Magenta Skycode - Relief (2010)

 
1) The Simple Pleasures; 2) Kipling; 3) Night Falls on the Rifle; 4) Sometimes; 5) King of Abstract Painters; 6) Trains Are Leaving the Yard; 7) The Old World; 8) Escaping Outdoors; 9) Montag; 10) We're Going to Climb / Kipling (Reprise)

Moving onto lighter and airier fields from the debut, still scaling grand heights and brimming with melody but more at peace - and more resonant.

Key tracks: "The Simple Pleasures", "Kipling", "Night Falls on the Rifle"

I finished my review for Magenta Skycode's debut IIIII by explaining its power via a quote from the second album, Relief. The opening song of Relief states that "the simple pleasures are always the deepest" and that was the motto why the debut's pop majesty - the moments of melodic bombast with pitch-perfect production, sweeping choruses and majestic peaks - worked so well even though, if you assess it with cold logic, it's hardly a unique album and Jori Sjöroos' flimsy front of a band had the personality of a well equipped studio. Sometimes all you need is just a song that slaps without any greater emotional resonance. The irony of using that quote from Relief is that as far as the two albums go, Relief is the one which actually goes beyond that.

The basic recipe is still as formerly described but in comparison to the stylishly moody IIIII, the blinds have been pulled back and the windows have been opened. The palette for Relief is brighter and airier, and the songs sound more open and positively glow, welcoming the listener in rather than suavely hiding in the dark club corners like the predecessor did. It's an album perfect for the spring: the soundtrack for the world moving on from the dark of winter and the snow melting under the sunshine to reveal patches of green grass coming to life, air filled with a crisp freshness. It's also much less of a 'band' album and it quietly drops the whole rock band pretense of the debut. Sjöroos has a couple of helping hands here (including his PMMP compatriots Paula Vesala and Mira Luoti in blink-and-miss backing vocal roles) but ultimately Relief has the air and aura of a classic multi-talented singer/songwriter/producer's album, where each song is given anything that suits the vibe its creator is trying to pin down and where recreating anything in a live setting is a completely secondary concept. By also moving away from the whole "ordinary band plays stadium songs" shtick, Sjöroos opens up Magenta Skycode's sound to less rigid structures, with sections where there's sometimes little distinction between a build-up and a verse and in fact where entire songs can almost act as dramatic payoffs to prior ones. The Chorus is still the center that everything else seeks towards in order to reach that perfect torchlight waving moment - and Relief has a ton of instantly great moments like that - but how the songs get there now is a different matter. It's probably my highly seasonal associations with this album but the one adjective that always comes to my mind is "natural", as in of nature - the songs play out like a wild growth of instruments and arrangements, in the center of which is a path to the lofty destination.

The new approach unlocks what kept IIIII away from reaching that next, more personal level that was readily in its sights but still beyond its grasp. Relief overall sounds more personal and, well, less like a stylistic experiment of a project and more like a vessel for human expression. Sjöroos' voice is less buried in the mix this time and while he's not necessarily the world's greatest lyricist or a singer, he's so much more confident here than he's ever been before and he soars through Relief with confidence and boldness without hiding himself with production techniques, which adds another layer to the album's overall earnestness and openness. It sounds beautifully at peace and overflowing with personal richness, expressed through these giant arches of melodies and multi-layered arrangements - and for once, Sjöroos' own voice clearly in the middle. It'd be hard to call him anything but a creator without limits (given his multi-project discography) but Relief feels personal and the title feels apt for it, as the weights fall off the shoulder.

As far as the actual songs go, the heavy hitters come up right at the start as Relief doesn't hesitate to start high. "The Simple Pleasures" (quoted earlier) is the big pop song to nail down the album's epic scales right from the beginning and it just gets bigger and bigger with each go-around to more and more majestic results, "Kipling" details the record's more free-flowing creativity with its mantra-like verses (if it's appropriate to call them that) and the sprawling jungle of melodies that wraps around the central shuffling beat that rides the song into the grand horizon, and "Night Falls on the Rifle" adds a touch of darkness from the debut to contrast against the rest of the album's light, eventually revealing its full colours in its harmony-laden chorus that deserves all the repeating it gets. From the opening salvo Relief moves onto a more understated middle section, but letting things calm down a little brings out some of the best qualities of Relief the clearest. The opening trio might be the best songs of the record, but in particular the flow from "King of Abstract Painters" to "Escaping Outdoors" is where all those nature analogies shine the brightest (sometimes literally, "Escaping Outdoors" and all), with an everpresent lush flurry of melodies and extended atmospheric build-ups really invoking that spring morning atmosphere of stepping out into what feels like a new world. They're slightly subtler songs than the big anthem threesome that opens the record, but the melodies are among the album's - and Magenta Skycode's - loveliest and they're honestly the kind of songs you want to wrap yourself into. 

They also resonate, and that's the big thing. IIIII I enjoyed because it's full of bangers (simple as), but Relief actually works its way to me on an emotional level, all to do with those abstract seasonal sensory memories it has despite it actually making little sense (the album was released in October, I got a copy of it in December and my actual memories of it revolve around my time in university in the UK where you just get a weird weather mush that largely blurs together for 12 months instead of clear seasons that would generate seasonal vibes). Even "Montag", the one somewhat ill-fitting song here thanks to its atypically lurching tempo and its melodramatic gothic agony that's at odds with the rest of the album's mood board (from which the grand come-together finale "We're Going to Climb" launches off gloriously), has warmed up to me over the years because it's reached that point where it evokes some actual memories of my university campus that I cherish in my nostalgic rabbit's hole. Thanks to the new approach to songwriting and presentation, the same qualities that won over on IIIII are now able to turn these songs into scenes made out of audio that you can see yourself stepping into, and that vividly atmospheric touch edges it over into a great album. It's a shame that tis where Sjöroos decided to park the project apart from one last EP a few years later: on Relief Magenta Skycode started to turn from one project among others into an artistic vehicle with its own personality, and it would've been interesting to hear where he'd take it from here. 

Rating: 8/10

Kent - En plats i solen (2010)

1) Glasäpplen; 2) Ismael; 3) Skisser för sommaren; 4) Ärlighet respekt kärlek; 5) Varje gång du möter min blick; 6) Ensam lång väg hem; 7) Team Building; 8) Gamla Ullevi; 9) Minimalen; 10) Passagerare

No plan or greater concept, just a casually put together set of ten songs with bright sounds. 

