A God-awful Small Affair

Whilst the rest of the world gets excited by Coldplay and the Kings of Leon's spectacular meltdown, it's quite easy to forget about the likes of Kasabian - and that's a frightening prospect given how consistently great they've been. It's still something of a mystery to me that none of their records have propelled them into international stardom, and yet the gloriously average Viva la Vida did. Ho-hum. The British music press have been far kinder to the band though; Q and NME regularly devote entire front-covers to Pizzorno, Meighan and co., cementing their position as one of the UK's most exciting and enduring prospects. Album #4, Velociraptor! , would seem, if not from the title then its cover, to be something of a wildfire. Not that 'West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum' was an entirely modest title. Opening as it does, with 'Let's Roll Just Like We Used To', we find the band heralding their entry with a deeply retro swagger. The attention to

"Let's get this one out of the way", I sighed, as I opened the tab and begun this review. The Kooks have got a lot of flak over the years for "sound[ing] like they're rolling over and begging Radio 1 to fuck them" (Johnny Borrell), and to be fair they've never really been anything above foot-tappingly pleasant to me. Though I can't help but feel aggrieved by the amount of hate they get - an amount only really worthy of bestowing upon Scouting For Girls - when they've coined some rather great songs ( She Moves In Her Own Way, Naïve, Always Where I Need to Be ). So perhaps it's because I have a long queue of comparatively more interesting artists to review that I greet this, their third LP, with little more than fatigue. It certainly begins as all of their material tends to: 'Junk of the Heart (Happy)' is a bright and romantic burst of pop-rock that warms the cockles somewhat, but is far from their catchiest efforts. They meander throug

Quite why I spent a near full price on their debut, given my typical shopping habits of even my most enduring idols (the majority of my Bowie collection are second-hand Amazon jobs), is beyond me. There was something about 2009 where my musical outlook was widening in ways that haven't before or since been replicated - and I guess I just had some spare cash that weekend. Because The Drums are hardly an act to get excited by, and as Portamento proves, they're a little bit of a one-trick pony too. There was something charming about hearing all of these Beach Boys-cum-Joy Division anthems but strip away the lyrics and The Drums was essentially a very samey album. You could argue this against a number of bands I'm fond of - Vampire Weekend and Joy Division in particular - but their knack for tunes and atmospherics really washed away any such complaints for me. With Portamento I'm left a little uninspired. Opening with 'Book of Revelations', they quickly tap into

There's a sneaky suspicion that Example is not a musician I should enjoy. Given the influences and peers with which he's often associated - in a year that saw the emergence of Professor Green and Wretch 32 amongst others - I should recoil in horror. Yet I don't know if it's the poppy accessibility about his debut, or the helpful addition of being involved in a feud with the eternal cunt Cher Lloyd, but I'd actually consider myself a fan, especially after the excellent breakthrough Watch the Sun Come Up . In addition to great singles like Kickstars and Won't Go Quietly I enjoyed Sick Note (and that's with a No Doubt sample) and Hooligans amongst others. Whilst the first two singles, both of which have topped the UK charts, would give some signs of minimal change in sound and genre by Gleave, Playing in the Shadows eventually explores some quite varied subgenres all under the electronic umbrella. Of course, it's all held together by your signature Exa

Such is the strange commanding power of social networking that I found myself in the position where, upon recommendation by Janelle Monáe via Twitter, I was downloading an album by someone I'd never even heard of before. I figured that if it possessed even an iota of the cross-genre experimentation and funk of Monáe's debut album last year, I'd be in for a good record, and I wasn't wrong. Their back stories are similarly unusual too - where Monáe went for a futuristic android sent through time to overcome racial prejudice, Thundercat himself has gone from punk rock to electro-jazz. Not quite so imaginative maybe but quite an unusual change of scenery. There is one thing holding me back from loving this record and that's a widespread lack of vocals. I know instrumentals are more experimental and psychedelic without some dude telling you how beautiful this girl is, but there are inclusions of backing vocals that almost make this feel like a karaoke record at times. Do

Whilst across the nation there was a collective shrug of confusion upon the announcement of Marling's victory in this year's BRIT Award for best British female category, in the Collins household (or, the only one of the household who watched it at least) there was much air-punching and whooping. For the academy to recognise Marling's genuine earthy talents ahead of the over-hyped (Rumer, Ellie Goulding) and untalented (Cheryl Cole) was a rewarding surprise for me and restored my faith a little bit in British music and its accolades. Much like my last reviewed artist - Bombay Bicycle Club - Marling has been quick to put out three albums in just four years. Quite a gauntlet has therefore been thrown down ahead of her - since both I Speak Because I Can and Alas, I Cannot Swim were almost universally praised. How does she rise to the challenge? With a bold slice of saloon-bar reverie in the form of 'The Muse'. A rustic and unexpected burst of banjos and pianos undercu

