R.E.M. - Murmur (1983)

1) Radio Free Europe; 2) Pilgrimage; 3) Laughing; 4) Talk About the Passion; 5) Moral Kiosk; 6) Perfect Circle; 7) Catapult; 8) Sitting Still; 9) 9-9; 10) Shaking Through; 11) We Walk; 12) West of the Fields
The IRS Vintage Years Edition bonus tracks: 13) There She Goes Again; 14) 9-9 (Live); 15) Gardening at Night (Live); 16) Catapult (Live)
 

So different from where the band would end up but contains such obvious traces of their entire development throughout. The kind of debut that creates a legacy.

 

Key tracks: "Radio Free Europe", "Perfect Circle", "Shaking Through"

There’s a lot of preconceptions flying around Murmur. It’s knee-deep in R.E.M.’s mumbling phase where Stipe mutters nonsense incoherently, befitting of the murkiness of the album cover. The phrase “college rock” gets bandied around a lot around this period too, which brings its own associations of ragtag indie groups. It’s also the debut album of a band with a long, long career ahead of them and whose - arguably - most famous works were a decade and a stylistic evolution away. Or maybe it’s just me and my own pre-assumptions, but based on my past experiences I was expecting R.E.M.’s first full outing to have little to do with the band I had known.

If you’ve come to this from Chronic Town, which already had some identifiable R.E.M.-isms in it, it probably doesn’t come as a surprise that a lot of those preconceptions are somewhat overstated, but the extent of how fully formed R.E.M. already are here is still notable. The songs are a little simpler here and there, but the album loves to throw surprises to mix things up: tracks where the arrangements and grasp of melody suddenly perk up with refinement, like the band had already been perfecting their art for years. The band that created “Shaking Through”, “Sitting Still” and “Laughing” is already miles away from the group of people behind Chronic Town; those songs also have some absolutely gorgeous moments lurking within, in particular the former with its superb vocal melodies and harmonies in its soaring chorus. Meanwhile “Talk About the Passion” is already R.E.M. as we know it, and a wonderful prelude to the more acoustic-based sound they’d become truly famous with. These are all songs where Murmur really comes alive, and they’re all classically R.E.M.-like moments where all the components of the band’s signature sound are already there and highlighted.

The best example of this is “Perfect Circle”, however. It’s Murmur’s big curve ball - an atmospheric, arrestingly beautiful and haunting mood piece driven by Mike Mills’ piano, full of misty-eyed melancholy and intimate vulnerability. It’s the kind of song that could have had a home in literally any R.E.M. album, regardless of decade - a song before its time, really. It’s very clearly a stylistic standout from the rest of Murmur, but yet there’s enough of its individual elements scattered across the album to make it feel at home in context. And it’s a brilliant song, of course - a great tune married to a great lyric, enunciated by Stipe clearly in a manner that makes the song a clear spotlight moment for him.

But just because those more nuanced moments are Murmur’s peaks, there really shouldn’t be any dismissal of the songs where the band’s post-punk roots have a bigger emphasis. Murmur is really Mills’ and Berry’s album in that respect, the former practically leading the songs with his melodic playing style while Berry backs him with the tightest drum playing - Buck’s famous jangling is all over the place but more often it’s there fill the gaps between the various rhythm section spotlight moments. “Radio Free Europe” demonstrates this brilliantly. It’s an iconic debut single and much of it is because of how free-spirited and energetic it is, right from the intro that cuts the quiet build-up with an intent-affirming set of drum bangs. The bass line is great fun as Mills runs up and down the frets, and Stipe yelps his way through a melody that begs you to shout along even though you can’t really be clear of the words.

It’s a stormer of an opener, and sets way for a number of tracks in similar vein. “Pilgrimage” and the pounding “Catapult” are near-anthemic shout-alongs where Stipe commands the front with the kind of clarity that should bury the whole mumbling exaggeration, while “9-9” and “West of the Fields” are frantic high-speed numbers more reliant on their energy than anything. “West of the Fields” in particular has an almost-menacing urgency which gives the album a final punch of an ending, particularly as it launches after the quirky but fun almost-novelty singalong “We Walk”, which starts the band’s grand tradition of throwing something lighthearted out of nowhere amidst an album.
The most astonishing thing, though, is that Murmur was released in 1983 and it still sounds fresh today. Not only fresh, but unique. R.E.M. managed to cook up an album that at the same time lays the basic foundations for so many future bands yet sounds like none of them. Unlike so many other older classic albums which either sound incredibly dated or simply weaker when compared to the artists that took their inspiration from them and expanded and developed on the ideas, Murmur has its own sound even today and stands above the competition. The only thing that nibbles away its timelessness is the production but the music has no era, and even the production issues are fixed by the 2008 remaster which sounds gorgeous. It’s not just a fantastic start, but a classic album through and through.

This comes off as awkwardly abrupt after all that gushing over, but the IRS Vintage Years re-release which I happen to own adds practically nothing of major interest in terms of bonus tracks. There’s a cover of Velvet Underground’s “There She Goes Again” that’s thoroughly adequate but nothing to write home about, especially given R.E.M.’s tendency for rather faithful cover versions and my own particular aversions towards the VU. There are also three live tracks which are fine on the basis of the strength of the originals, but which offer nothing beyond that - “Gardening at Night” doesn’t feature on Murmur and is the best cut of the Chronic Town EP, so in that way it’s a handy bonus. By and far though, nothing particularly enticing. A better option is simply to spend a bit more money instead and get the aforementioned 2008 re-release, for the remastering job alone. Murmur has never sounded better.

Rating: 9/10

R.E.M. - Chronic Town EP (1982)

1) Wolves, Lower; 2) Gardening at Night; 3) Carnival of Sorts (Box Cars); 4) 1,000,000; 5) Stumble

It's lowkey incredible how a humble debut EP can nail down so much of the band's magic already.

Key tracks: "Wolves, Lower", "Gardening at Night"

A solid debut EP can really add to a band’s legacy. Ones that still offer something so unique and exciting that you happily return to them even after the band has been releasing music for decades afterwards, especially so. Viewed from that angle, Chronic Town EP is one hell of a release. It’s a snapshot of a young and hungry band who are still compensating the lack of honed craft with pure energy, but who make it work and create the kind of memorable entrance I imagine got a lot of people very, very interested back in the day.

Most of Chronic Town runs on a single trick: Buck jangles his guitar, Stipe mumbles through lyrics, Mills and Berry provide a formidable rhythmic backbone that not-so-secretly carries the disc. That one trick is all it needs. There’s an exhilarating energy running through the five songs, the quite frankly exciting instrumental parts weaving simple but strong melodies in a manner that merges the urgency of post-punk with the lushness of jangle pop. Stipe is already a commandeering front man, incoherent as he may be here but already exhibiting the mannerisms and range he’s known for. There’s an obvious greenness to the band but it’s far from being an obstacle because so many pieces are already falling in place.

It’s the actual songs, not the sound, that make Chronic Town notable though. Very few debut EPs carry an essential cut in them, but Chronic Town has “Gardening at Night”, the first real R.E.M. classic. It’s where the EP’s formula hits perfection, and the combination of Michael’s higher register, the sharp chiming notes of the guitar and Mills’ steady and sturdy bassline creates an alluring atmosphere and it’s got the strongest set of melodies of the EP scattered consistently through the track. It would absolutely have a place in any R.E.M. retrospective even today, and given it’s become the most enduring track of the EP even in the band’s eyes means I’m not the only one who thinks that way. “Wolves, Lower” and “Carnival of Sorts (Box Cars)” are brilliant accompaniments to it. The former is thick with murky atmosphere until it suddenly bursts into its perky chorus, a sudden gear switch that’s quickly showcases the EPs primary ingredients and makes for a fitting introduction for the band. “Carnival of Sorts” is the other big standout: it’s as close to a rock-out as R.E.M. would get this early on, with a killer hook in its chorus vocal arrangement as Mills and Stipe trade off lines amid the rush of energy. It’s a thrilling swirl of rhythm and melody interweaving.

