A God-awful Small Affair

The 1975 come as something of an anachronism. But then, in British charts in 2013, anything can happen - such as Avenged Sevenfold grabbing a #1 album, or Ben Howard winning 2 BRIT awards in spite of barely being alive. In a year dominated by invigorating new dance music, 7 of the albums big enough to debut at number 1 vary genres greatly. There's the standard X Factor piffle Jahmene Douglas, the standard Britain's Got Talent "let's pretend we listen to opera" waffle Richard & Adam, two frighteningly dull records from Bastille and Tom Odell, and two excellent dance records from Rudimental and Disclosure. And then this. So... the 1975. This group of four relatively attractive Chelshire men - and the frontman of which happens to be Denise Welch's son, my condolences - have been bubbling under the surface for about 5 years now with various bandnames (Bigsleep, Drive Like I Do) and settled upon this one at random . As far as hype-trains go you cannot ge

There was a worrying brief time at the start of 2012 where it looked like the end may have been nigh for Goldfrapp. The standard brief for pop acts on their swansong is to put out a greatest hits and a couple of new tracks, and one of those for Goldfrapp was the sunny, optimistic Yellow Halo , complete with live-cuts of Alison Goldfrapp shouting "you've been amazing!" and "thank you so much!" Well, I was worried, okay? You see, everyone can find at least one type of Goldfrapp that they love. Their career has now spanned more than a decade and each album seems to come with an entirely new theme and set of genres. The preamble up to this album might have built Tales of Us up to be another in the same vein as Seventh Tree or Felt Mountain (as opposed to the eurodance-heavy Head First or steely, slick electronica of Supernature ) but, rather than a trip hop or orchestral pre-Florence record, we find the band reeling in the music and making the most of their

Perhaps the male counterpart to Janelle Monae in terms of mercilessly funky musicians not quite getting the recognition they deserve, Thundercat's 2011 debut was - whilst enjoyable - not one that lasted very long in my mind. Granted, I reviewed 156 albums that year, so I'll cut the man some slack. But now he's back, and after another bout of working with Flying Lotus (once of those names I've yet to explore just yet), Stephen Bruner has a second solo album. A cut of which made the Grand Theft Auto soundtrack, so hey, maybe more exposure, right? I guess the most that could be said of using one word of a title of your previous album is that it's much of the same listening experience. 'Heartbreaks and Setbacks' finds Bruner breaking the mold and attempting to hop aboard the whole chillwave scene with a gorgeous R&B jam, and 'Oh Sheit it's X', the aforementioned GTA V cut, finds him in a rare dance mood, but ultimately the album is simila

The aftermath of Watch the Throne left the world's two most successful and (almost) most revered rappers in the awkward position of trying to fight for it. The snipes between the two were small but noticeable: Kanye's choice of words in a freestyle breakdown in London - "I got love for HOV, but I ain't fucking with that Suit and Tie" - might not have attacked the man himself, but it left their friendship a little in question. Of course, by hip hop standards this was a relatively minor schism, and I'm sure they still play golf together (or whatever it is that they do whilst trying to remain at least slightly relatable to their fans). But now both have come back fighting with their solo efforts, it would appear that one's trying a lot harder than the other. In amongst all the Samsung exclusive deals, sports management agencies, and promotional songs featuring his 2-day old daughter, Carter seems to have lost all interest in making compelling music. I

Where a lot of bloggers hopped aboard the most recent and prominent example of modern music's misogyny and offensive rape culture - the music video to the single Blurred Lines - the rest of the world revelled in its fantastically catchy beat. And whilst Thicke himself issued possibly the most stupidly incendiary defence imaginable in an interview with GQ: People say, "Hey, do you think this is degrading to women?" I'm like, "Of course it is. What a pleasure it is to degrade a woman. I've never gotten to do that before. I've always respected women." There is the risk that this is all just the latest in a series of controversy stunts by the truly talentless and artless video-maker Diane Martel (Britney's 3 ; Miley's We Can't Stop ), and that we're just throwing paper onto the flames. It's probably for the best that I ignore his unavoidably creepy demeanour and leave that for the social activist Tumblrs to run into the groun

