Album Review: Lykke Li Wounded Rhymes

Somewhat wrongly categorised previously as the latest in a line of lovely-if-a-little-predictable Swedish pop artists; it’s nevertheless a relief to report that Li’s appropriately titled follow-up ’Wounded Rhymes’ has seen the sweet, coy girl of before go all grown up and mature on us. Where once she was telling us in a babyish coo that she was a ‘dancer all along’; the Swedish songstress is now deflowered enough to growl out that she‘s our ‘prostitute’ and ‘we gonna get some’. And she used to seem like such a nice girl.

It’s a change for the better though, as the madhouse off-kilter organs of ‘Youth Knows No Pain’ set the tone for a more mature and well-rounded album than her previous release. It’s not that she wasn’t capable of flashes of nastiness before; but now even lyrics like’I Follow Rivers’ ‘…I’ll follow you deep sea baby, I’ll follow you…‘ take on a menacing twist; in a stalkerish, Sting-ing, ‘Every Breath You Take’ kinda way.

That’s not to say the album doesn’t have its prettier moments. The strong sense of melody from ‘Youth Novels’ remains, whilst the Spector of Phil’s production that looms over proceedings is never actually exhumed. ‘Sadness Is A Blessing‘ is sweet; whilst the stop-you-in-your-tracks melancholy of ‘I Know Places’ is mesmerising. Yet it’s the Shirelles-y shoowoping of ‘Unrequited Love’ that’s the standout moment here: the sparse instrumentation showcasing as it does just how marvellously unique her voice is; and proving too that for all Li’s new found vixen, she can still just as seamlessly transgress back into that cuddly little cub of old- and get away with it.

In fact, every track impresses here, right the way down to the near-perfect closer ‘Silent My Song’. It’s a fitting end to a record that’s a near-faultless fusion of dreamy codas, windswept melancholic melodies and brash-sexual in-your-endo. It’s probably too early to be talking about contenders for album of the year but….8/10

Film Review: 'Howl'

As a film, this is a rare bird: a biopic that is actually more about Ginsberg’s ‘filthy’ poem 'Howl' than the artist’s life; and whilst that shouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing, it does feel a bit like an opportunity missed as a result.

Ginsberg’s life story would hardly have required much Hollywoodizing- being as it is that of a young poet who falls in love with Kerouac, spends time in a psychiatric hospital, hangs out with junkies and writes songs with Bob Dylan; yet it takes a backseat here to poetry set to animation and the courtroom ‘drama’ of the obscenity trial- a ‘drama’ that in truth is actually about as dramatic as a mouse’s fart.

In fact, the lack of screen time devoted to Ginsberg’s life is doubly disappointing given that the multi-talented James Franco is so superb as Ginsberg. The poet wasn’t much of a looker; so the casting in his place of Time magazine‘s ‘Coolest Man Of The Year‘ James Franco (perhaps most familiar as Spiderman franchise tritagonist Harry Osborn) correctly raised a few eyebrows; but he is in his element here as the sexually repressed, awkward Ginsberg- even getting Ginsberg’s Top Cat-ish voice down to a tee. It’s just a pity all his good work is limited primarily to a static interview situation that does little justice either to the biography of the poet or the sprawling, hallucinatory nature of his poetry.

If truth be told, ‘Howl’ shoots for four very different hoops- a Ginsberg biopic, a poetry recital, an archive-style interview and a courtroom drama- but largely misses all four; primarily because, for all Franco‘s brilliance, we‘re only a few clicks away from watching the real thing on YouTube anyway. Any one looking for a beat revival at the cinema would, it seems, be far better placed waiting for the upcoming ’On The Road’. 4/10

Live Review: The Strange Boys, ICA, Wednesday 21st April

Live experiences for some bands should be subject to a best before date. With garage rock bands like The Strange Boys, catching them whilst they are still raw and fresh is the key; and intimate venues such as this 350-capacity Institute Of Contemporary Arts should have proven a glove-like fit for their riotous take on the early Stones sound.
Yet, as the band themselves were the first to note, something 'felt weird' here. What that something was, regrettably, was not that we were on the apex of anarchy; but rather the inexplicable tepidity of some of the crowd. Doubtless receivers of courtesy tickets as art gallery members, many seemed intent on being 'scene' and seen; and breathing in the rarefied air of their own airs instead of getting drenched in the sweat of dirty blues rock. It must have utterly bemused the back-to-basics Texans, who looked desperate to be set loose by their audience.

