointed time felt great. I had a spring in my step anyway from hearing this Swedish sibling pair's latest album and the amzing harmonies, the love-lorn lyrics and retro country folk feel. There's always room for more of that, especially when it's executed with such untainted simplicity.

Just the two of them and a drummer means that the gorgeous pedal steel of the record is not in evidence but this is all about the voices and especially that of older sister Joanna Soderberg. With influences as overt as theirs (the third song in is entitled 'Emmylou' and Joni Mitchell isn't far away in 'Blue') there is no hint of Swedishness in either their singing or spoken words, and Joanna is like Linda Ronstadt in her prime with a range that straddles a delicate falsetto and a big booming lower register, underpinned by the seamless harmonies of the younger Klara.

It's a typical 'new country' crowd, with plenty of older types who, like me, have had their appetite for live music regenerated by the guilt-free nostalgia of young bands discovering their own identity by delving back to the likes of Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris. It's also a very noisy crowd and the volume is gradually turned up to counteract the hubbub at the back of the room. Only for an unamplified 'Ghost Town' do they get the quiet needed to allow the pastoral messages of their lyrics to penetrate and after that it's business as usual as people go back to their animated conversations.

I close my eyes and focus on the music. This enables me to by-pass the antics of a couple of idiots with cameras in front of me and eventually I'm able to filter out the background noise. 'In The Hearts Of Men', 'The Lion's Roar' - these are sophisticated songs with observations on life that should come from older hearts than these twenty somethings. The purity of their voices is etched with a world weariness that can only have come from a close scrutiny of the Nashville tradition but it's because of their youth that the tales of broken marriages ('This Old Routine') lack emotional authenticity. As beautiful as their sound is, there is a depth required that can only come from putting more years on the board. Still, this is a chulish point when set against the talent and the confidence - even with the least attentive of audiences they were unphased and undoubtedly set for bigger things on festival stages during the summer.

Real Estate

Brudenell Social Club, Leeds 17/02/12

I've stopped wondering how it is these young men in skinny jeans find their way to making music that harks back to an era well before they were born. It didn't used to happen. Maybe there's just less music to go round these days as all the chord sequences get used up. Maybe it's down to parents or older siblings with impeccable record collections and the commercial realisation that there is a huge market out there if a band can generate cross generational attention. This theory is reflected in the demographic at the Brudenell tonight. Boys and girls young enough to be my offspring and grizzled old fogies who have worked out that this is the closest they'll get to The Byrds (they even play a song called 'Younger Than Yesterday'). It's sold out and sweaty - and when the Brudenell does sweat there is no alternative but to resignedly stew in it.

Which is all doing Real Estate a disservice because they sound absolutely fresh and up to date with an energy and a determination far removed from the bloated egos that dogged some of the '60s groups who pioneered the early American guitar sound in the wake of The Beatles.

Their trademark is an atmospheric guitar effect that owes as much to Johnny Marr as it does to Roger McGuinn. A swell of major chords builds crescendos which create blissful, oceanic soundscapes that transport the songs in waves. It is underpinned by a propulsive and deleriously repetitive bass that lends heft and muscle to the floating voice of Martin Courtney. The drums skitter and then thud as momentum builds. The poppier tunes from their latest album 'Days' ('Easy', 'It's Real') sit nicely alongside their earlier, more indulgent work ('Suburban Dogs', 'Green River'). The music is clean cut and summery but underscored with a frightening professionalism - they are rehearsed to the hilt but the looseness of the song structures convey an instinctive, natural feel. Some of it feels improvised but is undoubtedly not.

They play for just over an hour, which in this unlikely February heat is probably no bad thing. Keep the audience wanting more -  no doubt they inherited that foolproof showbiz mainstay from the likes of the portly David Crosby who, if he's managed to see this band, would, I'm sure, approve.