L.A. gentleman Will Wiesenfeld comes to me at a time when the most prominent influence of Los Angeles, upon me, is that of Grand Theft Auto V . My first initiation with the musician better known as Baths , who'd already put out two albums prior to this one, the initial impression is that this Californian phenomenon won't be quite as fun. It's something of a morale boost though when you read about musicians born in shitty, dull areas making something of themselves artistically. Throw in the sexuality-based lyrical content and a dangerously aloof sound and you've got yourselves a GSA favourite in the works. Not to build too much expectation of it, of course... Intro 'Worsening' is a bleak, soul-searching monstrosity lashing out randomly with jerky, cluttering beats and a dragging vocal, occasionally bursting into small verses of "Where is God when you hate him the most? When the mouths in the earth come to bite at my robes?" - it might just be

It's difficult nowadays to find a voice in pop music that feels wholly idiosyncratic, and whilst it feels inevitable that Aluna Francis' sugary, overpronounced cooing will be like nails on a chalkboard to some listeners, finding something uniquely individual about a UK dance-pop act at the moment is something of a rarity. Whilst the quality of UK music is currently at a high, it's at the expense of acts with identifiers; could you pick Duke Dumont out of a lineup? Where do Disclosure stop and Chase & Status start? It seemed pertinent that this rise of UK talent should be merged with modern pop's other most obvious requirement: frontwomen. Others have come and gone with dance hits written by others, and even some of those were dull as fuck , so this feels like an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Prior to their appearances in all the usual start-of-the-year hype lists (culminating in placing as runner-up on BBC's Sound of 2013), AlunaGeorge were

You know you live in slightly sad times for music when you go and read a couple of comments about Chance the Rapper, a man who, by any definition, is relatively new on the scene and just starting to pick up praise and support, and finding prissy little bitches like this: he'll probably get a lot more listeners following a tour opening for Macklemore...ugh, why God, why?  Whilst the ready availability for "just some guy"'s thoughts is just an easily ignored phenomenon of the internet age, and a large portion of internet discussion is held by disingenous people just seeking argument for their own entertainment, it's a little discouraging that rappers with even a smidgen of success - and when your free mixtapes are sold on Amazon by bootleggers you can call yourself pretty much there - are subject to the most scrutiny. A rare case where the real name is better than the moniker; Chancelor Bennett's second mixtape (following 2012's 10 D

  One of many 2011 acts who were new to me at the time, and therefore tasked me with the awkward process of finding their earlier stuff, Chicago band Smith Westerns sat perfectly betwixt my then-desires to find more alternative, new music and a love of classic rock. Dye it Blonde was much-loved for its unashamed reverence for glam rock and generally upbeat, psychedelic vibe. It was much more nostalgic and indebted to the earlier parts of the 20th century than its previous self-titled counterpart; largely a nice, but unexciting bunch of garage tunes. Now, with their third album they've done something of an abridgement of the two. Soft Will finds the Omori brothers (and can I just say that Cullen Omori is an awesome name? It sounds like a Japanese Twilight-inspired dish) going down a rather shoegazier, dare I say poppier route. It goes without saying that the band are never destined for crossover success, but it can't hurt to branch out and pick up a few new fans, can it

The ingredients are all there for the typical snooty backlash: a Brit's Critics Choice award, a debut #1 album and a heaving similarity in sound to the country's favourite hate figures, Coldplay. But when NME dropped a 0/10 review and others soon followed, I couldn't help but feel a little bit sad for Odell. I hadn't heard anything of his by this point - or rather I thought I hadn't, because Can't Pretend was rather determinedly being thrown at my face by TV trailers - but there's an element of cruelty about tearing apart new acts before they've really started. Unless they're Ed Sheeran, in which case: be my guest. "I find that I write much better songs when I'm being honest, and writing about things that happen to me" Ah. How novel. Let's dive in.   From the start we're surrounded with heart-swelling piano melodies and Odell's croaky, soaring vocals on 'Grow Old With Me'. It's undoubtedly lovely, bu