Key tracks: "Skisser för sommaren", "Ärlighet respekt kärlek", "Gamla Ullevi"

En plats i solen was released roughly seven months after Röd, with nary a warning or an accompanying fanfare. One day you just had two new songs available online with an announcement that an album would arrive in a week's time, and that's it. Behind the scenes, Kent had been feeling particularly inspired and the band thought to strike while the iron's hot rather than hold off until a full new album cycle, and the intention was to get the new songs they had been writing out while they were still new to the band as well - the album was reportedly finished the very month it was announced to the public. After a series of heavily thematic, cohesively put together records En plats i solen was an intentional break from such affairs - a holiday per the name (“A Place in the Sun”) - by way of simply knocking out some songs together and releasing them out in the wild.

With quick successor albums like En plats i solen you often find yourself viewing them as the b-sides collections for the preceding albums, and there is some truth to that here too as some of the songs were leftovers from the Röd sessions (though I'd be hard pressed to say which, with "Minimalen" being my most obvious guess). That said, viewed in retrospect, En plats i solen is far better described as the first glimpse of Kent's next phase. The electronic soundscape of Röd was here to stay but following its tour, a live band dynamic had started to creep back into the fray to act as the undercurrent pulling the synthesizer textures together and, perhaps coincidentally, the suave gloom around the last few albums had started to move to the side. Next year's follow-up album Jag är inte rädd för mörkret would be the conclusion to the change Kent was undertaking as it would engorge itself in bright and optimistic songs rich in melody, and En plats i solen leans a lot more towards that end goal than it does in Röd's direction, though it's still in the middle of pulling its other foot slowly away from its direct predecessor's shadow. It's a snapshot of the route Kent took from the darkness of Röd towards the sunlight of what was to come. 

The ten songs on En plats i solen are unrelated and without a greater concept or plan, and they are more extroverted and openly audience-friendly than Kent had been for a long while, going some way to bridge the gap between the popular rock hits of their past with the guidelines the band was operating on in the present day. They understandable carry lesser stakes, and that’s both a blessing and a curse. All the songs are forced to live on their own merits and for Kent that means going all-in on the hook department, which is extremely entertaining. Their strong melody game had never gone on hold but since Du & jag döden the band had began to treat albums as singular entities where all parts supported one another - now it's each song for itself, and that means Kent let them all explode as big as they can. But, the quick writing and recording process also means that some of the quality control from the previous album runs has loosened up and for the first time in recent memory, there’s a clear gap between the album at its strongest and and weakest, now without a stronger context to perhaps give the slightly lesser songs some non-musical meaning. And there's a number of them. "Varje gång du möter min blick" buries a great chorus with largely meandering verses, “Ensam lång väg hem” has some nifty sonic details but its repetition-heavy build doesn’t work as interestingly as it could, the bouncy synth pop cut “Ismael” used to be a favourite of mine but now sounds like the first draft of future Kent songs in its vein (I still like it - just that I like its successors more) and most damningly, I’ve owned this record since release and I still can’t remember how “Team Building” sounds off the top of my head. If you were to disparage this album as way to cash out on some quick outtakes and leftovers, there’s definitely material here to base that assumption on.

There is a night and day difference though between the more middling moments and the rest. The common thread throughout the album of Kent tackling more hit-oriented material, as if as a way to make up for the more esoteric singles of the previous albums and to throw some good ol’ crowd pleasers out, unexpectedly results in uniformly great songs. The synth fireworks and whistle hooks of "Gamla Ullevi" find Kent interpreting 2010s EDM choruses in their own language, the album stand-out “Skisser för sommaren” makes a crowd-begging la-la-la chorus sound fresh and euphoric (a special mention goes how wonderfully the song picks itself back up after its freak-out breakdown, right back into that undefeatable chorus),  the mournful and steadfast "Ärlighet respekt kärlek" shows just how great the band are at stadium-sized torchsong ballads when they're in the mood for one, and “Glasäpplen” utilises disco strings and beats over its emotionally detached delivery with such suave and charm as if it invented them. The album-focused orientation of the past few albums was one of the reasons they make up Kent’s golden period, but it’s actually refreshing to hear the band knock out a number of songs that are effortlessly, refreshingly open and welcoming - in part because they are so excellent at it. It’s the same strength that Vapen & ammunition held with its singles-or-bust approach, but this time the band are less self-aware about it which makes it, in some way, a little more honest and warm.

As far as the rest go, it’s enjoyable standard-tier Kent. The skittering electro of “Minimalen” nods towards Röd the most and it's a welcome change of pace towards the end of the album, and towards the weary prettiness and powerful duet vocals of “Passagerare” which closes the record with a yearning sigh. The album has a slight lean towards being frontloaded but it finishes cosily and comfortably, even if a little unspectacularly. And as it ends, no moment of reflection of what you’ve just listened to ever comes to pass, or any real lingering notion for that matter. I feel bad for saying this - because I do really like En plats i solen - but it’s an album I sometimes forget about, as it's sandwiched between two bigger personalities to the point that its appearance in the chronology is often accompanied by an “oh, that’s right” level of realising it’s there. En plats i solen is - for better or worse - a set of ten songs by Kent, some great and some less so, written and captured on tape as the band was coming off their creative imperial phase. After a discography of albums where each record has had a purpose to play in the story, En plats i solen feels slightly underwhelming as an album that "just" exists. A good album, as I’ve said - but one that is primarily a palate cleanser rather than a notable independent entry.

Rating: 7/10

Arcade Fire - The Suburbs (2010)

1) The Suburbs; 2) Ready to Start; 3) Modern Man; 4) Rococo; 5) Empty Room; 6) City With No Children; 7) Half Light I; 8) Half Light II (No Celebration); 9) Suburban War; 10) Month of May; 11) Wasted Hours; 12) Deep Blue; 13) We Used to Wait; 14) Sprawl I (Flatlands); 15) Sprawl II (Mountains Upon Mountains); 16) The Suburbs (Continued)

You might think it's back to basics but really, it's a suburban sprawl: cosey and homely perhaps, but sneakily taking over new territories.

Key tracks: "The Suburbs", "Ready to Start", "Sprawl II (Mountains Upon Mountains)"

The Suburbs is a palate cleanser for Arcade Fire. Neon Bible took their crescendo-driven songwriting to its absolute limit, and I loved every orchestrally exploding, choir-drowned, organ-bellowing second of it. But, there is a limit to just how big you can get and after that you either start repeating your tricks or you can choose to move to a different aisle. It wasn't just bigger in sound but also in its message, Win Butler shifting his sights from the snow-covered neighbourhoods of Funeral to doom-mongering over the entire world. A few years later and those sentiments had moved to self-doubt, or as The Suburbs at one point puts it so aptly: "you never trust a millionaire quoting the sermon on the mount / I used to think I was not like them but I’m beginning to have my doubts”.