The flip side of the EP isn’t quite as exciting but it’s still strong enough. “1,000,000” is the weakest of the lot but only because it adds nothing new to the mix: everything it has to offer the band have already showcased in a stronger fashion during the first three songs, and as a result it falls of the wayside somewhat. “Stumble” is arguably the weakest song of the lot, being a structurally monotonous jam that doesn’t quite have enough meat to support its full length, but the band’s talent as instrumentalists really shines here, Mills in particular: the bass parts of “Stumble” are incredible in all their vibrating spring-like glory and them, along with the rest of the instrumental prowess at display, stop “Stumble” from stumbling over. It caps off the EP in a rather solid fashion despite being a bit of an oddball of a song, leading to a finish worthy of the first three songs. And while it’s a decent finish, it’s those opening songs that not only pave the way forward but gets you coming back.

The actually impressive thing is how well they still stand within the bigger picture of R.E.M.’s whole discography: Chronic Town is by no means the curio early days release just for the hardcore fans you’d probably expect, but it’s a relevant thing to check out even now. A lot of the signature magic is already in here.

Rating: 8/10

The Shins - Oh, Inverted World (2001)

1) Caring Is Creepy; 2) One by One All Day; 3) Weird Divide; 4) Know Your Onion!; 5) Girl Inform Me; 6) New Slang; 7) The Celibate Life; 8) Girl on the Wing; 9) Your Algebra; 10) Pressed in a Book; 11) The Past and Pending

A humble beginning, with that one song that could change your life.

Key tracks: "Caring Is Creepy", "New Slang", "Girl on the Wing"

The Shins' debut comes heavy with expectations. It's not because of the infamous and over-referenced (guilty, natch!) "change your life" line from Garden State - I don't believe anyone takes that bit with any gravitas anymore and it's long since established itself as a running joke that's cruelly if well-intendedly forever levied against Oh, Inverted World and The Shins in general. It's "New Slang" that's the big weight. It's one of the hallowed group of songs with the power to force you to sit down and pay attention from the first instance. The emotional weight dripping from James Mercer's weary voice, the ridiculously simple but cunningly brilliant "ooh-ooh-ooh" hook, the gorgeous arrangement that seems like a straightforward campfire song at first but eventually reveals itself to host a multitude of depth and tiny but important details, the sheer gravitas of it for such a straightforward song - it's a brilliant, brilliant song. Yet it's a humble and unassuming song, but that's perhaps its most important strength - it resonates like a personal hidden treasure you've happened to come across and it could be special to you and you alone.

There is absolutely nothing on Oh, Inverted World that comes even close to "New Slang" and the song is its biggest curse: a legitimate classic weighing down the rest of its parent album that didn't have the luck to be just as majestic. Good news is that the sooner that thought is processed and dealt with, the sooner you come to realise the album's other strengths, even if it takes a long while like for the undersigned. They're just completely different ones.

Humble and unassuming describes Oh, Inverted World accurately enough as a whole. It's a literal bedroom recording, with most of it having been written and recorded in Mercer's own home before any hope of it seeing a true light of day was in anyone's minds. They're short, unassuming pop songs: warm, lithe melodies with songwriting where the backbone lies in straightforward singer/songwriter elements. That alone makes it a novelty within The Shins' discography. Mercer can be a genius within his genre when it comes to brilliantly clever yet still blindingly direct melodies, and Oh, Inverted World is the one album where that factor hasn't had the chance yet to become The Shins' de facto modus operandi. Each album since this has dressed those melodies up in grand, punchy arrangements like a bloodhungry indie pop barbarian - some very successfully and some less so. Oh, Inverted World plays with smaller stakes, if at any: it's homely and homey.

The one little flourish that Oh, Inverted World does allow itself is some rather tasteful keyboard work. They're not extravagant parts either, but they bring a change to a lot of the album's general sound world and the songs that hold them up the clearest generally end up being the album's best. "Caring Is Creepy" - as close to a big and explosive "rocker" as this album gets - highlights its love-at-first-sight hooks with vintage organs, the playfully ascending and descending keyboard riff of "Girl on a Wing" ends up stealing the show particularly as the song slows its pace from its cold open, and the brightly parading synths of "One by One All Day" practically make the song (as does the cunningly punctuating xylophone referenced in the song's lyrics), as enjoyable as its twee rollicking generally is. The keyboards overall lend kind of dreaminess all over the album that adds to its charms, and often turn out to be the main part that strikes a fancy in their respective songs.

There's one more ace to the album's sleeve and that's the closing track "The Past and Pending", which is more or less "New Slang" Part 2, just a little dreamier; it's a lovely way to close the album as its refrain seems to run forever and you want to cling onto it for as long as you can. The remaining tracks are fine even if not as strong. They contribute to the overall atmosphere of the album and there's frequent reminders of Mercer's cunning tricks (the dialogue-like vocal runs of "Know Your Onion!" for example), but there's a clear gap running between them and what's already mentioned. It's a classic case of the sum being better than the parts. the stronger set carrying the weight while what's in-between accentuate the overall feel. With only half an hour in length, even the lesser cuts never overstay their welcome and stay novel.

I tend to prefer The Shins when Mercer's a bit more vibrant in his expression, but Oh, Inverted World has more to it than its humble outlook and the endless weight of its Big Song offer at first glance. It's the cosiest Shins album, a more intimate wrapping for Mercer's tricks, and that's proven to be aspect that lures me in. It'd be great if everything was as strong as "Caring Is Creepy" or especially "New Slang", but this is one case where it's hard to hold the album against itself given how well the whole ultimately works.

Rating: 7/10

Radiohead - Kid A (2000)

1) Everything in Its Right Place; 2) Kid A; 3) The National Anthem; 4) How to Disappear Completely; 5) Treefingers; 6) Optimistic; 7) In Limbo; 8) Idioteque; 9) Morning Bell; 10) Motion Picture Soundtrack

The famous reinvention. Not as radical to modern ears but it's hard to argue this didn't leave an impact and changed Radiohead forever. And it remains great. 

Key tracks: "Everything in Its Right Place", "The National Anthem", "How to Disappear Completely"

Kid A is an album with a Legacy. It’s defined by its origin story and cultural context so much that the music largely comes secondary: notice how Kid A is mostly talked about as a whole, rather than as individual songs. It’s the story of a rock band whose sound defined the late 90s abandoning all that, taking their music into a whole new world and who then ended up defining rock music as a whole afterwards. By now artists going electronic is a trope we’ve come to expect during the lifetime of every guitar band and it wasn’t exactly rare before Kid A either (see 1998, the year bands seemed to collectively discover samplers and synthesizers) but Radiohead’s open love for IDM and the sheer conviction they threw themselves out into the new world with – not to mention their global size at the time – changed gears forevermore. Add some flair about the usage of internet in its infancy and the disconnection and chaos the band themselves felt about what they were doing, and you’ve got the ingredients to a perfect analytical album retrospective. Even if it’s not all true, it sounds plausible enough to be so.

It’s not unusual for context-specific significance to fade away for those who come to the artefact later on down the line, having become used to the effects of the revolution. No one who’s gone through Modern Rock 101 would expect Kid A to sound as wild now as it did back then, even back when I got into this roughly a decade ago. Well, it does – kind of. It’s still a significant album in Radiohead’s discography. But there’s this nagging feeling at the back of your head whenever you listen to it, especially when you first put it on after all the raving and story-building and one which you can never shake fully even after you’ve come to readjust your views. Wasn’t this supposed to be an electronic album?

Kid A is more like a hedging-your-bets kind of transitionary album than the genre revolution it’s made out to be. Amnesiac took the full dive and Hail to the Thief moulded it all together but Kid A is still clearly the work of the same band who made OK Computer, logically progressing from one point to the next. A lot of guitar, a lot of conventional band playing, a lot of the same songwriting you’ve come to expect. The much touted electronic elements aren’t even the best part of the album. “Everything in Its Right Place” is really good but fizzles out into nothing rather than keeps its momentum, “Treefingers” goes all ambient but is ultimately an interlude and the parallel universe dance anthem “Idioteque” is great until you hear any of its live versions and discover how disappointingly flat the album version is. Only the glacial IDM gallop “Kid A” feels like a great idea meeting a fully fleshed out production. It’s the moment where your expectations meet reality, and it’s great.

But Kid A is an excellent album nonetheless. If conjures a soundscape of isolation and ice-cold otherworldliness perfectly – someone once said the cover art is like looking at a forest fire from a distance, observing the chaos from afar in silence, and it’s a great way to describe the album’s atmosphere. It’s filled with anxiety, terror and horror (“we’re not scare-mongering, this is really happening”) but it’s distanced from all of it, wrapped up in its isolation chamber and covering all the panic with a cool detachment. Here and there the shield breaks down – the soul-crushing existential loneliness of “How to Disappear Completely”, the bits of “Idioteque” where it almost goes mental (and would, without the production stopping it) – but Kid A picks itself back up quickly, fixes the front and returns to its wintery solitude. Radiohead have made a career out of standing at the verge of madness – here they sound calm and at ease, in a manner more disconcerting than when they’re about to break down.