Here's a nice little YT clip, thanks to JuneJuneJune for it

Dawes

Manchester Academy 3  - 18/01/12

I'd seen Delta Spirit, I'd seen Deer Tick. So when I heard that the lead singers from those bands had formed a 'supergroup' called Middle Brother with their counterpart in a band called Dawes I guessed it would be a safe bet that his band would also tick the right boxes. They also seemed well connected, with members of Wilco and the Heartbreakers guesting on their records and they've backed Jackson Browne and Jonathan Wilson. Anyway, I had to go see them. The latest album, Nothing Is Wrong, was one of my favourites of last year.

The smallest room in the Manchester Academy right at the top of the building has plenty of space to spare. Curiously there are some small children in attendance, just next to us about six feet from the stage. The vintage analogue amplifiers, the Hammond organ and the lived-in guitars that are strewn across the stage look like they should belong to a band of grizzled veterans, and not some 20 somethings on one of their first tours of the UK. This is the clue to their music - country folk rock that smartens up the 70s California sound that seemed to come and go just as Joe Walsh joined The Eagles and everything lost its innocence.

They have a great energy about them. Taylor Goldsmith is an endearing front man, all smiles and not a little like The Boss as he lunges forward towards the edge of the stage with a low slung guitar. His voice is confident and full and the songs allow him plenty of space to express his careworn lyrics. The sound is unashamedly retro - a gorgeous Hammond swell fills out the guitar and drums - Griffin Goldsmith is quite a sight, feeling every beat with outrageous facial ticks, jumping from his stool at the merest brush on the snare - he also has a voice as good as his brother's and you can tell the two have harmonised since, well, birth.

They are having a great time and the chilly crowd warms up towards the end. The album opener  - 'Time Spent In Los Angeles' - closes the show and it's just a great, feel good song - deserving of an open Chevy and the Pacific in the background rather than the dingy brickwork of a student union in northern England. An incongrous encore of Paul Simon's 'Kodachrome' draws a line under a fine, fine gig.

I leave imagining how much better they'll be in a year or so's time. They are outstanding musicians who are bound to improve as they play to bigger crowds. For now, there is something endearing about the goofy stagecraft and the wall to wall smiles, the sheer pleasure in what they do.

Another trip back across the frozen Pennines, with those damn speed restrictions in place, zips past like we're roller skating past Venice beach (no, really).

Off The Wall - Lee Ranaldo

Michael Chapman

Brudenell Social Club, Leeds  - 9.02.12

Benign hyprocrisy becomes me, it doesn't invoke any guilt. So I can happily make my way to my favourite music venue to mingle with learned musos, grizzled folk veterans and guitar afficionados and nod along in the right places, all the time looking as if I am cerebrally attached to the thought processes of people far cleverer than me. See what I did there? What a hypocrite.

The name of Michael Chapman was on the edge of my consciousness. I knew of his existence. It took a conversation with the highly professional musician Hans Chew last year to bring him into focus. So a New Yorker turned me onto a guy from my home town of Leeds (Hunslet to be precise).

The re-release of his 1970 LP 'Fully Qualified Survivor' and the announcement of his show at the Brudenell seemed the time for me to explore his work more fully and goodness me what an album it is. Mick Ronson's guitar lends it an unmistakeable Ziggy Stardust sound and the gravelly passion in the Chapman voice brings an authenticity that is neither folk or rock, just the personal genre of a man writing and singing about what he knows. No surprise that another of his albums is entitled 'Millstone Grit' - the stone out of which they built Leeds Town Hall.

It's another freezing night and the Brudenell is sparse. No matter, within minutes I'm talking to two people I've not seen for 15 years, just as my gig buddy for the night (Mark) arrives.

Chapman is a sprightly 71 and the stage is just him and two acoustic guitars. His playing is other worldly. I have no technical insight into his style or method but the complex and multi-layered soundscapes he conjures are hypnotic and beguiling. The atmospheres invoke worlds I have never visited and the smoky drawl of his half-spoken vocal speak of many lives lived. In between songs he takes us down some tales of life on the road and the many places he has been. He describes (without bitterness) how Jimmy Page used his song 'Kodak Ghosts' as the template for 'Stairway To Heaven'. As he plays it, they seem identical and I can't be the first to wonder how and why a lawyer has never been involved in proving so.  'The Twisted Road' he dedicates to peers and friends he has lost along the way. There is a warmth and humour to the show  - despite his observation that he gets more nervous playing in his home town than anywhere else.