 

The Suburbs is a return to smaller stakes, to some extent. It's still very much an Arcade Fire record with all the epic moments that come with that name attached, but in the context of this particular group it's scaled down, stripping away a lot of the extra bells and whistles that they themselves had introduced to the 00s indie rock scene. It's more down to earth and firmly fixed in the personal scale of its titular nostalgic suburbs - Butler shrinks the record’s aim into the microcosm of the neighbourhoods and faded teenage memories, personal stories and introspection from when the rest of the world was just a blurry image in the horizon. Alongside that, the music pulls back as well: the production is more straightforward, even compared to Funeral, and the album frequently takes its time enjoying the stillness rather than ramping up to the finale, as evidenced by numerous two-parter songs with extended introductionary sequences or outros. The Suburbs still layered in multitudes - the band is a septet of multi-instrumentalists after all - but its approach is, in lack of a better word, less show-offy about the wide range of talent the band hold.

The greatest trick The Suburbs pulls is hiding its own expansiveness underneath a back-to-basics exterior: it's an experimental, transitional record in disguise. Crowd-inspiring anthems were Arcade Fire's signature move, but third time doing them in the same way and you could start wearing the concept thin - but at the same time, the band weren't seemingly sure where exactly to steer their ship either. Thus, Arcade Fire aren’t reinventing themselves here and the stylistic concepts of the first two records are running throughout The Suburbs - “Rococo” carries the maximalism of Neon Bible and the close-to-heart warmth of e.g. “The Suburbs” and “Modern Man” descend from the homegrown intimacy of Funeral. Many of the album's greatest moments have their feet stuck firmly in the band's own musical history, particularly with the hazy melancholy of its marching title track and the stunning "Suburban War" which is one of the band's most gorgeously arranged pieces with most arresting melodies - both of which still sound like familiar Arcade Fire by this stage. But those recognisable siybds are are intermittently scattered in-between the rest of the sprawling 16-track record, serving as the center for the ideas board the rest of the album represents and used as springboards to new areas. It's why it's not quite accurate to call The Suburbs simply an Arcade Fire record that got toned down, because a good two thirds of the record sees the band pulling in new ideas or executing old ones in different ways.

How that manifests most notably is in just how dynamic The Suburbs sounds - or in other words, how much it rocks. Arcade Fire have never exactly been close to the 'rock' part of 'indie rock', but for The Suburbs they channel their characteristic zeal and arena-sized energy into giving their songs a right kick under the rear. There’s a world of difference between e.g. the stadium fist-pumper “Ready to Start”, the noisy punk brattiness of “Month of May” and the baroque shoegaze of “Empty Room”, but what they all share is the sheer show of force in their sound and in the playing. One of Arcade Fire’s greatest assets is their passionate intensity and throughout The Suburbs they use that to be loud, fervent and exhilirating. Many of its most deftly arranged, gorgeously performed songs lie in its less frantic corners, but it's that punchiness of its most electrically charged songs that really sticks out when you actually play the album - and even during the subtler moments, there's a liveliness and strength to the band's play that comes naturally when now-seasoned live veterans return to bashing things out together within the same small four walls. In Arcade Fire's context The Suburbs is an intimate record, but only in the sense that the sweat in the player's brows is palpable through the sheer power of their playing, as they bring the songs to life in what is for them a relatively low-stakes production environment.

It's why “Sprawl II (Mountains Upon Mountains)” works so well at the end of the album. The other stylistic undercurrent cutting across The Suburbs is that it features a couple of songs where synthesizers dominate the soundscape - which, if you're aware of the wider discography, is in retrospect a clear test run for the ideas that would start popping around the next set of records. The twilight rave of "Half Light II" (which marries beautifully to its more Suburbs-like first half) is an exciting jolt of surprise already, but "Sprawl II" gets the fabled penultimate spot: the tracklist slot where Arcade Fire always bring out their record-defining highlights. Compared to most of the earnestly self-serious The Suburbs, it’s a complete 180° - a perkily pop-flirting number lead by Reginé Chassagne, all bright synth leads, bubbling synth bass and a light-footed, shuffling rhythm eager to hit the dancefloor. Where Butler has been searching for meaning in adolescent experiences and got lost on the path between the suburbs and where he is now (and as an aside, this is probably Butler's peak as a lyricist and "Suburban War" in particular is sublime and nails down the record's entire concept beautifully), Chassagne brings the colour back into the world. “Sprawl II” is a fantastic song, radiating with so much genuine warmth and fun - it's still caught in the anxiety of growing up somewhere so small that you felt trapped, but it's bursting with defiance and pride about escaping into the wider world. It subtly shifts up from its quaint beginnings into a veritable giant and even still it sounds so lightweight it could practically fly off. As the de facto closer of the record (the reprise of “The Suburbs” at the literal end is really just an outro), it not just brings the album's various threads together, but it turns them into the proud declaration of intent that the rest of the album shies away from - and it does it with a massive smile on its face. That contrast at the end works so very beautifully. 

 

"Sprawl II" also draws a line on the ground as it starts pulling the curtains to a close: it's the most out-and-out diversion from what had been established as The Arcade Fire Sound, and after The Suburbs the band took it as their main inspiration to move away from that sound. Which makes The Suburbs somewhat of a pivotal record for the band because while on one hand it takes a step back towards a tone closer to their roots, it ultimately represents a desire to change, for the band to start shifting shape. Yet, its stylistic experiments are still done with an overall cohesion in mind as part of the Wider Concept of the record, and they're tucked in-between songs which basically sound just like more great Arcade Fire songs - so you might never even realise just how much it's started to move away from the expected. That's why it's not necessarily one of their more stand-out records, because it feels like a slight retread unless you really start paying attention to it - and it definitely could have shaved off a few songs and the "Wasted Hours" / "Deep Blue" couplet has always been the section that comes to my mind - and I for one certainly underestimated as such for a long time after its release. In retrospect The Suburbs' true nature becomes more clear though, both as a hint towards the future and final farewell to the past, and from a completely personal angle it took me a good many years after its release to realise just how good of a record it was and why. If it's possible for Arcade Fire to release a slowburner then this is it, but its thrills are many and various.

Rating: 8/10

Physical corner: The Suburbs was released with a whopping nine different cover variants where the scenery in front of the car differs; mine is the (appropriately) suburban neigborhood shot. I didn’t choose this one specifically, it just happened to be the one in the shop at the time. Gatefold packaging with a fold out lyrics sheet.