The bit about no one ever mentioning Kid A’s songs makes sense the more you tug into the album. It’s not album where titles jump out of the tracklist in a “that is my jam” kind of way, but it’s a tracklist where each song knows its place in the greater whole. The “Optimistic”/”In Limbo” duo is the perfect example. “Optimistic” throws away any notion of this being an electronic album with what it being a rifftastic rock band effort and it’s nowhere near among Radiohead’s best in that regard, but its relative loudness and brashness acts as an excellent foil to the rest of the album and it sounds far better in its right place than it does out of it. “In Limbo” is effectively an extended outro that had the audacity to try to morph into its own song and it’s a little too formless to make it fully work, but it’s hard to not get wrapped in its groove when it slyly appears on the album. It’s a cliché but Kid A is first and foremost an album rather than a selection of songs, and the sum is far greater than the parts ever will be individually. That’s not to say that it doesn’t have songs that wouldn’t be great on their own. “Kid A” is an exciting glimpse into what the album could be, “How to Disappear Completely” is a spine-chilling classic and arguably Radiohead’s greatest “ballad” (“mood piece” is probably a better term), “The National Anthem” is one hell of a groove-monster you would not expect this album to contain, coming with an instant classic bass riff, and “Morning Bell” finds the band taking the sound elements of the title track and applying them onto a rock song in fantastic, hypnotic results.

None of it’s really revolutionary. In fact, you can hear traces of them all in Radiohead’s prior works and they’re only now becoming realized. Kid A’s supposed genre shift feels more and more out of place the more you listen to it, the more you listen to Radiohead and the more you listen to music. There’s countless albums that have been branded with “X’s Kid A” that actually do the Kid A thing better than the real deal does. But the more you listen to the album and the more you listen to Radiohead, the more it’s clear that the shift is mostly in the personal level. Whether or not it’s radical in how it does it, this album is where Radiohead re-wrote their own rulebook and took a new approach to writing and playing music that they still hold onto today. As an album it’s not quite the 90s gloom rock as the ones prior or the twitched-up art rock of the albums after, happily mediating in the middle. As a bridge it works perfectly – for so many people this was the album that made them realise sides of the band they’d never thought about and opened the way onwards, myself included. The legacy and the hype might not quite hit the nail on the head then, but it still holds an important place in the band’s history and in people’s record collections. That, however, is because of the music within and the overall experience the ten songs work together to bring.

Rating: 8/10

Red Hot Chili Peppers - The Red Hot Chili Peppers (1984)

1) True Men Don’t Kill Coyotes: 2) Baby Appeal; 3) Buckle Down; 4) Get Up and Jump; 5) Why Don’t You Love Me 6) Green Heaven; 7) Mommy, Where’s Daddy?; 8) Out in L.A.; 9) Police Helicopter; 10) You Always Sing; 11) Grand Pappy Du Plenty

More energy than skill at this point, but there's a charm to its mindless flailing around.

Key tracks: "True Men Don't Kill Coyotes", "Baby Appeal", "Get Up and Jump"

You look at the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ debut and you kind of just have to wonder how they ever got signed, how the album ever got made and – most bafflingly – how a band like this could ever end up being so massive. It just makes no sense.

In a wonderful twist of cosmic sense of humour, Red Hot Chili Peppers officially began with what they’ve become semi-notorious with over the years: with changing members. The original Red Hot Chili Peppers featured the mainstays Anthony Kiedis and Flea alongside guitarist Hillel Slovak and drummer Jack Irons – four best friends having a laugh and a riot, their charismatic combination providing much of the wild excitement the band made their name with early on. They were ludicrous and had more energy than musical talent at this stage, but somehow someone decided they were worth signing for because why not. And then suddenly Irons and Slovak had to go – they had split their time with bands other than the Peppers and now they were forced to choose. After a lot of hard thinking and a lot of complications, they chose the other bands. So, the Peppers were meant to get ready to record their first album, while missing 50% of their tight membership. Issue one.

They soon ended up recruiting Cliff Martinez and Jack Sherman as the replacements. Martinez was a fine choice: his personality gelled with the band and so did his musical sensibilities (and he had a kickass moose hat). Sherman, less so. Kiedis’ autobiography goes into great detail about the Sherman situation (biased as it is) and how his attitude was vastly different to the rest of the band’s wild spirit. Half of the blame was arguably on Kiedis’ side as well – Sherman had the misfortune of replacing Kiedis’ BFF Hillel and got treated with a cold shoulder as a result, invoking Kiedis’ wrath through minor things that Hillel wouldn’t have done like e.g. wanting to add acoustic guitars on some of the tracks. Sherman ended up bonding with the record’s assigned producer Andy Gill, who didn’t really care for the band or their music and thus the studio time became an awkward, uncomfortable time of cold war between two factions forced to work together. Issue two.

The resulting album: 30-odd minutes of ramshackle funk rock played a little too stiffly, wrapped up in a zero-budget, typically 80s production work. Issue three. At this stage Peppers were primarily a live band because in such an environment they could work through their lack of musical finesse with pure manic energy. Not so much in the studio environment, and when recorded it’s easy to see how green the band still were. The production is dry and lifeless, sapping out most of the energy the band could carry into the studio. The album carries the feeling of a car crash, of everything that could have gone wrong doing so and leaving a young band completely helpless on the shore. Sometimes it feels like the short length is the result of no one simply wanting to continue any longer.

The most bizarre thing about The Red Hot Chili Peppers musically is how borderline adorable it is. It’s charmingly naïve, more akin a bunch of teenagers crudely jamming together in their first band than the wild-spirited maniacs the band were trying to be. The whole cock-in-a-sock sexed-up shtick we associate with the young Peppers shines with its shocking absence and in its place is a whole load of silly songs that occasionally borderline being downright cute: there’s even a song about how the band attracts literal babies instead of babes (“Baby Appeal”). Elsewhere it’s humorous love songs, funny party anthems, some generally weird stuff trying to be quirky (Cannot tell if the smooth grooving “Mommy, Where’s Daddy” is trying to be funny or creepy with its weird father/daughter dialogue) and a couple of attempts at political commentary turned daft when the lyrics start spouting about dolphin kingdoms and alike (“Green Heaven”, “True Men Don’t Kill Coyotes”).

That goofy charm keeps the album relatively afloat. There is little of musical value on the debut and absolutely nothing that would deserve a popularity revival or be mentioned in the greater scheme of things – this isn’t even a Pablo Honey case where a maligned hit makes an appearance and forces the album to be acknowledged. It is hard not to smile though whenever “Get Up and Jump”, “Buckle Down” or “Baby Appeal” make appearances, and that’s what ultimately gives the album the little saving grace it gets. It’s a silly, fun 30-minute splash that goes in and out but at least raises a smile. That’s something, arguably.

The album closes befittingly nonsensically. After ten tracks worth of varyingly ridiculous newbie funk rock, “Grand Pappy Du Plenty” appears and finishes the album with a moody Western-inspired instrumental out of nowhere. It’s like listening to a completely different band who’s interested in a wholly different musical direction, who suddenly have vision and talent. It’s a revelation that there’s so much more to the Peppers than they initially reveal to be and a small hint at why this band would end up lasting for a couple of decades instead of the couple of months the album otherwise hints at. That it’s immediately preceded by the short and frantic “Police Helicopter” and the thoroughly pointless shout-along “You Always Sing”, just makes the contrast even more absurd (and makes it feel like the album’s tail end was a dumping ground for random junk). The kicker is, of course, that “Grand Pappy Du Plenty” is not actually very interesting beyond that. The story of this album, then.

Rating: 5/10

Mew - Half the World Is Watching Me (2000)

1) Am I Wry? No; 2) Mica; 3) King Christian; 4) Saliva; 5) Her Voice Is Beyond Her Years; 6) 156; 7) Symmetry; 8) Comforting Sounds
2007 re-release bonus disc: 1) Half the World Is Watching Me; 2) Her Voice Is Beyond Her Years (Live 2001); 3) Mica (Live 2001); 4) Wheels Over Me (Live 2001); 5) Wherever (Live 2001); 6) 156 (Cubase Demo); 7) Quietly (Demo); 8) Comforting Sounds (Do I Look Puerto Rican?) (Demo)

The first Mew album that really showcases their signature sound. You'll know most of it via Frengers, though.