In fifteen years a lot can happen, and a fine example of that can be found in QOTSA's story. Hell, even in the last year alone there've been enough legal problems and lineup changes that even the Sugababes are shaking their heads in dismay. First came the departure of their third drummer, Joey Castillo; fired by Homme, the motives remain a mystery. The most likely explanation is artistic differences, but still - there's intrigue straight away. Throw in returnee Nick Oliveri and his recent domestic violence allegations and you've got a classic rock and roll story on the burner. Of course, this is a cynical way of looking at the return of one of the biggest bands in the world, so let's move on. Their sixth studio album - and first in 6 years - feels like something of a shoulder-rubbing adventure. The list of contributors is pretty stellar, and that can often be a band's undoing. Just ask Fall Out Boy. But here the connections are pretty obvious: Dave Grohl go

Barely a year has passed since Tribes tried valiantly to set the world alight with another UK indie debut. Baby may have crept into the top 20 of the album charts, but can anyone honestly call it a breakthrough to remember? If there's anything that Britons are guilty of it's wistful nostalgia, and we're willing to go so far as to get doe-eyed over a period of time only 8 years ago in our refusal to either get with the times or aim for something more culturally satisfying. The mid-noughties surge of British bands with shaggy haircuts and bland rock is now already embedded in the national subconscious as "that time just before the recession when everything was nice". The sad truth about Wish to Scream is that the songwriting just isn't up to scratch. Whilst Baby was anything but innovative, it at least provided opportunity to have a sing-along with crowdpleasers like Sappho and We Were Children . Here, the best attempt is opener 'Dancehall', a

When I sat down to watch the Ben Affleck-hosted edition of Saturday Night Live earlier this year with my university housemates, the general impression throughout was a stunned silence. Not just at the revelation that Affleck could be funny, but West's first glimpses at new material from this: his sixth studio album. His performances of New Slaves (in particular) and Black Skinhead were furious, pointed - and just a little bit pouty. Anger isn't exactly a sparce emotion in West's back catalogue: My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy tread a fine line between apology, self-mockery and bitterness. The public's favourite jackass, West always seems to feel like he has something to prove, something to overcome and people to put right. For those of us who find little wrong in him, it can be frustrating and whiney, but hey, at least he wears his heart on his sleeve. Following up that album is a mammoth task. Sideprojects between 2010 and now have sort-of washed away expect

Whilst the majority of time spent by Oasis fans when browsing upon anything done by its alumni is now concentrated on ripping apart everything Liam Gallagher says and does, the sheer media presence - whether that's down to genuine charisma or a tedious knack for slagging off everything relevant in NME interviews - of Beady Eye means it's unlikely that anything they release will go ignored. Which is a shame really, because I'd rather not remember Different Gear, Still Speeding : 2011's debut from the Manchester gods. Aside from the magnificent closer The Morning Sun and promising single Four Letter Word , it was sadly a torrid stream of Beatles ripoffs and boredom. And that's coming from someone who denies the majority of Oasis' work was totally derivative: not a popular opinion sometimes. Straight away we're in familiar territory, with an incredibly strong album opening from 'Flick of the Finger'. Bold, brassy and assured, it takes full ad

A case could be made of our poor attention span when a band taking 4 years inbetween albums seems exasperatingly long. The problem is that Walking on a Dream was their debut: they only had new fans to disappoint with this wait, and I'm sure some will have moved on entirely. It's not like music has stagnated since the admittedly hit-and-miss debut. The same can be said of the men behind the band: Luke Steele's gone to write songs for Usher, Jay Z and Beyonce, whilst Nick Littlemore's kept working with fellow Australian electro-duo Pnau (most notably on a bizarrely fun album of Elton John remixes) and produced for Groove Armada. So they've been busy. Of course, none of the newcomers quite live up to Steele and Littlemore's sense of style. Since Steele staggered across deserts in the mesmerizing video for their real breakthrough We Are the People , they've stuck in my mind at least as one of the noughties' most eccentric and identifiable performers. A