The Ark - In Full Regalia (2010)

1) Take a Shine to Me; 2) Superstar: 3) Stay With Me; 4) Singing ‘Bout the City; 5) Have You Ever Heard a Song; 6) Publicity Seeking Rockers; 7) I’ll Have My Way With You, Frankie; 8) All Those Days; 9) Hygiene Squad; 10) The Red Cap

The Ark fizzle out towards their end, barely making their exit known.

Key tracks: "Stay With Me", "Singin' Bout the City"

In Full Regalia was released in April 2010, and before the year had finished The Ark had announced they were calling it a day. In posthumous interviews frontman Ola Salo talked about how he had been struggling to find the inspiration to write any music because he felt like he had said everything he could within the context of the band, and that he would rather consider them as a great thing of the past rather than face an uncertain future; when he contacted the other members about the idea of closing up the shop, everyone realised they had all had similar thoughts. The Ark’s last album therefore isn’t a grand farewell and a curtain bow, and rather it's the result of a group of people pushing out an album out of habit even when they've already started to think about moving on.

There isn’t much to talk about In Full Regalia, because it's got little to say for itself. It's got hints of a stylistic tweak which sees The Ark shifting a little towards late 70s and early 80s soft rock vibes, giving the impression that they were still keen to avoid repeating themselves. It's just that the songs they’ve written around that sound are the weakest selection of material they've ever pulled together. They're not so poor as to the extent that they’d actively leave a negative impression, but rather In Full Regalia is more of an indifferent shrug. It’s music that doesn’t make you hit the skip button if any of the songs come up in shuffle mode, but it makes no effort to step up and engage any further than that. The choruses don't hook, the melodies don't stick, and Ola Salo’s writing well has truly run out, just as he had confessed. At the start of the decade he wielded a razor sharp wit and laced his lyrics with both heart and cheeky wordplay, but now he's succumbed to either wishy-washy nonsense or clichés like "Publicity Seeking Rockers" or “Superstar”, both of which are literally what you'd expect from the titles alone (aimless and vague celebrity culture takedown and banal motivational poster fodder, respectively). “Superstar” is arguably the weakest song here even if it is catchier than most of the other tracks, simply because it comes across as such a low-effort crowd pleaser, with its sing-along choruses running on empty despite the stomping beat trying to make the song sound bigger than it's worth. It’s a pastiche of former glories - the exact thing The Ark were fearing to become.

 

The Ark aren’t leaving us completely empty-handed though. “Stay With Me” is a real highlight: it’s got the strongest melody of the record and the second verse guitar line in particular is simply captivating when mixed with the hazily melancholy background textures, Salo pulls out his best vocal performance on the record and for the whole of the song the band sound genuinely inspired and engaged. It’s moodier and more restrained than most of the record and sounds like the result of a whole different writing session, but somehow ironically has more life to it than the rest of the record, which generally bounces around with a lot of energy to make up for what it lacks in other departments. "Stay With Me" is just such a great song, and it feels unfair that it's ended up practically forgotten (including by myself) just because the rest of the album turns you off touching the record. It does also kick off a minor peaking point in the record when it's followed by "Singin' Bout the City", which turns out to be the album's second most memorable cut by way of its string embellishments and an inspiredly whirlwind, tone-shifting structure. It's not a high that admittedly lasts long, but it's there.

It still surprises me that I can only list those two songs as something to give a listen for though, and barely anything else. It's clear that everyone was already over the band by the time they got together to record In Full Regalia and maybe it was just denial that made the album happen in the first place, and so no one's really brought their A-game into it - probably because they just didn't have the energy for it. To their credit, The Ark were always a strikingly charismatic band and that hasn't changed. Even when they stumbled on the previous albums, there was energy and passion that shone through which has been synonymous with them since day one - if repeat listens of In Full Regalia have shown anything is that The Ark aren't willing to phone it in, but they simply don't have much to work with here. It's an album that absolutely dies solely by being so full of sub-standard material, and it’s a shame. The Ark were such a bright and exciting flash of thunder with their early albums, and it’s actually quite sad that their last record fizzles out, barely making a ripple.

Rating: 4/10

 

Physical corner: Jewel case with a comprehensive lyrics + photos booklet. I've got the basic edition - I never bothered with the deluxe edition that came with a full magazine loaded with interviews, trivia, etc.

Mark Morgan - Vault Archives (2010)

1) Radiation Storm; 2) Industrial Junk; 3) Khans of the New California; 4) Metallic Monks; 5) Follower's Credo; 6) Vats of Goo; 7) A Trader's Life; 8) Moribund World; 9) The Vault of the Future; 10) Second Chance; 11) City of the Dead; 12) Underground Trouble; 13) City of Lost Angels; 14) Flame of the Ancient World; 15) Many Contrasts; 16) Gold Slouch; 17) My Chrysalis Highwayman; 18) Beyond the Canyon; 19) Biggest Little City in the World; 20) Dream Town; 21) California Revisited; 22) All-Clear Signal; 23) Acolytes of the New God; 24) Desert Wind

Wasteland ambient: thick in atmosphere, sparse in melody, but strong in painting scenes.

Key tracks: "Khans of the New California", "Moribund World", "Many Contrasts"

The first two Fallout games play a major role in my gaming life. The original Fallout arrived around the time when I started to get into more in-depth experiences than just simple platformers and click n point adventures, and it was the first RPG I ever played - suffice to say, it was an experience onto its own. The second one took everything I loved with the original and improved it, and in my all-time favourite games list it ranks right near the top. I've lost the count of how many times I've wandered through the post-apocalyptic wasteland wonders of both games, and the music in them is an understated but important part of that whole experience. Needless to say, Mark Morgan's score is well and truly familiar with me.

Vault Archives is a collection of Morgan's soundtracks for both games, as the music was largely shared between the two entries. It isn't the catchiest kind, and instead it represents the nuclear desert of post-apocalyptic USA fairly well: it's vast and barren of details, echoing with an air of mystery and melancholy. Most of it's ambient, with a weighty emphasis on actual ambience: they’re open-aired collages of natural backdrops that end up creating something musical by accident, with small additional elements like wind chimes, tribal percussion, industrial noise and the occasional glimpse of genuine melody and rhythm scattered within in a careful, minimalistic way. A good number of songs also extend beyond that scope, with a more rock-like twang or a more propulsive beat, but they operate on some same production elements, like mutations of the ideas expressed in the ambient cuts. It's music where building an atmosphere and setting the mood is the primary goal, a soundtrack that's primarily a, well, a soundtrack - the desolate, spacey sounds presented here were always meant to accompany the images of human life trying to form a new civilisation in the ruins of the old one, and not something that would endure well without that visual impact. 