Key tracks: "Am I Wry? No", "Mica", "Her Voice Is Beyond Her Years"

“What’s the point of tracking down Half the World Is Watching Me”, someone who’s not a completionist might ask. “I mean, two thirds of it is on Frengers after all”, they might continue. It’s a reasonable point I suppose, if you’re not the sort of geek who just wants to own every album a band releases (*cough*).  Mew’s second album isn’t the most convenient to find even after it was re-released, and it shares the majority of its tracklist with the more common follow-up Frengers. Frengers was the band’s international debut album after a couple of Denmark-only releases and for it, the band chose to include a number of their old favourites that they didn’t want to leave dusting away on some obscure indie releases. Nearly all of the old tracks chosen hail from Half the World Is Watching Me and for a good reason. Where the debut A Triumph for Man was a quirky lo-fi affair, Mew’s sophomore release presented a far more confident band and the production to back it up, with the bold power pop cuts a far cry from the first album’s whimsy.

Brushing off the irrational reasons (complete the set! Get everything! Collect!), the logical way to look at this dilemma is to look at the two different sides of it: the songs which were eventually remade, and the ones that didn’t make the cut.

The five songs on Half the World Is Watching Me which eventually got a facelift are “Am I Wry? No”, “Her Voice Is Beyond Her Years”, “156”, “Symmetry” and “Comforting Sounds”. The changes between the versions are as different as the songs themselves. The duet ballad “Symmetry” is largely identical to the point that I actually struggle finding any discernible differences between the two versions, including in the guest vocals, but the song was always built on a few simple elements anyway: it’s still the same minimal and wintery last dance of the ball, no matter which version you play. “Am I Wry? No” and “Comforting Sounds” are largely the same as their later counterparts, just a little less produced. The honestly epic “Comforting Sounds” is still the size of a small galaxy even if the final climax isn’t covered in an orchestra and it’ll always be an experience no matter its guise. “Am I Wry? No” is one of Mew’s finest honest rock songs and arguably the song that best nutshells them, and the main difference between the original and the re-make is slight arrangement decisions. If anything, I actually slightly prefer the version here as it introduces the keyboards after the second guitar part in the intro, as opposed to the other way around it’s performed in the remake: there’s a greater sense of drama to it and if anything, Mew love their dramatic entrances.

“Her Voice Is Beyond Her Years” and “156” on the other hand carry the major differences. The blissful indie pop mini-masterpiece “Her Voice Is Beyond Her Years” has an airier sound and a looser feel than its tightly-wound high-energy twin on Frengers and it suits the song and its delicate emotional touch better. The piano flourishes are also more similarly more elegant and contributes wonderfully to its shy poet boy romance vibe. There’s admittedly also a tacked-on extended outro that’s somewhat less essential. “156” goes even further and is almost a whole different song. It’s still recognisable and it features the same structure and melody as the re-recording, but the vibe and sound are wholly different. The “156” everyone knows from Frengers (because, let’s face it, unless you’re Danish you won’t have heard of this band before that album nor would you have obtained this before it) is ethereal and dreamy, full of beautiful melancholy and longing that ebbs between its placid verses and soaring choruses. The one here starts with a whimsical fairytale frolic of an intro, before it abruptly transforms into a more guitar-driven and laidback take on the song. It’s the closest tie Half the World Is Watching Me has to A Triumph for Man and carries that same whimsy, but it kind of fails to rise from the ground. It’s still a good song but clearly one still under construction. It needed the remake.

Mid-way tally: that’s two drastically different versions, albeit one which is more to please those who have a fetish for alternative versions, and a couple of minor differences that won’t make or break anything even if you can hear them. Not quite the selling point. But there’s still the other three songs.

One might wonder why “Mica”, “King Christian” and “Saliva” were left behind by the band. The initial assumption is because of quality: if Mew wanted to display their strongest back catalogue hits on their international entrance, surely it must mean everything that got left behind just wasn’t good enough? That assumption would be wrong. Rather, these three just wouldn’t have worked within Frengers. If you’ve heard that album (which I seem to assume you have, reading back on this review), you’d know that it’s not afraid to be aggressive, punchy and powerful: it’s full of dramatic energy and power riffs. These three songs, however, would have just been too damn fluffy and adorable for the serious image the band were trying to convey in Frengers. “Mica” is a super sunny pop ditty that’s so light and wonderful it practically floats, all heavenly falsettos, earworm choruses and shiny keyboards. “King Christian” is a daft romp with a stomping beat that could come out of a musical and which includes, of all things, a spoken word interlude featuring the titular king. “Saliva” is nothing like its namesake and sounds downright adorable – all sing-along choruses and handclaps, and some sudden tempo switches just to spice things up. These three are some of the most overtly poptacular moments Mew have committed to tape and they just wouldn’t have worked in the context of Frengers, whereas the others could with a little tweaking. They’re also the three best reasons to obtain a copy of Half a World Is Watching Me, with “Mica” and “Saliva” in particular being top class Mew.

(and besides, “Mica” and “King Christian” were re-recorded during the Frengers sessions anyway. They ended up as b-sides, and this time it was because they just weren’t strong enough. The transition tried to reshape and it didn’t quite work).

That tips the balance in favour of hearing Half the World Is Watching Me. Yes, even if you have an indepth knowledge of Frengers, this is still worth picking up. Granted, if you’re actually pondering about this you’re probably already too far in the fandom rabbit hole to back away, but suffice to say it’s a really good album with plenty to love. I should also point out that despite how I’ve titledropped other albums in this review way more many times than I’ve mentioned the one I’m actually reviewing, Half the World Is Watching Me definitely stands on its own feet as well. We’ve already established the tracks are great, the flow is good and despite only featuring eight songs it doesn’t feel too short. It’s definitely a transitional record but the transition itself is already great to listen to. So to answer the originally posted hypothetical question – the point of getting this is to get access to a bunch of great songs by a really good band who are on their way to become a great one.

The bonus disc that comes with the re-release shouldn’t really form any enticing factor, however. It doesn’t drop the ball quite as badly as the one attached to A Triumph for Man (we’ll get to that later) but still comes across as wholly inessential, even if curious. You’ve got the previously unreleased title track (s’alright) and “Quietly (Demo)” (which is pretty good and barely demo-like), but otherwise the b-sides and studio outtakes are once again missing. The live tracks go on to prove that Mew are a good live force but they offer little in the way of anything enlightening, apart from the take of “Wherever” (originally off A Triumph for Man) that’s already going through some changes from the original noise-slacker crawl to a loud, stereo-blasting guitar anthem. The Cubase demo of “156” is pretty anaemic, although the chorus is kinda entertainingly lazy in its delivery, and the demo of “Comforting Sounds” shrinks it even further: no longer a giant, it’s now “just” a big song still being worked on by a band in a room. It makes for a set of interesting curios that are good to listen to, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually had the desire to listen to the bonus disc beyond the sake of occasions like this review.

Rating: 8/10

Grandaddy - Under the Western Freeway (1997)

1) Nonphenomenal Lineage; 2) A.M. 180; 3) Collective Dreamwish of Upperclass Elegance; 4) Summer Here Kids; 5) Laughing Stock; 6) Under the Western Freeway; 7) Everything Beautiful Is Far Away; 8) Poisoned at Hartsy Thai Food; 9) Go Progress Chrome; 10) Why Took Your Advice?; 11) Lawn and So On

Rough and uneven in sound yet with some songs so good they break through it. Still, just a little too underdeveloped.

Key tracks: "A.M. 180", "Summer Here Kids", "Laughing Stock"

You break down Grandaddy's signature sound into some basic concepts and you get a few identifiable elements: the man-meets-technology concept that runs in the background for most of their discography, the production that meshes together intricate detail with a more home-spun aesthetic flirting between lo- and hi-fi, and Jason Lytle's recognisable songwriting. On Under the Western Freeway those goals had already been established, but actually getting there is still shaky. The running concept only appears in infrequent glimpses, the production is unintentionally uneven rather than a genuine stylistic choice (there's a lot of curious mixing imbalances throughout which do not strike me as genuinely considered decisions) and the songs swing wildly from classics to glorified segues. That is to say, Under the Western Freeway sounds like a work in progress: a proof of concept waiting to be fully formed.