There was only one indie nightclub in my hometown and it recently closed down - but if I were to describe it the first thing that springs to mind is Bombay Bicycle Club and their hit Always Like This . Probably their most well-known single, it became almost anthemic and was played every single time I went there. I rather like it. That said, to narrow the band down to a song is not why I waste time writing these little things, so let's embrace album #3 (! already!) The Crouch End foursome seem to be on one of the most drastic of upturns in recent years - their debut I Had the Blues but I Shook Them Loose , whilst containing their breakthrough hits, charted at a lowly #46. Today, they've sat 40 places higher. And when you consider that this record sits nicely inbetween the folksy loveliness of Mumford and Sons and the quiet indie serenities of The xx or Metronomy, it's not hard to see why. Quite how they blend those sounds though takes a little more work than looking at who&#

I'm going to keep this review short because I'm really struggling to find anything interesting or noteworthy in this album. Almost out of pure disappointment I just cannot muster enough energy to describe every detail of this...shell. You all know the backstory so I'll spare the "O John Frusciante, wherefore art thou?"s and the tabloid drugs stories. The album begins with good intentions: the raw distortion and classic rock aesthetics of 'Monarchy of Roses' certainly sound exciting but they quickly subside to a disco-rock riff that never really goes anywhere. Kiedis' vocals are exactly the stereotype of a Kiedis vocal, and whilst the heavy riffs reappear sporadically throughout the track it all feels schizophrenic to me; they don't really blend well. But both of these alternating sounds are much more exciting than the disco-by-numbers 'Factory of Faith', which, whilst containing a rich bassline, actually irritates me. Many though seem to be

When I wrote my review for LMFAO's album just a few weeks ago I'd imagined my musical torture for the year to be over, and that nothing could feasibly be worse. I underestimated myself and my hatred for a vast number of other musicians - a large proportion of which make an appearance on this, the Now! compilation of songs that inexplicably sound the same. Yet, despite possessing guest spots from will.i.am., Usher, Chris Brown, Jessie J, Taio Cruz, Ludacris, Akon, Timbaland AND Lil Wayne, I wouldn't quite totally write Nothing But the Beat off. Because - as much as I like to pretend I loathe everything about Mr. Guetta and his laughable habit of appearing in his own videos as if he's attractive or something - he HAS come up with some decent tunes (When Love Takes Over, Love Don't Let Me Go, One Love, Love Is Gone - these four shall henceforth be referred to as the Lovelies). Sadly his old go-to pals like Chris Willis have been exchanged for the famous and the fe

At the opposite side of the spectrum (following on from my introduction to the CSS review below), there are occasions where the elitist in me eagerly lines up into an already considerably long queue to take potshots at people with slightly embarrassing pasts. But whilst in that queue the bigger elitist in front of me turned around, slapped in the face and screeched to the rest of the queue "THIS FAGGOT HAS 4 BUSTED SONGS IN HIS LIBRARY". So I've come humbly back to passive aggression. After all, I'm reliably informed that those Fightstar albums were actually somewhat decent - but they lay a little too far along the XhardcoreX line of noise for me. First things first - the album title and sleeve should be enough to tell you that this is a very serious chunk of folk-rock. But the first two singles from the record - which appear at the very start of it - would indicate otherwise. 'Parachute' in particular is an unabashed beeline for the teen girls looking f

At risk of my blog becoming a samaritan stop for former indie darlings on the downwind of their careers, I should interject that I never really saw anything that exciting in the Brazilian outfit beyond a handful of catchy singles. So whilst their spot in the hearts of the malleable and disloyal might be deserted, let's try and sift through the wreckage. Not that bagging yourselves a Bobby Gillespie (Primal Scream, The Jesus and Mary Chain) and Mike Garson (David Bowie pianist) collaboration is anything to be ashamed of. The opener 'I Love You' is a bold, loud and shrill kick-off that, with its staccato childish vocals and an instrumental that could quite conceivably be lifted off a Ke$ha album. It's not very good. Single 'Hits Me Like A Rock', about the unendingly exciting, surprising and thrilling aspect of music and its (repeated) discovery, has Gillespie on hand for an undeniably chirpy and cute track with some American western detours (very Scissor Si