 

To Morgan's credit however, in making something that has such a strong link to the visuals it accompanies he's managed to create something really memorable, not just for the player in how well it helps to bring out the tone of the games' setting, but also just as something to listen to. Approaching the songs outside the visual context reveals how excellently they really are crafted and how surprisingly well they stand alone, allowing to really appreciate the subtle details within the songs. As a 76-minute package of oft-literal wasteland ambient it’s not exactly a casual listening record, but as an ambient record to get lost into it holds up well next to any non-soundtrack peers. And in terms of video game music, it’s still quite unique even now and iconic to its series.

Rating: 8/10

Manic Street Preachers - Postcards From a Young Man (2010)

1) (It’s Not War) Just the End of Love; 2) Postcards From a Young Man; 3) Some Kind of Nothingness; 4) The Descent (Pages 1 & 2); 5) Hazelton Avenue; 6) Auto-Intoxication; 7) Golden Platitudes; 8) I Think I Found It; 9) A Billion Balconies Under the Sun; 10) All We Make Is Entertainment; 11) The Future Has Been Here 4 Ever; 12) Don’t Be Evil

If at first you don't succeed, try again. Another album made to flirt with the charts, but this time the band actually care about what they're pushing out.

Key tracks: "Postcards From a Young Man", "Some Kind of Nothingness", "The Descent (Pages 1 & 2)"

Each Manic Street Preachers album since the 2000s tends to come with a tag line, courtesy of Nicky Wire's giant mouth: an outlandish phrase that he’d repeat over and over in interviews to describe the album, sometimes even including it in the press release. For Postcards From a Young Man, that tag line was that it was their “last shot at mass communication”. With 2007’s Send Away the Tigers the band had aimed to win back the hearts of the general populace and were briefly granted with their attention as its lead single "Your Love Alone Is Not Enough" became a minor hit, but the subsequent singles plummeted off the charts; for the follow-up album Journal for Plague Lovers they deliberately ignored the radio altogether, but their newly-found additional audience didn’t seem to miss them. The band still wanted to be popular again, but by this point a part of them had realised that perhaps they no longer had a place in what was popular and that trying to steer their career in that direction was a hopeless task. So, Postcards From a Young Man was to be the final gambit - another record with a more commercial sound, as one last attempt at becoming the people’s Manics again. If it wouldn’t stick, the band woved they would never try to seek chart success again.

Spoilers, it didn't work out - but the band were driven to try and pull it off. The general idea with Postcards From a Young Man is the same as it was with Send Away the Tigers, with big guitars and even bigger choruses leading the way. Compared to Send Away the Tigers, Postcards From a Young Man is a little more indulgent though: the string sections and other kitchen sink treatments are more prominent, a number of high profile guest stars appear (Ian McCulloch, Duff McKagan and John Cale all make an appearance), and most famously a gospel choir shadows the band across a selection of songs. There's an attempt to make something that's intentionally majestic and anthemic, like a victory lap without the prerequisite podium moment. The biggest difference between the two is that where Tigers was phlegmatic at best and cynical at worst, Postcards sounds a lot more sincere. Yes it's another intentional attempt to score a hit to stroke the band's egos, to be blunt, but the whole ride-or-die manifesto around it has made the band that much more invested in pulling it off - James especially sounds far more enthusiastic this time around, and Wire is downright glowing in his solo spot "The Future Has Been Here 4 Ever". There’s also a lot more variety to the songs, with even a few unexpected sidesteps that do not look directly to the past for inspiration. You could make an argument that Postcards is like what Tigers perhaps should have been from the get-go: the same ideas overall, but with some conviction and fresh ideas included.

This manifests more concretely in the simple, basic fact that Postcards has an overall better song selection than Tigers. Commercial isn’t necessarily a swear word and there’s nothing bad in a band playing up to tropes they know their way through inside and out even if they're a little too familiar, if you put your heart into it and focus. At worst, you could bark at the string-laden anthems in the vein of the title track, “The Descent” and the gospel-backed Ian McCulloch duet “Some Kind of Nothingness” as being very safe; but they are here to deliver massive, immediately resonant choruses and they do it so well it's hard not to get swept by the moment. The particularly important thing is that there’s some substance to them beyond the initial superficial gloss: “Postcards From a Young Man” is arguably the closest the band has gotten to when trying to rewrite the Everything Must Go anthems, “The Descent” has an unexpected regality to its coronal chorus that opts to slow things down and hammers its lush strings down to beautiful results, and “Some Kind of Nothingness” starts at 11 from the get-go and unashamedly delights in its bombast to the degree that it’s both ridiculous and genuinely good. It's not just done-and-gone recycling of old hit formulas, but thought has gone into how to represent the old tricks and give them a facelift, and most of the time it actually works. Most of the time: the lead single “(It’s Not War) Just the End of Love” is probably the band’s most inessential single, a thoroughly OK paint-by-numbers radio friendly unit shifter that’s most notable for Wire’s brief split-second vocal interjection cameo, which in itself is an attempt to replicate the similar moment from Tigers’ “Your Love Alone Is Not Enough”. It's almost sheepish compared to the next couple of tracks that throw in every kitchen sink in the shop, and the difference in how well the songs hit their aimed targets is like night and day between them.

The early-album trio of songs is Postcards boiled down to its purest essence but the band stretch themselves to a reasonable degree across the record and it’s what keeps the album interesting; as much as the album is supposed to be pandering towards their most popular sound, the trio take the time to dip their toes in some different waters, and often towards sunnier places that play against the band's type. Case in point, the super-upbeat, mandolin-featuring “I Think I Found It” - an absurdly happy pop ditty that’s so completely opposite to so much of the band’s history that it’s a shocker at first, but against all odds it works. The same positivty also shines across other tentative summer anthems like the smooth and string-laden “Hazelton Avenue” and the Wire-fronted singalong jam “The Future Has Been Here 4 Ever” - and the happiness sounds real, the musical equivalent of simply having a really good day when nothing goes wrong. The gospel-tinged “Golden Platitudes” on the other hand is slow and contemplative but similarly sincere, and as per its sound it's the natural high point of the choir who regularly appear across the record. The much-touted choir made for a big part of the album's promotional soundbites as an easy thing to point out when highlighting the album's boisterous direction, but for most part of the album it simply acts as an intensely amplified backing vocal harmony whenever they appear - a production element among many that fades between other similarly used elements, rather than helping to establish the album's identity. On "Golden Platitudes" though, the choir gets a chance to breathe within the song's space and contributes greatly to the song’s overall arrangement and feel.