To put it in greater detail, compared to the scattershot demos and pre-album EPs compiled in The Broken Down Comforter Collection Lytle and co (but pretty much just Lytle on record) have found a way forward that works for them and they've expanded upon it for the debut full-length record. There's a lot to appreciate in the Grandaddy sound even in its more formative shape and part of that even works to the record's charm: the slight fuzziness of it all meshes wonderfully with the offbeat and somewhat dated synths and keyboard elements show their age in a way that suits the more rustic, slightly slapdash form the band is in here. In fact, compared to the rest of the Grandaddy discography the synths and similar textural elements arguably play a bigger role here than they do later on given how striking some of the sounds used are, whether it's intentional or not: the album even opens up with a particularly memorable synth lead courtesy of the pseudo-intro "Nonphenomenal Lineage" which is a great way to guide into the record. That particular sound preference lends Under the Western Freeway its characteristic tone, slightly weary and out of time with the rest of the world to an even greater degree than most of Lytle's records. It's the one thing that works with the production, given the rest of it is unpolished to a more awkward degree, from indecisive mixing to the general lack of any depth in sound. One of the worst in this regard is "Laughing Stock" where the drums are loudly on the forefront but without any depth to them that the flat snare thuds et al border on distracting. This is not a headphone album in the slightest - there is nothing to gain hearing these songs in even greater fidelity.

"Laughing Stock" still comes out as one of the best songs of the album though and has a good claim to be its unexpected highlight overall; when Lytle stumbles upon a great tune, even this early on he can pull it off to such a good extent that you forgive the occasionally amateurish sound. Lytle's songwriting and arrangements are more straightforward here than in the later albums, as probably expected from a debut, but the tricks he repeats are really good ones. "Laughing Stock" for example is six minutes of roughly the same mid-tempo beat, but Lytle's frail singing against the other elements lends it a strong atmosphere and the simple but powerful chorus clears the haze surrounding the rest of the song. Lytle reaching for the limits of his range as the music picks up gives it that extra necessary oomph. and when the song finally does break out and play loud, it's the kind of classic release of tension that works brilliantly. It's a trick Grandaddy would repeat often throughout their records, with seemingly monotonous passages transformed into something far greater and resonant than expected, and "Laughing Stock" is the progenitor for the others of its ilk, and its chorus and breakdown still play strong. Yes I wish it sounded a lot better than it did, but when it finds those particular magic notes and has them played with gusto, you forgive it for its flaws as you enjoy its strengths.

The same attitude goes for much of the album's peaks, and it certainly has some. The rollicking cult classic "A.M. 180" with its signature keyboard riff is classic Grandaddy in form and tone, and it's no surprise it's become the breakaway hit of the album, encapsuling not only something essential about Lytle but also about the late 90s American musical landscape in general. It's probably an even worse offender in sound than "Laughing Stock" (the vocal mixing is a mess and I swear the drums accidentally mess the beat at one point) but it doesn't prevent it from sounding like an anthem. The high-energy "Summer Here Kids", the other big song with a signature keyboard riff (though a piano this time), is a to-the-point rocker the likes of which Lytle has rarely ever indulged in and certainly not under the Grandaddy name, hinting at a less contemplative and more festival-storming hypothetical direction the band could have moved towards. It's a great, fun cut showing the band at their most guitar-oriented and the fuzziness of the production works actually really well here, complimenting the song's rough guitars and whirlwind nature.

You'll notice these are all songs from the first half of the album, and it's that second half which places Under the Western Freeway in the bottom of the Grandaddy rate list. Lytle isn't particularly conceptual on Under the Western Freeway but an attempt has been made to make it sound like an album that sticks together and where the whole is even greater than the individual parts. Somehow this has realised into a number of filler-esque segues dominating the album's runtime from the title track onwards. Apart from the admittedly quite nice "Everything Beautiful Is Far Away" (with yet more delightfully on-the-nose synths taking over good chunks of the soundscape underneath the chugging rock rhythm), the later section of Under the Western Freeway is made out of short songs which behave like interludes, one after another trying to act like songs that rise up on their own right without having the ground to stand on for it: unless the run of a seemingly improvised pseudo-skit ("Poisoned at Hartsy Thai Food"), a half-raw glorified demo sketch that's over before you realise ("Go Progress Chrome") and a two-minute outro followed by minutes of silence and bird tweeting ("Lawn and So On") somehow sounds like an exciting sequence. "Why Took Your Advice" is the only one that feels like a full song, but it's a really plodding one and in fact is overlong for what it is - a far cry from Grandaddy's future minimalist melancholy stills in time.

It's a really disappointing way to close an album - especially when we're talking about it taking up nearly half the tracklist. The sound issues are one thing, the general underdeveloped tone is another: both are forgivable when you have songs as good as what's around the first half ("Collective Dreamwish of Upperclass Elegance" is fine as well, for what it's worth, just not so fine it jumps out as something that beckons you to the album). In fact, I always feel like I underrate and misjudge this album when I start it because it's easy to get into it when it begins, and the run from the lush synths of "Nonphenomal Lineage" to the shy majesty of "Laughing Stock" has nothing to be ashamed of next to any other record from Lytle and co. Then the songs get shorter, the melodies barely make an appearance and everything starts feeling like an afterthought, and it's like you've hit a shuffle button somewhere and gotten all the filler cuts in a row. Anyone who enjoys Grandaddy - or even this music scene or period as a whole - will likely find a lot to appreciate on Under the Western Freeway, but it's nonetheless a limping first attempt that hasn't yet figured out how to run with the ideas and concepts it's got in its mind. It's a demo or a beta, to run with the technology analogies that would soon start to crop up all over the group's lyrics, though to its credit even these unfinished basics make it obvious there'd be great things ahead.

Rating: 6/10

Radiohead - Pablo Honey (1993)

1) You; 2) Creep; 3) How Do You?; 4) Stop Whispering; 5) Thinking About You; 6) Anyone Can Play Guitar; 7) Ripcord; 8) Vegetable; 9) Prove Yourself; 10) I Can’t; 11) Lurgee; 12) Blow Out

I want to say this is underrated given the automatic dismissal it always receives, but if you stop thinking of this as a Radiohead Moment and just as a slice of 90s emo rock, you're all set for a reasonably enjoyable if unoriginal experience.

Key tracks: "You", "Creep", "Stop Whispering"

Honestly, this isn’t as bad as people say. But then that's probably not surprising.

Given Radiohead’s stylistic evolution and the band’s legacy since, Pablo Honey has long ago stopped being just a slightly underdone debut album. Radiohead were most definitely not a band who arrived fully formed into the world and the clash between their early days and their most famous works is so jarring that Pablo Honey has undergone a cultural transformation. Its name has become the catch-all reference for debut albums that bear no resemblance to the artist's later works, used as a comparison point for any beginnings considered to be either a forgettable throwaway or downright bad (and just to confess, I’ve been guilty of that as well - I’m trying to stop, honest!). These days you tend to just assume Pablo Honey is not a good album. The continuing cultural relevance of “Creep” probably doesn’t help - that the band who have become a sacred cow for so many people is only known in public for a somewhat unintentionally cheesy, extremely 90s angst anthem to end all angst anthemsis arguably a thorn in the side that gets a lot of people a little annoyed.

It shouldn't be too much of a shock then that Pablo Honey is not actually the worst thing ever, but it might be a minor revelation how it's much more competent than expected. Fair enough, it’s hardly as interesting to listen to as the later albums, none of the band members have developed their trademark styles and the musical influences are so openly on display it leans close to being a tribute. You also can’t shake the feeling how much Pablo Honey sounds like a typical 90s example of a one-hit wonder album, the kind that gets relegated to countless discount bins and car boot sales after a single big song: "Creep" simply has such an overwhelming presence over it. But still, none of that makes it a bad listen and in fact, it’s actually close to being rather good. There’s a lot of truth in the common argument that the band didn't exactly have the most inspired sound here and the cheap production certainly doesn't do it any favours, but it’s obvious that even at this stage they had a clue about what makes a good song. “Creep” may be a little worn out but it’s a perfect example of this, with its lingering guitar riff, effectively built quiet/loud mechanics, the delicate addition of a piano to guide the song to its end and the incredibly effective ear worm of a hook that is the famous guitar crunch - all very big, important dynamic moments. There are a lot more similar moments of inspiration scattered throughout the album and plenty of surprisingly strong melodic work slyly hiding underneath. “You”, the opener, in particular is a genuinely great song full of power and volume, straddling between Pixies and Jeff Buckley and its placement as the start of the album is a crucial one - it strips you from all the preconceptions you might go into the album with by greeting you with a genuine keeper.