No fault can be squared at the band though. In fact, they were fantastic. Frontman Sambol's attempts to shake life into the pockets of posers included wailing like some higher pitched Howlin' Wolf, spunking the band's 'Be Brave' bullet refreshingly early, and letting yours truly take the mic for backing vocals on 'Should Have Shot Paul'. They played setlistless, threw themselves head on into every song, and even responded admirably to the increasingly asinine shouts of 'chickens' or 'ice cream sandwiches' from the crowd. There is no doubt the Strange Boys deserved a better and more understanding audience than they got here. Indeed, towards the end- amidst all the song suggestions and bizarre food references thrown at the band- it was the 'genocide to all art students' cry from someone that Sambol seemed most inclined to echo back. 7/10

Album Review: Laura Marling, 'I Speak Because I Can'

Laura Marling strikes you as someone not just from another era but from another world. Elfin faced and pixie framed; to place her in the ancient, woodland-covered England of her songs would probably be to see the 20 year old burnt at the stake as a witch, such is her uncanny talent. Here, like some 21st century Emily Dickinson, she transfigures herself variously from daughter, to lover, to wife or mother; yet, crucially, a sense that these songs are deeply personal to her prevails. Album opener 'Devil's Spoke' sounds like a delirious incantation after which you half expect the youngster to collapse in exhaustion; but instead she follows with nine (albeit slower) tracks that are at once enchanting and haunting. 'Rambling Man' is probably her finest contribution to music thus far- on first listening it sounds like Joan Baez covering a Dylan standard- though the brilliant lyrics- 'beaten, battered and cold/ my children will live just to grow old'- are all her own. The infectious 'Blackberry Stone' is brilliant too, whilst the Beirut-ish Balkan breakdown on 'Alpha Shallows' and the bluegrassy fast-pace of 'Darkness Descends' tick that all important versatility box for the snottier critics. And then, like that devil-spoked wheel, the album is bought full-circle with closer 'I Speak Because I Can'- a slower but still just as epic version of 'Devil's Spoke'. This is undeniably great, great music; and the strides she has made musically and lyrically from her already accomplished début offering are vast. Frighteningly too, this is probably not her magnum opus. Like they used to with witches; we would do very well to keep an eye on Laura Marling. 9/10

Album Review: Frightened Rabbit, 'The Winter Of Mixed Drinks'

Perhaps it's something in that thick Selkirk accent, but Scott Hutchinson certainly has a knack for sounding genuinely sincere. Whilst the Scotsman might be keen to point out he's 'Not Miserable' now, some two years after the release of the emotive and critically acclaimed 'Midnight Organ Fight' he's clearly just as willing to wear his heart on his song.
These tracks are, however, largely more upbeat than the previous album, as they needed to be- and the music is all the more accessible because of it. 'Nothing Like You' is destined for repeated radio-airplay, whilst 'Swim Until You Can't See Land' is an ear worm just waiting to burrow.
That is not to say Frightened Rabbit have sold out. The album shares so much with 'Midnight Organ Fight' that at times it serves simply as a cheerier resolution to the depression of its predecessor. The relationship between 'Man/Bag Of Sand' and 'Swim Until You Can't See Land'- the former a parred and slowed down version of the latter- is identical to the one between 'Extrasupervery' and 'The Twist' on the previous album. For 'Living In Colour' see 'Old Old Fashioned'. And whilst an apparent fixation with body parts that's carried from the last album leaves 'Living In Colour' feeling a bit like the 'Funny Bones' song, there's little to criticize here- Frightened Rabbit have, almost impossibly, gone one better than their last effort. 8/10

Album Review: Johnny Cash, 'American VI: Ain't No Grave'

Ain’t No Grave, it seems, that's gonna stop Johnny Cash from releasing music; and whilst for some the faint sound of a barrel being scraped might never be entirely muted here, this second posthumous release certainly does its job.
A fitting and emotional closure to the 'American Recordings', like most of the series this is essentially a covers album- but 'Ain't No Grave' is the soundtrack of a man of unshakable faith. The title track might recall 'God's Gonna Cut You Down' with its stomp-clap downbeat, but where the latter dealt with accepting death, 'Ain't No Grave' is the sound of someone who knows he's heaven-bound. Whist Cash's voice might have attenuated to that of a frail and dying man, these songs remain defiant and hopeful- 'hope springs eternal' on 'I Corninthians 15:55', time has 'opened the door' to freedom on 'I Don't Hurt Anymore', whilst on 'Satisfied Mind' Cash states that he'll 'leave this old world' content. The album's most poignant moment is a beautiful adaptation of ‘Aloha Oe’- almost tear inducing in its sincerity- and one would be hard pushed to think of a more fitting line to close the recording career of a man clearly of such staunch religious faith than 'until we meet again'. 8/10

Album Review: The Strange Boys, Be Brave

If the Basement Tapes had been recorded by a garage rock band from Texas, this might well have been the result. There's certainly more than a hint of Dylan here- from the jingle jangling guitars to Sambol's wailing Dallas-dry vocals, yet The Strange Boys somehow manage to come off contemporary, probably in part due to the fact that they owe as much of a debt to Black Lips or White Stripes as they do to the Stones or Dylan. At times too, Sambol's nasal voice is reminiscent of Caleb Followill's, perhaps most noticebly during the sparse beginning of 'A Walk On The Bleach.'
The album's finest moment comes early- title track 'Be Brave' with its 60s spy song refrain, saxophone solos and confident conversational 'delivery of 'don't sound like no choice to me'- is furiously catchy- but 'Night Might' with its Chuck Berry horn riffs, the 'Rainy Day Women' paced 'I See' and the piano-driven ballad 'The Unsent Letter' are also highlights. What's remarkable about this record is that it comes less than a year on from their debut. So whilst The Strange Boys already sound like a band comfortable with their sound- at one shambolic and melodic- it seems very likely this is only the beginning of better things. 7/10