I suppose he is the fully qualified survivor - but he wouldn't have known that all those years ago. The reception he gets from the quiet and knowledgable crowd is enthusiastic  - 90 minutes of stellar guitar exhibitionism that remains inherently natural and modest.

I'm pleased to have seen him, and to have put another small building block in place in my ongoing quest for guitar credibility.

http://www.michaelchapman.co.uk/index.htm

Chuck Prophet - Castro Halloween

'Live' update  - when Prophet's tour was announced it was a straightforward decision to get tickets to see him in Manchester AND Leeds. After last night's gig at the Deaf Institute, two sightings may not be enough to keep me going until the next time he comes to the UK.


I'll keep it brief as I'm planning a more detailed piece on the Leeds show in May but...I doubt I'll see a better gig all year. I think he played seven - maybe eight  - from the new album and they all held up alongside the older material. What connects me to this guy is his open-eyed delight at what he does, the sheer unadulterated joy in how he goes about his business. His guitar technique is world class, as the closing encore surf indulgence ("the national anthem of California") and countless startling passages of interplay and effortless solos proved. It's power pop with balls, a muscular Flamin' Groovies that twangs,  that rocks and which gives the audience permission to leave cares and resentments at the door - for the next two hours just ENJOY. 


There are still a few dates left to see this vastly under-valued performer, and I'm going to a minimum of two. More here in May.


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It was a 2,4,6,8 Motorway moment - in 1978 when Radio 1's Kid Jensen played the Tom Robinson smash hit for the first time and then played it again... and again  - eventually citing 'playlist responsibilities' as the only reason he didn't spin it for the rest of his show. I took Chuck Prophet's new album on a run this morning and the second track - Castro Halloween - kept me company on repeat for the next 10 kilometers.

Songs grab me - I still get shivers at the opening chords of London Calling or the jazzy drum breakdown on Born To Run, just before the '1,2,3,4' and this song has, well, grabbed me.

Maybe it's because I've listened to a  lot of his music in the past five years or so and feel like I know a bit about him - how he cares about what he does but, as importantly, how his songs demonstrate how he cares for other people, the underdogs he meets along the way. His songs are personal/ universal with human messages rooted in the reality of people's lives.

Maybe it grabbed me because of the lines :-
"Did I dream you up or did you dream me/ Is there any place else you would rather be?"

This is a such a beautifully put together expression of love  - it's bursting with gratitude and modesty and I nearly choked.

Or maybe it's because he's thrown the kitchen sink at this song. The guitars melt in and out of each other, the backing vocals soar, there are bells, there is a plaintive George Harrison guitar line which eats into the synapses. And there is Prophet's honey-coated, bloodhound voice  - rich and authentic. Towards the end as the song goes reflective there is a sudden exhilarating 'HUH' which signals the climactic guitar melt down and then it fades out, thrillingly.

However it happens to have grabbed me Castro Halloween is a perfectly constructed piece of intelligent pop that works on every level. I haven't got past this track so there are still ten more to get to know, so I'll take those out on my run tomorrow.

Album: Temple Beautiful - Chuck Prophet (Yep Roc)

http://chuckprophet.com/
http://www.daytrotter.com/#!/concert/chuck-prophet/20031036-1295

Jonathan Wilson

Ruby Lounge, Manchester 1/02/12

Across to a dank and freezing Manchester for an artist I saw twice last year support Wilco. Wilson's music comes from the California to where Steinbeck's pilgrims headed west in the Great Depression to pluck the oranges from the trees. Tonight it's hoodies and North Face fleeces and an audience of a certain age attracted by the retro Laurel Canyon sound of his album 'Gentle Spirit' and its evocations of CS&N and Jackson Browne.

But when he ambles on at 9.40 and the band kicks in behind him it's immmediately clear that this isn't going to be a wistful aural gaze out to the Pacific Ocean but a decisively connected experience during which he will determinedly showcase his frighteningly impressive guitar technique and take jazzy, improvised excursions that the 1970s Californians seldom attempted. He has a wide attention span and demands the same of his audience.