Just to clarify - it’s not that Pablo Honey is a great album either, per se. Every single flaw listed above between the lines is still valid - its production is pretty dire, the music is derivative, and the whole deal is a bit rough around the edges and unrefined. “Anyone Can Play Guitar” is more unintentionally amusing than legitimately good and there’s a few more obvious duds like “Prove Yourself” where the songs just aren’t up to scratch. But it still manages to shine a little regardless. It’s a scattering of good melodies, great rock parts and memorable Yorke-isms, thrown a little all over the place but frequently enough to keep the ride steady. The only genuine stand-out songs are limited to “You” and “Creep” admittedly, with the atmospheric closer “Blow Out” and bizarrely U2-esque “Stop Whispering” getting a honourable mention, but the majority of the rest of the lot is still captivating. Yorke and the gang already come across convincingly and they have the charisma to sell the songs, turning an otherwise fairly rote set of anxiety rock into a reasonably engaging experience. You can’t really overstate the effect Yorke’s voice plays on this, the young tone already hinting at what is one of the most strangely commanding voices of his generation.

The nutshell summary of it all then is that Pablo Honey is actually a pretty decent album in itself. Radiohead went onto have such a great and fascinating career that they ended up completely undermining where they started from in the process, but that’s not really Pablo Honey’s fault. While it’s pretty obviously the weakest part of Radiohead’s discography, it’s got more charm to it than it’s commonly given credit for - to the point in fact that if they had decided to make a life out of going further along this path, they still probably would have turned out to be a great band, just a very different one. It's the blatantly awkward first steps and a reminder that you shouldn't always start chronologically when checking out interesting artists, but it's got enough to give credit for it that even a 6/10 review ends up sounding positively glowing.

Rating: 6/10

Prologue - Stars Are Holes in the Sky EP (2005)

1) Serpentine; 2) Stars Are Holes in the Sky; 3) My Appletree; 4) Lines of Mouth; 5) Is It People?

A sweet and short melanchly pop EP that may have been a minor note in the Finnish music history, but strong enough to still leave a lasting impression for those who did hear it.

Key tracks: "Serpentine", "Stars Are Holes in the Sky"

For a short moment Prologue felt like the start of something great. The Finnish four-piece released their debut EP Stars Are Holes in the Sky in the mid-00s, and it turned out to be their final EP as well. Apart from a one-off download single Prologue weren't heard from afterwards and they became another yet another band with an expired home page and an abandoned Myspace profile. It's the sorry side of the great gold rush boom of the 00s when aspiring musicians realised that the internet was an incredible opportunity to find an audience: so much aspiring young talent putting their creativity out there, but now completely forgotten apart from the random few who happened to notice them at the right blink of time.

Had the stars aligned slightly more favourably, Prologue would definitely have had a chance to go somewhere further. Primarily, they had the title track of this EP - a gorgeous and melodically lush little gem characterised by an elegant piano riff, shimmering guitar that accompanies its notes and an effortlessly pretty and elegant chorus. It could have been a hit in the real, post-Parachutes world that was hungry for more Brit-styled piano moodiness, and comfortably slots alongside any of the landmark songs from more establishes names, even from a production point (there's a pretty strong mid-00s time stamp on this, which can either date it or act as a nostalgia device depending how you swing). 

While it shines the brightest, the rest of the EP is more than adequate company for it and Prologue know how to write a perfectly pretty, atmospheric tune. "Serpentine" and "Lines of Mouth" in particular stand out: they're all about aching piano melodies, emotive falsetto vocals and melancholy guitars in a way that may not be particularly original, but Prologue know absolutely how to utilise them - "Serpentine" in particular is a gorgeous song. "My Appletree" leans a little heavy on the twee side but it's the perkiest song of the lot, and shows that Prologue can be more than just slow jams for the romantically miserable. "Is It People?" at the end is a little bit of a retread of everything that came before and while it closes off the EP fine, it's the least memorable of the lot: it's more of the same, but with weaker central melodies.

While not the most original lot of songs, they've stood the test of time: certainly more than the obviously home-produced CD I own where the disc label is now in the danger of peeling off. Perhaps Prologue could have evolved into something of their own with time: the aforementioned one-off single "Ghost Writing" hinted at a more dynamic, anthemic direction, and that song too has had considerable staying power and still has a rush of excitement to it (even through the LQ MP3 I have). And yet, it still feels like a criminally overlooked little hidden gem from the extremely fertile mid-00s years of Finnish independent music, and the title song in particular. Perhaps it's my own personal attachment to the EP colouring my perception - I'm not sure if this marked the actual first time I bought a release directly from a completely new, unestablished atc via the internet, but it certainly was among the earliest times. By now it feels like an old friend and it strikes me as a little sad that I might be the only one who remembers it that way. Still, even as I try to peel off my personal biases, I can't help but think that there's plenty of strengths here to perhaps have found a larger audience in another timeline - one where "Stars Are Holes in the Sky" is a deserved classic song beyond just my record shelf.

Rating: 8/10

Perfume - Cosmic Explorer (2016)

1) Navigate; 2) Cosmic Explorer; 3) Miracle Worker; 4) Next Stage with You; 5) Story; 6) Flash (Album Mix); 7) Sweet Refrain (Album Mix); 8) Baby Face; 9) Tokikemi Lights (Album Mix); 10) Star Train (Album Mix); 11) Relax in the City; 12) Pick Me Up; 13) Cling Cling (Album Mix); 14) Hold Your Hand

Nakata is inspired again, the girls are more in front and center, the tunes are there... dare I say, a return to form?

Key tracks: "Cosmic Explorer", "Next Stage with You", "Pick Me Up"

⊿ was exciting enough to break out from its J-pop confinements to reach out people such as myself who aren't all too clued up on the scene, but unfortunately Perfume started to fizzle out as suddenly as they initially stole the attention with their laser-precise choreographies and futuristic sound. Follow-up JPN had its highlights but was overall a safe, predictable and generally complacent follow-up resting on its laurels at the top. By the messy Level3, high-in-demand production wiz Yasutaka Nakata's attention had split between so many projects his inspiration had started to stretch thin, with Perfume seemingly getting assigned the scraps. ⊿ was often as surprising in its arrangements as it was relentless in its danceable melodies; some years later. Perfume were just another J-pop group among many.

I don't know if it was intentional or not, but Cosmic Explorer sure sounds like a course correction - a collective realisation between Nakata and the actual Perfume trio that their collaboration needs revitalising. So, that's what they do. Cosmic Explorer is the first time in a long while where a Perfume album sounds like it has the wild ambition that initially was their signature element, and it absolutely hammers it down. There's an almost boastful boldness to it, an absolute certainty in its own hooks and the sheer productional force wielding them. There's details and songwriting quirks that reveal Nakata's operating in full steam once again, and Cosmic Explorer doesn't take long to establish its strengths. The galaxy-sized "Cosmic Explorer" is Perfume's most explosive opener to date and very much sets the tone, acting as if a proclamation of the group's intent to seize the top spot once again. "Miracle Worker" is a lush bundle of sweetness and dancefloor strength, and by the time "Next Stage With You" comes along one's sold. It takes a certain level of confidence in the strength of a chorus to lead one to a decision to simply omit the verses altogether from their way, bridging them with instrumental passages any other pop producer would call the best bridge they've written in their life; "Next Stage With You" rides it with flying colours. 

Cosmic Explorer doesn't necessarily feature Nakata at his most inventive, but the songs offered flare up with the giddiness and excitement that made Perfume's brand of pop so irresistible to begin with. At its best the highlights stand proudly among Perfume's best, and the gaps in-between are completed with songs that hold up on their own and keep good company for the big star moments. Besides "Miracle Worker" and "Next Stage With You", the  pop brilliance power duo of "Flash" and in particular the frantic "Pick Me Up" follow up as tactically targeted pop sniper shots full of electricity, vigour, relentless beats and killer hooks, blending Nakata's futuristic instincts with the girls' sweet delivery in the way the best Perfume moments do. They're positive attention-hogs, songs that capture attention from the first second and sound like they constantly get more excited about themselves as they go along. They don't quite do the twists and turns some of the older Perfume high caliber hits would normally do, but when straightforwardness is executed so well and with a sound that still jumps out, it's hard to not let the songs charm you.