The differences between how Send Away the Tigers and Postcards From a Young Man approach the same basic concept are most apparent when you consider the parts of the tracklist that’s closest to Tigers' balls-to-the-walls scattershot rock - because that’s still somehow persistent here too, likely as a nod to the people who may have picked up Tigers during its brief chart run. The ‘old man Wire yells at cloud technology’ trilogy “All We Make Is Entertainment”, “A Billion Balconies Under the Sun” and “Don’t Be Evil” do away with most of the album’s excess and replace with an added guitar crunch, but also throw away the bright excitement at the same time; albeit “Don’t Be Evil” and its hand-clap heavy chorus does manage to salvage some points by its end. For all their brimstone and bluster they’re largely bland and uninteresting, much in the same way this exact kind of material was on Send Away the Tigers. The annoying thing is that Journal for Plague Lovers showed that Manics absolutely can rock out still, but its lessons fell to deaf ears; apart from “Auto-Intoxication”, the most interesting out of all the more guitar-focused songs and which, with its fractured structure and blustering chorus, comes closest to the band applying the sound of Journal for Plague Lovers and translating it to a more polished sound.

The truth is that Postcards From a Young Man isn’t the most creatively exciting Manics album, and I don't think even the band would challenge that: in a trilogy of albums on very specific missions, this is the one that's most deliberate in how it plays its cards, and also sounds the most polished and yes, safest. Even at its best, it doesn't sound necessary - if you plucked this out of the discography forevermore, I don't think anyone would be truly heartbroken. But the songs it packs within are for the most part very enjoyable, simple as that. I've tried to challenge them because somewhere in my deepest parts I'm pettily grumpy about the band going on a wild goose chase while snubbing what I love about the albums of theirs that mean the most to me - but I enjoy listening to most of these songs, and the years have been surprisingly kind to them. The fact that it rails so hard down on its chosen route is ultimately for the benefit of Postcards, because it translates as some investment and inspiration towards the songs, which in return fills them with a creative spark that was missing from Send Away the Tigers. Postcards sounds like it does mean something to the people that made it, and is not just a checkbox exercise. Crucially, it sounds like they all had fun doing it: the (over)indulgence in all the production elements has given the band the opportunity to strip away some of the self-seriousness they've carried around for a while now and even if they could have used those elements more elaborately, there's a Queen-like giddiness to the pomp and bombast

As mentioned earlier, the Manics failed to meet the mission parameters they set for the album - the charts had moved on and a veteran rock band was no longer something that fit in that world. It turned out to be a good thing because for once the band kept their promise, and for the next few albums they would return to a mindset where they recorded music just for them, with no external audience in mind, and it would be a creative return to form. And still, it seems unfair that the lasting legacy of Postcards From a Young Man is that it was the death knell to one particular chapter of the band. It paints it as a failure, when in reality it's more of a secret success: the proof that the Manics could aim for a more intentionally commercial sound while still retaining some quality control and trying a few new things while at it.

Rating: 7/10

Husky Rescue - Ship of Light (2010)

1) First Call; 2) Sound of Love; 3) Fast Lane; 4) Wolf Trap Motel; 5) Man of Stone; 6) When Time Was on Their Side; 7) Grey Pastures, Still Waters; 8) We Shall Burn Bright; 9) They Are Coming; 10) Beautiful My Monster

The Huskies' dream pop gets a little more muscular with their most dynamic release yet.

Key tracks: "Sound of Love", "Fast Lane", "We Shall Burn Bright"

If the previous two albums had codified ethereal moodpieces as Husky Rescue's modus operandi, their third shakes things up; compared to its predecessors and in the context of this particular group, Ship of Light is a muscular, high adrenaline record. Ghost Is Not Real showcased the growth of the band as a band, not just a studio project, and Ship of Light goes the full mile from there. Moreso than normally, here the Huskies' sound is centered around the classic bass/drums/guitar setup, and in particular the first two: the heart and soul of these songs frequently rests in their rhythm section, a propulsive bass and pounding drums leading the momentum forward. The trademark dreamy haze of the band hasn't gone anywhere, it's now simply speeding down the moonlit highway under four wheels. In other words, this is the first Husky Rescue album that deliberately tries to move away from the cinematic headphone heaven of the band's established sound, by edging towards what we could consider, for this act, a more "rock" sound. Ship of Light is constantly on the move, eagerly twitching forward and keeping its pace, with only a few serene interludes in the way.

This new emphasis on having a legitimate groove going on is great for two reasons: one in that it's another feather in Husky Rescue's cap which differentiates it from the first two albums, but also in that it gives the band the chance to spice up what they're already great at. By now we know that Husky Rescue are experts of making wonderful mood moments that paint intricate landscapes in the listener's mind - that studio magic hasn't vanished, but now it urges you to run through those landscapes. The lush, detail-heavy production pushes the rhythm in the forefront this time, so high-energy songs like "Fast Lane" and "Man of Stone" are both rich in ambience but also racing ahead: they're like soundtracks to a car chase in your dreams, and given how many people seem to have similar driving-related associations around this album, it feels almost intentional. 

The added dynamics were a welcome addition to Ghost Is Not Real and so their increased importance certainly isn't unwelcome, especially given how well it works. At best, they add a new dimension to the familiar Husky Rescue sound, like on "Sound of Love". It's Ship of Light's contribution to the tradition of stand-out pop singles that inhabit each Husky Rescue album so far, and while it's drenched in comfortably rich keyboard textures and is packed full of intricate details (I particularly love the almost-inaudible male backing vocals in the chorus), it's the bass runs and the thrusting drums that lead the song this time around, pushing the central hook to the surface. At its most exciting, it reveals entirely new aspects - the end-of-the-world rave of "We Shall Burn Bright" sounds like it's on a frantic escape run, rushing through with its organ stabs and layered percussion before finally finding itself on a clearing to launch into a majestic build-up that's all the more rewarding for what preceded it. Both burst with strength the band hadn't had before, and which they've expertly weaponised for their own means. 

There's still plenty of more familiar territory but the impact of the new band power is so strong that the old atmospheric vibes actually pale in comparison. "Grey Pastures and Still Waters" and "They Are Coming", both extended mood pieces by and far, come across more like interludes. Each Husky Rescue album has had a song or two where the purpose has been to bridge the gap between two stronger songs, but the drive of the earlier parts of Ship of Light fades these two into the background completely. Similarly "Beautiful My Monster" closes the album somewhat lacklusterly; it's nice, especially once it gets going as it hits its flashy finale, but for the first and only time on the album the band feel like they're repeating old tricks with a thin coat of new paint over it. In defense of the more graceful moments, "Wolf Trap Motel" towards the start of the album is a particularly gorgeous example of just how well Husky Rescue work as crafters of soundscapes that seize you within, with its misleadingly long introduction leading onto a lush, dream-like and wonderfully arranged mid-tempo piece. The surprise gear switch simply underlines the differences between it and its later-album siblings.