The likes of CS&N were occasionally political standard bearers. The nearest Wilson gets to this is the opener  - 'Can We Really Party Today?'  - a rhetorical statement set in context by the next line  -  'with all that's going on...' He seems so laid back and at ease I'm sure he'll accept whatever comes his way, party or a quiet night in.

Four numbers in and I can sense an understated power behind the langourous melodies and the benign vocals. Sure enough, when he straps on his electric guitar it's the signal for a startling series of effortless solos. One minute he brings to mind Joe Walsh ('Rolling Universe') and the next David Gilmour ('Natural Rhapsody'). There is a langour and a blissful ease with which his band sits in behind him, a prominent Hammond organ adds texture and space to a sound which wraps itself around the venue  - I close my eyes for minutes at a time and it's a feeling close to meditation.

There is an honesty about Wilson which is endearing. He unshamedly evokes a hippy era which is very nostalgic for a lot of people. The stage is strewn with vintage analogue equipment and the instruments have the appearance of being used to death by a travelling band. Towards the end of the two hour set they put their foot down and it goes a bit Crazy Horse - unfortunately Wilson hasn't got the rasp or the vocal power of Neil Young and he looks more comfortable hunched over his guitar. The trade-off with the other lead guitar never quite approaches the telepathy of Verlaine and Lloyd but the convergence on the complex and addictive melodic figure that underpins 'Desert Raven' is hypnotic.

We head back to Leeds just before midnight and into and over the Pennine mist. Not quite the romance with which Wilson imbues his semi-spiritual journeys into the heart of nowhere but the experience must have rubbed off on me somehow as even the protracted M62 speed restrictions fail to impact on my wonderfully serene view of the world.

Wild Flag

The Cockpit, Leeds - 29/1/12

Kick-ass the Americans would say. BOOM! maybe. The opening salvo of Janet Weiss's bass drum is like thunder in the heart, a precursor to the kind of energy and noise that seize the senses. Four renowned musicians united as Wild Flag, a kind of super-group but more a coming together of hitherto left-field names with a love of visceral, faintly shambolic and shouty rock and roll.

The crowd is an odd mix of young girls and a older men, nobody in between as far as I can make out. Whatever the demographic, Wild Flag take it by the balls and don't let go for 70 utterly thrilling minutes. Chainsaw Buzzcocks guitars, those thumping drums - they have the confidence and stage craft to play to type without fear of irony, and the high kicks and axe poses work because the playing is so defiantly in your face. So when Carrie Brownstein straddles her guitar a la Hendrix you know it's only the intrusive health and safety legislation that deters her from setting it alight.

The songs race by as band leader Weiss just keeps on counting them in. There is the occasional indulgent proggy digression ('Glass Tambourine) which has a few in the crowd shuffling on their feet but this band love their endings and each is executed with panache and vigour.

The final two songs - 'Racehorse' and 'Romance' - finally get the timid Leeds crowd in the kind of groove they clearly regard as the norm. A frenetic encore of The Ramones' 'Do You Wanna Dance' (two false starts - 'is this in "B", no it's in "E") puts a satisfying full stop to the set.

Breathless, frantic and seriously impressive.

Nat Baldwin

Brudenell Social Club, Leeds - 24/1/12

A last minute recommendation from a reliable Twitter pal and I was down for this free gig just as Baldwin was readying himself to take to the stage - one man and his double bass, an instrument that has seen a resurgence in these incongruously analogue times. His other instrument is an incredible voice - a floating, gossamer-like thing which seems to be just an extension of his breathing. The contrast between the instrument and the vocals lends a detached yet very moving quality to the total sound - I've never quite noticed the double bass operate as percussion before but that was the startling effect created.

Baldwin is the bass player with New York scenesters The Dirty Projectors whose Bitte Orca album I adore for its daring, subtle meolodies. As a solo artist he straddles the octaves effortlessly, maintaining an impressive control of the bass that at one point seems to be coming from another sound source  - the thud of the instrument is at odds with the gentle winding of the voice, he makes it look effortless.