The production overall shines once more, with even "Baby Face", the now-token cutesy track that normally gets relegated to the filler section, sounding like it has something to say musically. The sound of Cosmic Explorer may not be as forward-thinking as Triangle was, but it's a direct successor to most of its strengths and in one particular aspect it's clearly superior: the increased presence of the girls themselves. Perfume has always been known as Nakata's playground, but over time A-Chan, Kashiyuka and Nocchi have increasingly managed to let their own personalities and presence shine, and the front-and-center singing present on Cosmic Explorer is a far cry from the autotune-covered, almost instrument-like treatment of the vocals of the past. In that sense, Cosmic Explorer feels more fleshed out than the earlier material it compares to the most, and it's why even its slower moments have a little more oomph than in the past. "Star Train" is probably the best ballad Perfume have released, showing a softer side without losing any of the magic their higher-tempo numbers would have; it sounds like a highly engineered torchlight moment intended for fans to embrace in communion, and it sells the notion so well I'm happy to eat it up.

Admittedly there's consistency issues. The album could have been a tighter experience by getting rid of a couple of the less distinct songs buried around the latter half of the album, primarily "Tokimeki Lights" and "Relax in the City", and there's a few clunkers too: the dubstep-inspired "Cling Cling" felt like an unnecessary trend-hop then and already sounds uninspiringly dated, and the monotonous sort-of-instrumental "Story" is a dull production exercise that threatens to kill the initial rush of excitement immediately by having been placed so early in the tracklist. But when Cosmic Explorer gets it right, it gets it really right, and apart from "Story" the actual flow never dies down. Or, to put it in another way: some time back I made a compilation out of the select highlights of JPN and Level 3 because the idea of listening to either album in full felt so uninspiring due to their wild flicker between infrequent highs and forgettably average lows. I've not felt the need to add to this compilation with Cosmic Explorer; it's engaging enough as a whole. a gust of energy and pure pop joy that keeps the fire well lit throughout. Above all, as much as it has rejuvenated Perfume it's also rejuvenated my interest in them. It's not quite a full-on showstopper but it's almost there, and after the last two albums I wasn't sure that was going to happen again.

Rating: 7/10

Conor Oberst - Conor Oberst (2008)

1) Cape Canaveral; 2) Sausalito; 3) Get-Well-Cards; 4) Lenders in the Temple; 5) Danny Callahan; 6) I Don’t Want to Die (In the Hospital); 7) Eagle on a Pole; 8) NYC - Gone, Gone; 9) Moab; 10) Valle Místico (Ruben’s Song); 11) Souled Out!!!; 12) Milk Thistle

Oberst lets his hair down and returns to his americana fancies in his most casual set of songs yet.

  
Key tracks: "Cape Canaveral", "Lenders in the Temple", "Souled Out!!!"

Given this is Oberst’s debut release under his own name (excluding any very early recordings) the big question it needed to answer was how it’s any different to the already primarily Oberst-centric, still pre-hiatus Bright Eyes, and to its credit Oberst’s self-titled does a great job establishing that. You only need to look at the lazily blissed out Oberst on the front cover to get the idea. Releasing music under his own name means Oberst could take a practical holiday from the confessional singer/songwriter route of Bright Eyes, and this album is literally that: a record about Oberst inviting his musician friends over to Mexico and casually laying down songs just for fun, almost accidentally creating an album in the process.

What you have here is the most upbeat record Oberst has ever released. Stylistically he doesn’t stray too far away from his signature sound, with the only real musical difference between this and Bright Eyes being how the weighting between the indie rock core and the ever-increasing americana elements lean more towards the latter. But the Oberst of old would never have found himself smiling this much on an album. There are a few solemn moments reminiscent of what we’re used to from him (“Lenders in the Temple”, “Eagle on a Pole”) but by and far Oberst is kicking back and winding down here, with chilled campfire songs, major chord americana singalongs and even a couple of moments of sheer irreverent fun - the saloon-stomping “I Don’t Want to Die (In the Hospital)” is so out of character it causes whiplashes but you can’t help but chuckle with it. The jovial atmosphere of the sessions comes across very naturally too - this isn’t an album which makes it a point to be positive, it just happens to be so.

The casual way of the album coming together also means that Oberst isn’t writing with any major investment, and putting it bluntly the material here isn’t the greatest that he’s come up with. For most part any particularly poignant lyrics or genuinely gripping songs shine with their absence, and even the best songs seem almost accidentally so, their small strengths carried by the infectiously laidback tone that runs throughout the album. “Cape Canaveral” and “Souled Out!!!” in particular are both fairly simple songs but reflect the album’s heart clearly: the former sounds so relaxed it feels like the song Oberst would be strumming in his hammock, while the latter’s lackadaisical band interjections give an impression of everyone having a blast while playing. These two also carry the strongest melodies of the album, but the same theme runs throughout the album - I’m not sure if I’d ever want to urgently hear “Danny Callahan” or “Milk Thistle”, but whenever the former’s on I can’t help but tap my foot in full enthusiasm because of how perky it sounds or zone out to the latter when it closes the album like a peaceful summer sunset. They’re feel-good songs, where any weaknesses in the craft are patched up by the infectious vibe they have.

The actually, technically strongest songs of the album are arguably the more serious ones, even if they feel like intruders in this context. You can tell Oberst is in his comfort zone with them though, and the haunting “Lenders in the Temple” in particular is one of the best songs of this era. And yet they, or any of the other songs, are not even close to the usual Bright Eyes standards, to an initially downright disappointing degree - for a remarkable songwriter, most of these songs are fairly unremarkable additions to the repertoire. But it’s hard to be upset when you hear how wide a grin Oberst has on his face, and his road trip postcard manages to have a surprisingly lasting charm to it beyond just the material’s core strength. It’s a very comfortable, pleasant listen, in the best way of using that word - music that might fade a little in the background, but which sounds good filling the space there.

Rating: 7/10

John Frusciante - DC EP (2004)

1) Dissolve; 2) Goals; 3) A Corner; 4) Repeating

Just four enjoyable Frusciante songs. It's nice sure, but lacking in substance.

Key tracks: "Dissolve"

When someone announces they're going to release a record a month for the next half a year, a 15-minute, four-song EP feels like a cop-out - especially before the project's even halfway through. Another way to think about it is that John Frusciante felt these songs just had to be released no matter what, they just didn't fit in any of the other surrounding releases, each of which had their own identifying sound. The songs on DC EP are too optimistic to be on The Will to Death, too mellow for Inside of Emptiness and too fleshed out for Curtains; and if there were only four of those outsiders, then so be it, it's EP time.

There is a story behind DC EP, in that Frusciante chose these four songs in particular to be produced by Fugazi's Ian MacKaye and they were recorded using his instruments, rather than this being another Frusciante home production job. It's not particularly audible (there's literally no distinction between the sound world of this and all the other Frusciante releases from this period) and on closer look it feels like a saving throw for these four discards that couldn't find a place on any other album, in an attempt to get them to stand out for themselves. If that ever was the attempt, it's not particularly successful. You can't shake the feeling that this is a bit of a runt of the litter, and were the songs in a bigger context they'd probably get lost there.

As for the actual songs, "Dissolve" gets the front billing because it's the strongest song here and the one cut which could have had a fighting chance for an album spot. Picking up from the general dynamics of The Will to Death, it shifts through a great deal of tones and musical parts across its length, culminating in a stand-out solo and closing off with a quiet comedown that works really effectively, "Goals" features some particularly lush guitars over a pleasantly gentle backing track, "Repeating" is a hazy lounge bar cut which initially feels like it's going to drag but picks up by the time it reaches its admittedly pretty conclusion, and "A Corner" is just there, indistinctively running its course. Together they make for a foot-tappingly enjoyable quarter of an hour but not one to remember; in fact, it's easy to lose attention to these songs even while listening to them, which is a rarity for Frusciante even at his least successful. 

Like said, it's all fine, but there isn't much to DC EP apart from there being four more run-of-the-mill Frusciante cuts in the world, and it's hard to think why you'd listen to 15 minutes of these over an album of the other stuff.