Which leads to my main complaint, i.e. that the first half of the album seems to be loaded with all the cuts Husky Rescue have been the most confident about in the excitement of their increased presence, while after the halfway point the album starts sliding down towards mostly tried and tested ideas, just less excitingly than in the past two albums. "Sound of Love" hooks you in, the straightforward bangers like the intensely cruising "Fast Lane" and the atmospherically thumping "Man of Stone" circle exciting around the beautiful moodiness of "Wolf Trap Motel", and "When Time Was on Their Side" slides from its slow-burning beginning into one of the album's best choruses. Once the album settles back into familiar ground - apart from the sudden jolt of "We Shall Burn Bright" - it starts losing its shine. Playing to the group's old strengths isn't as rewarding this time around as showing off the new skills; I start the album thinking I've grossly underrated it, and leave it by realising why I haven't rated it as highly as I thought I mayhaps should.

Minor niggles though. Three albums in and despite operating in a style where locking yourself to its aesthetics will quickly lead to repetetive albums, Ship of Light is something new to the Huskies and for a good part of its duration, exhilarating. Where the first two albums were ones you'd fall in love with through your headphones, this practically invites you to play it aloud. Husky Rescue's growth from a collaborative project centered around one ringleader to a true collaboration between a tight group of friends reaches its apex here, and it still surprises with how such a studio-focused act transfers that interplay dynamic so audibly. Fate has it then that this would turn out to be the last album for this particular line-up as well; but even if it's not their best record, the people involved really perfected their own shared magic here.

Rating: 7/10

Midlake - The Courage of Others (2010)

1) Acts of Man; 2) Winter Dies; 3) Small Mountain; 4) Core of Nature; 5) Fortune; 6) Rulers, Ruling All Things; 7) Children of the Grounds; 8) Bring Down; 9) The Horn; 10) The Courage of Others; 11) In the Ground

Is it classic folk rock romanticism anymore when it's all so bleak and dark? Warm acoustic tones meet impenetrable sadness.

Key tracks: "Acts of Man", "Rulers, Ruling All Things", "Children of the Grounds"

Pray for all to end / And silence be all / Now the joy has burned out and it’s gone / But I don’t know where

If Midlake albums were a continuous tale, here’s what the story so far would be. A group of people decided to abandon the trappings of modern life and the mysterious monocle men of Bamnan and Slivercork, shedding away modern technology and finding a new peaceful existence in the wild frontiers. The Trials of Van Occupanther would tell their story - of a rural life not without its hardships, but more idyllic in its harmonious, natural way. The Courage of Others brings with it the darkest winter. The cold world is cruel and where once were many, now only some remain. In the middle of the forest, huddled around a lonely campfire, a group of men sing sad laments, knowing in their hearts they’ll likely never see the spring again.

The Courage of Others mostly continues where The Trials of Van Occupanther left off with its rootsier folk rock revival inspiration, but nonetheless there’s a huge gap between the two albums in how that sound is approached. The general feel is once again intimate and warm in its core but rich and layered in its arrangements, but this time the music’s heart has been covered by an impenetrable bleakness: not enough to be a thoroughly dark album but there is next to no hope or joy found here. The lyrics are filled with laments for lost opportunities and a desire for things to either change to something else completely or to simply just end, and the music seems to have never even heard of a major chord. The lush strings and horns of Van Occupanther are gone and replaced with a lone flute, quietly singing sorrowful melodies throughout the album while the sparingly used, piercing electric guitars and the band’s now-trademark layered vocal harmonies push the momentum onwards. It’s an album that has lost sight of the light at the end of the tunnel and sounds understatedly gorgeous as it fumbles around in the dark.

It is, unsurprisingly, a slow burner of an album. The Courage of Others is not an album of big stand-out moments like “Roscoe” or “Balloon Maker”, or even ones that make a bigger splash within the album itself. “Acts of Man” distills the essence of the album in its very first three minutes so effectively that you could claim it’s the album’s signature moment, and the (relative) energy and more notable electric guitar use of “Children of the Grounds”, “The Horn” and “Rulers, Ruling All Things” make them pop out by default, but by and far The Courage of Others doesn’t bother with instantly recognisable hits. The songs largely blend together into one, 40-minute tragic ballad, each sequence clearly distinct in their details but not enough for me to be able to associate them with the actual song names. The individual elements are all lovely - Tim Smith’s still-gorgeous voice, the masterful vocal harmonies, the intricate guitars, the perfectionistically arranged additional flourishes - but each song uses them so similarly that separating them from one another requires a lot of effort.

That slight non-descriptness of it all does deduct points away from the album and out of the original Midlake trilogy this is the obvious weak link. But don’t let that brush you away from it. The Courage of Others takes a long, patient time to work its charms but it eventually will - it’s not suitable for all occasions, but for a specific mood that begs for this kind of acoustic folk rock with a soul full of sorrow, it does the job most wonderfully. There’s a strange kind of comfort to its melancholy and a striking loveliness to its craft - something that will get completely lost in the wrong context. Given the attention and right mindset though, The Courage of Others reveals its strengths and what makes it unique from its two more universally lovable older siblings. Where it lacks in songwriting it emphasises the mood, and to Midlake’s credit they get fairly far with it.

Rating: 7/10

Kirahvi nimeltä Tuike - Lehtipeitteen suojelijat (2010)

1) Lennon; 2) Vartija; 3) Kaikki pienet koirat; 4) KKAR; 5) Aleksanteri; 6) Tulikettu; 7) Askeleet rannalta; 8) Hurma; 9) Yö laulaa; 10) Vaapukkamehulaulu

Your favourite cartoon themes formed a band. Just as fun as it sounds.

Key tracks: "Lennon", "Kaikki pienet koirat", "Tulikettu"

If kick-ass cartoon theme tunes (think classic 80s US titles, or vintage anime) formed a band, you’d probably get Kirahvi nimeltä Tuike.

The fact that this concoction is a thing that a group of people decided to make their thing is a tad preposterous on its own, but the sheer conviction that Kirahvi nimeltä Tuike has for it is unbelievable. The music on Lehtipeitteen suojelijat is a rainbow explosion of glimmering keyboards and video game synths, the most obvious tie to any ‘real world’ music are hints towards the grand Nordic prog-pop traditions, and the lyrics are prosaic narrations about brave young heroes and their animal companions (or animal heroes) delivered in a verbose, storyteller-like fashion that’s not too far away from the kind of nutshell premise-laying so many animations start with. The band are called “A Giraffe Named Twinkle”, for crying out loud. But there’s no tongues lodged in cheeks, no wink and a nod that would hint at some sort of self-aware ridiculousness or trendy irony behind the scenes. Instead, the songs are delivered determinedly straight-faced. The themes are so over the top when in contrast to so much of other music out there but KTN’s unwavering belief in their own style lends it a sense of genuinety that gives it a foot on the ground. You can hear the it in the delivery too, and that makes the chosen direction all the more powerful. Fist-pump for the hero dogs, for the superhero foxes, for the plucky wanderers out to defeat evil.