The crowd is attentive and, in my case, aghast. It's quieter than most fee-paying events and I'm guessing most are here on spec, spotting a cheap night opportunity. We are privileged indeed to see such a rare and individual talent. When I get home my Twitter feed is full of excited chat about this gig and his first UK appearance in London the previous night. His banter has been warm and generous - his unbelievable talent, hitherto largely hidden as an ensemble player, now brought into the light to marvel at. Privileged indeed.

Here he is at the Cargo, London (23/1/12) thanks to Liz on Twitter.

Guided By Voices - Let's Go Eat The Factory

It must have been 1998 when I first stumbled across Guided By Voices. Once I had I was completely 'in', discovering a whole new world of lo-fi nurdlings, pulsing power pop and noise excursions. Their trademark is to drop a melodic hook that departs as soon as it arrives. Not only are most of their songs quite short but they really, really dislike repetition. If you're lucky, you might get a chorus twice (if you don't I suppose it's just a verse).

This dislike of conformity has kept them under the radar but even so they occupy probably the biggest niche in modern pop music, revered by peers and fans alike. In 2004 they split up after many rotations of band members, the only constant being Robert Pollard - former athlete, teacher, beer drinker extraordinaire and a songwriting conveyor belt who continued to put out solo records and collaborations at a fearsome rate. He makes records faster than I can listen to them.

Now, the classic GBV line-up has reformed and released 'Let's Go Eat The Factory', a 21 song, 42 minute LP. In keeping with Pollard's profligacy, a second album is due in the spring with some live shows later in the year. What makes this a GBV album rather than a Pollard solo record is the presence of Tobin Sprout - a major chord foil to Pollard's love of distortion and half-finished snippets of works in progress.

The album starts with the guitar clang of 'Laundry and Lasers - its power chords gradually giving way to a fuzzy accumulation of distortion. At 2.38 this is quite a long song. 'Spiderfighter' is underpinned by a churning riff that is eventually overtaken by a single piano note that then introduces a song segment which echoes The Who's 'Behind Blue Eyes'. At 3.35 this is a very long song.

The conventional melodic ear of Pollard is evident all over the place, from the Lennon-aping of 'Hang Mr Kite' to the Daltrey-esque delivery of 'The Unsinkable Fats Domino'. But nothing sticks, nothing hangs around for long - fragments of malformed songs seemingly taped as soon as they entered and left the head ('How I Met My Mother', 'Go Rolling Home'). 'The Big Hat And Toy Show' sees Pollard improvising lyrics into a 4 track machine against a minor chord guitar melee. It's a tough listen.

'Waves', on the other hand, is a masterpiece - a pastiche of early REM era guitar pop and Big Star harmonies underpinned by a confluence of guitars and keyboards that just motors towards the ocean. It seems effortless and almost throwaway, understated yet profound in its simplicity.

'Chocolate Boy' is 1.31 of wall to wall melody  - a song most writers would look at developing into a radio-friendly pension banker. Here Pollard is happy to see it end, gloriously, without a hint of selfishness. I played it over and over about twelve times and its subtleties are still escaping me.

'We Won't Apologise For The Human Race'  closes the album in a vague glam stomp - it reminds me of Ziggy-era Bowie. The clouds regularly part to let four or five melodies come and go, with backing harmonies seemingly an afterthought as Pollard gets serious, adopting a baritone to suit the message of the song. At 4.01 it's an epic, GBV's 'Freebird'.

For all it's varied production values 'Let's Go Eat The Factory'  is a fully formed, deceptively complex album by instinctively gifted songwriters and musicians. It won't win them any new fans but that's not the point. The band went through a period of chasing the hits in the late 90s which, in hindsight, didn't deliver their best work. This 'classic' line-up remains true to their ethos of doing what comes naturally. Occasionally this will result in a song that makes the soul leap, more often it will produce a vignette or idea which intrigues rather than grips. This is a band that demands effort - the more you put in the more you get out - a bit like life itself.