Rating: 6/10

Noah and the Whale - The First Days of Spring (2009)

1) The First Days of Spring; 2) Our Window; 3) I Have Nothing; 4) My Broken Heart; 5) Instrumental I; 6) Love of an Orchestra; 7) Instrumental II; 8) Stranger; 9) Blue Skies; 10) Slow Glass; 11) My Door Is Always Open

A very beautiful album inspired by a very ugly breakup.

Key tracks: "The First Days of Spring", "Stranger", "Blue Skies"

For I do believe that everyone gets one chance to fuck up their lives

Charlie Fink had his heart broken. Just a few years earlier he and his girlfriend Laura Marling had been singing about happy-go-lucky love in the mini-hit “5 Years Time” and how they’re still going to be merrily together in the future. Then she dumped him. Charlie, being a musician leaning towards the melodramatic in all things romance, reacted accordingly: by writing a completely naked, intimately detailed log of his thoughts and life post-breakup and dressing it up in music.

As far as break-up albums go, The First Days of Spring is ugly. Charlie is bitter, lonely and completely lost – simultaneously yearning for his girlfriend to come back and quietly fuming at how she could leave him. It’s an album full of self-pity and genuine vulnerability, written by a man who was counting on living the rest of his life with someone and then seeing it all fade away suddenly. The tracklist works like a chronological map of his thoughts, from the initial hurt to rebound one night stands and the dash of light and hope of things becoming better near the end of the album… that is, until the very finish and “My Door Is Always Open” where Fink starts turning the tables and lashing out as one last act of desperation, stating he never loved her after all and that she’ll never get a chance with him again.

It’s far from a happy ending. But it’s a very human ending, and together with the other songs it creates a rather interesting break-up album where the supposed protagonist comes off even more awkwardly than the person spoken about. That sets it apart from most albums of its vein and it acts as a testament to Fink’s writing skills that he pulls it off so compellingly even when he doesn’t necessarily cast himself in the best light (intentionally or not).

The words are undeniably a big part of The First Days of Spring but the music has been adapted to follow suite. Noah and the Whale’s debut had a very typically mid-00s kitchen sink indie folk approach to its arrangements, but The First Days of Spring sounds so different to it it’s strange to think they were released in sequence. The First Days of Spring’s arrangements rely on space and a small number of elements used precisely. The full band is still there but each instrument gets room to breathe and play out in all its detail. Whenever the sound suddenly grows – the glorious bombast of the opening title track, the guitar solo ending of “My Broken Heart”, the anthemically optimistic “Blue Skies” that the rest of the album builds up to - it sounds even grander due to its surroundings being so humble. In either case, the songs are gorgeous and moody, as full of finesse and beauty as they are melancholy. The band have matured massively between the debut and this, developing a sense of grace and detail that the debut didn’t yet have, and it shows in the arrangements and how well the music ties in with the words. And I suppose it's some sort of proof of Fink's skills that even though the album is ultimately incredibly self-absorbed, for its duration his fragility is genuinely convincing and resonating. Take "Stranger" - it may be about a rebound one-night stand and it certainly doesn't cast our protagonist in the best of lights, but for its duration it paints a very clear picture of a person going through a very rough patch and being uncertain how to cope with it, and then casts that narrative against a phenomenal, beautifully melancholy song. 

The only real part where the album stumbles is the middle. Between the two sets of four beautiful pieces of melancholy lies the album’s supposed heart, where Fink loses track of his own plot. The two instrumentals are both OK but feel unnecessary – the former is an orchestra tune-up, the latter a beautiful but shallow and brief guitar exercise – and “Love of the Orchestra” is an almost air-headedly happy song that doesn’t really go anywhere and certainly doesn’t fit the context of the rest of the album. The section simply doesn’t work and if it wasn’t there The First Days of Spring would reach near-perfection, because the bitter tale of Charlie Fink’s smashed feelings is otherwise an instantly captivating listen. It’s evocative, emotional, beautiful and lush to listen. Compared to the rest of the Noah and the Whale discography it’s starkly different and like the work of a whole other group – one that’s wiser beyond their years and found their calling somewhere else than where they thought it would be. It’s sad that it took breaking someone’s heart to happen, but Noah and the Whale ended up with their masterpiece because of it.

Rating: 8/10

Physical corner: Standard jewel case. The booklet has a load of photos from the recording sessions but no lyrics; at first I found this a bit odd given the lyrical nature of the record but I suppose a lot of it is rather bare and personal so not having it all written down could be a bit of a shield for Fink. Still a little annoying though.

Scatman John - Scatman's World (1995)

1) Welcome to Scatland; 2) Scatman's World; 3) Only You; 4) Quiet Desperation; 5) Scatman (Ski-Ba-Bop-Ba-Dop-Bop); 6) Sing Now!; 7) Popstar; 8) Time (Take Your Time); 9) Mambo Jambo; 10) Everything Changes; 11) Song of Scatland; Bonus tracks: 12) Hi, Louis; 13) Scatman (Game Over Jazz)

The first album I ever owned and you're never going to make me fall out of love with it.

Key tracks: "Scatman's World", "Quiet Desperation", "Scatman"

This next museum exhibit here, on your left ladies and gentlemen, is the seminal album by the First Artist That I Ever Loved. In the days when various artists hit compilations were my main source of music, Scatman John came with such a force that I begged my parents to buy the album for me. I've lost my old cassette to god knows where but oh boy that cassette was on play so, so very much. Scatman John was my childhood musical hero and I played this album loudly in my bedroom over and over again, singing along to the English words which I didn't even understand.

John stood out in the 90's eurodance scene. He wasn't a handsome shirtless young man paired with a model-perfect lady to sing the choruses. If you look at his music videos he looks completely out of place in them among all the young folks, with his wrinkles, old man mustache and retro garbs. His music was the trendiest thing there was at the time but John himself looked like someone who would have been more in his element in a smoky jazz club band. Which is where he started from, with his drift into the eurodance scene being a series of coincidences with unexpected results.

I'm all grown now and I can see what he was trying to do. He wanted to reach out to us kids. Give a listen through Scatman's World and pay attention to the lyrics. In fact, it's enough if you just pay more attention to the words in his two big hits. John wants world peace. John wants racial equality. John is teaching us to respect our fellow humans no matter the colour, he's teaching us to finish our education and follow a straight and honest path, he wants us to know that we need to leave this world in a good condition for the generations that will eventually follow us. He teaches how we can overcome all our odds if we try. He's telling us about the darker side of life, the homeless and the misjudged, and what we should do to prevent all that. And he is telling us about the magical Scatland where human race will, hopefully, eventually drift towards, where peace and love towards all man reign.

He wanted to reach to us kids and tell us about these important lessons in life. What better way to do that than to place his messages over the trendiest, catchiest music of the moment? Of course it's cheesy beyond belief, but John never comes across insincere when he drops these obvious anvils and just about dodges sounding corny as well. He goes for the save-the-world mentality, and he pulls it off. The only unbearably cheesy moment is the closing ballad "Song of Scatland" but even that's almost heartwarming if you can get over just how camp it is. In retrospect, given his untimely loss to cancer, it actually becomes quite touching, hearing the album end in a thank you and a good night.

The songs are still ace. The hit singles are all classics, particularly "Scatman's World" - "Scatman" gets all the nostalgic love and is brilliant as well, but I always felt that "Scatman's World" manages to top it. It uses the same elements but in a more refined fashion; you can almost detect a tinge of bittersweetness to it, and it's that underlining seriousness that really makes for the song's impact. "Quiet Desperation" carries that wistful tone and is a surprisingly, powerfully introspective moment hiding within an eurodance album. The more overt pop songs are great too, of course - the hi-energy "Sing Now!", the sunshine shuffle "Popstar", the obvious back-up single option "Only You". Only the Latin influenced "Mambo Jambo" (because it was law there had to be a Latin song on a 90s pop album) fails to leave much of a positive impression, much like most of these tacked on Latin excursions in eurodance albums. Scatman's World is eurodance in its best bliss - solid beats, 90s house pianos, awesome vintage synth sounds, and of course John's vocals, flicking between the speak-singing and the immortal scatting. The two bonus tracks tacked on to the end of the album are rather terrible, but easily discardable in the digital age.

It is absolutely impossible for me to rate this album in any sort of way that would have any meaning in comparison to all my other ratings, because this is where it all began for me and for that, it will always be a great record for me. I guess the main takeaway for all the people who aren't me is that there's more to the album than "Scatman" and if you find yourself in favour of that song for absolutely any reason, there's an album full of the same vibe that keeps up pretty well to its biggest hit. 

Rating 8/10