The Man who Died in
his Boat – Grouper
When the distant, heart-rendering
melancholia of Liz Harris’ vocals on Vital
filtered almost irreverently through my laptop speakers, I remembered why I
loved Grouper so. Undeservedly labelled as the female Sun Kil Moon, I’d be
inclined to describe her music as downbeat Neutral Milk Hotel; fantastical,
surreal imagery juxtaposed by strikingly solemn laments, backed by the simplest
of guitar chords and the faintest touches of white noise. While The Man who Died in his Boat lacks the
widespread appeal of 2007s’ traditionally folky Dragging a Deer up the Hill, it retains that album’s quietly
resonant, inexplicable power. That’s the brilliance of Grouper; she understates
yet overdescribes. The effect is startlingly dramatic; hauntingly,
mysteriously, beautiful.
FIDLAR – FIDLAR
Skate punk is back, apparently.
Not that I, or anyone else for that matter, particularly care. At least, not
until I heard FIDLAR. It’s nice to listen to a band who have no pretensions
about their music. They’re young, hedonistic and they don’t give a fuck. Most
of their songs are short bursts of decadent, punky bliss, averaging at well
under 3 minutes. It’s an adrenaline ride which finishes as quickly as it
begins, with two of the album’s best tracks respectively, Cheap Beer and Cocaine.
Those titles identify pretty extensively the thematic ambition of FIDLAR. They
have nothing to say, but that doesn’t matter. They dedicate an entire song to
mocking their drummer’s poor balance, Max
Can’t Surf. Why? Why not? What matters is this is terrifically fun,
unpretentious punk.
MBV – My Bloody
Valentine
It’s been 22 years since Loveless, arguably one of the greatest
rock albums of all time. Since then, MBV have thrown out a handful of EPs and
LPs, but this is only their second studio album. Quite astoundingly, it almost
matches Loveless’ euphorically distorted noise. In a way MBV is a
more laid back album, not in terms of its sound, but in its similarity to Loveless, an album which took the music
industry by storm with its punchy distinctiveness. I’d argue that the lack of
mystery behind the expectations of the record is its only drawback. On
offer is a number of terrific Alt-rock songs, from the stunning In Another Way, with its gorgeous
synth/guitar chorus, to the anthemic Only
Tomorrow. Dudless and near-flawless, MBV
is worth the 22 years fans have waited.
Pedestrian Verse - Frightened
Rabbit
The Glasgow Folk-rock cult
favourites return with their fourth studio album. It isn’t going to expand
their appeal to their fervent critics, but fans of Frabbit will fall in love
once more. Singer/writer Scott Hutchison quickly eradicates any fears of ‘going
mainstream’; in the first line of the first track, Acts of Man, he refers to himself as a dickhead. Self-depreciation
is a fundamental component of being Glaswegian, and Hutchison personifies the
lower-middle class Glaswegian. His lyrical commentary on romance, society,
politics and mortality is scathingly honest, and palpably relevant. Powerfully
relatable, yet enjoyable. Holy is a
terrific rush of bass guitar and incoherent cynicism, December’s Tradition an entertainingly rocky rendition of an
emotionally deep question. State Hospital,
possibly the most brutally Scottish pop song I’ve heard.
We are the 21st
Century Ambassadors of Peace and Magic – Foxygen
Ignore the self indulgent album
title and just listen to the music. An eclectic homage to Lou Reed, Rolling
Stones and... who else? Queen? ELO? The Beatles? It’s difficult to determine,
exactly. After their excellent but eccentrically varying LP, Foxygen’s album
debut is a genuine masterpiece. No
Destruction, a relaxed, trippy and brilliantly structured rock song,
features one of my favourite lyrics right now; ‘There’s no need to be an
asshole, you’re not in Brooklyn anymore.’ On
Blue Mountain is equally strong, as the piano and percussion take centre
stage in what I consider to be a 60s, less weird Paranoid Android. Shuggie and Oh Yeah are also excellent, (and not
just because of their hilarious names) but the star of the show is San Francisco. It’s just so pwetty: its
winking-at-self-referential chorus ‘I left my love, in San Fransicso/that’s
okay, I was born in LA.’