KTN’s music is also obscenely bright and ludicrously glittery, in a way that I wouldn’t bark at anyone calling it cheesy, but the band’s approach to songwriting is to cover absolutely every ground with big melodies, and it’s a perfect bedfellow for the technicolour audio. It’s actually quite exciting: it’s a disarmingly charming approach, full of genuine giddiness that takes over, a ray sunshine filling the room from the speakers. And whilst they play these melodies in a very direct fashion, there’s an off-kilter sensibility that persists throughout the album and moves the verse-chorus-verse songs a little more off the beaten path. “Tulikettu” breaks into a synth-freakout right after a spoken word section that comes out of nowhere, “Kaikki pienet koirat” threatens to be a huge centerpiece but its choruses are surprisingly laidback in a really alluring fashion, and “Askeleet rannalta” takes a semi-synthpop approach which feels like the kind of natural band evolution we’d see a few albums on, making an early bird cameo. “Yö laulaa” is the culmination of this, bringing forth the prog-pop core closest to the surface as it ebbs and flows with its smooth, water-like melodies, closing with a sequence of shapeshifting instrumental sections which each sound more ambitious and exciting (and excited) than the last. When the band take it straight, their surprising influences make themselves known in the clearest way: “Lennon” genuinely feels like a theme song to a lost animation series, extended into a full-length anthem. It’s pulled off perfectly as well and a really intriguing thing to behold: and for someone like me who has had a fair number of cartoon-related songs all over my hard drive, it hits those vibes excellently.

The lyrics do play some role to it. Kirahvi nimeltä Tuike are creating their own mythos here - a pantheon of heroes of all sizes and fur coats and a lot of giraffes - and the band sing their tales like they were honoured anthems, with a stylistic earnestness and directness of any great opening theme that needs to hook you in straight away while still clearly introducing each character. They form a huge part of the album’s own personality as well, being deeply tied to the very concept of the band. As such, there is a certain kind of language barrier here that has made KTN an awkward album to recommend, because when so much of the album’s charm is based on its curious lyrical themes and they’re all delivered in obscure moonspeak, part of the record is bound to get lost in translation for many. Fortunately though, Lehtipeitteen suojelijat is rather fun just on purely musical terms as well. The obvious infectiousness of the hooks is one thing, but there’s a good deal of really good playing and very neat ideas from a purely musical standpoint here, too: an arrangement and instrumental know-how which are present throughout the album underneath the vocals, from the charming retro game synths to the brilliant bass lines gliding beneath every song. There’s a couple of full instrumentals punctuating the tracklist too to prove a point, even if their place on the album is more to support the rest of the tracklist. The interlude-esque “KKAR” demonstrates that the band do not necessarily need the vocals and lyrical material to create something distinct, with the band’s obvious video game soundtrack inspirations coming to surface the most. “Vaapukkamehulaulu” on the other hand surprises with a moody post-rock vibe that tucks the album into bed with a suddenly dramatic swerve and demonstrates that there’s more than one trick to KTN. Both give a larger spotlight to the actual musical side of the band and while they’re not as in-your-face as the album’s main songs, they do show off elements that otherwise might get a little more lost under the vocals, or in the case of the latter a side of the band we haven’t seen before.

Sadly Lehtipeitteen suojelijat seems to have been the only proper album KTN ever released, with the band largely vanishing beyond some internet freebies in the following years. It’s a shame. I readily admit that my overall musical knowledge is more the breadth of a comfortably sized lake than even the tiniest ocean, but the lyrics and music combined quite unlike anything I’ve come across from an artist without a TV or game tie-in. That’s commendable - four young guys from Finland creating something unique and truly their own, and backing it up with a set of superb songs full of heart.

Rating: 8/10

Delay Trees - Delay Trees (2010)

1) Gold; 2) Cassette 2012; 3) About Brothers; 4) Pattern; 5) In February; 6) Quarantine; 7) Light Pollution; 8) Tarantula/Holding On; 9) Whales & Colors; 10) 4:45 AM

Wistful, dreamy, shimmering - the kind of debut that lays all of the band's cards on the table in a display of strength. And hits close to home - subjectivity warning!

 

Key tracks: "Gold", "About Brothers", "Tarantula/Holding On"

During the extensive time I’ve spent far away from my Nordic home grounds of Finland, I’ve come to properly understand how music reflects its origins in ways that may not seem obvious or to be even there at all at first. Having been living in the UK for a number of years now, surrounded by the culture and having the first-hand experience of its locales has helped to clarify what certain British albums I enjoyed even back in Finland have tried to convey in their words or atmosphere - and as a result. I now get more out of these albums. Likewise, effectively becoming estranged from everyday life in Finland in a number of ways has made me reflect on certain quintessentially Finnish characteristics that never jumped out at me before, and how that can be carried over even through music. The amount of Finnish music I listened to multiplied by scores within the first couple of years after I had moved: you don’t really truly get what’s special in what you see as mundane and normal until you become distant from it, and at that point it starts to become exciting in its own right in a strange mix of homesickness and novelty.

So, Delay Trees’ self-titled debut album then.

One thing to note about Delay Trees as a band is that they are very direct and sincere in their music. There’s little in the way of pretension or overpowering ambition and singer Rami Vierula’s lyrics are extremely face-value, more akin to a friend talking to you about what’s been going through his head rather than holding a focus on any poetic flourishes or hidden meanings. They splice their indie rock with heapings of dream pop and they are very clear about the latter: there’s a focus on melody throughout, be it a central hook driving the song or the numerous guitar jangles swirling around it. The dream aspect comes in the hazy atmosphere, the music viewed through a gentle summer morning sunshine, the world waking up and welcoming. The sheer openness of Delay Trees is disarming: right from the beckoning opening notes of “Gold” the music invites you in and sounds very sincere about wanting you to become a part of their world. The songs can get wistful at times but there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel: the collective joy of a band creating art together coming through every note.

What definitely wasn’t very apparent to me at first is how much that sincerity actually channels where the music came from - or at the very least, how it impacted me in that respect. Delay Trees isn’t a very obviously Finnish album beyond Vierula’s clear accent and the mention of Helsinki in “Whales & Colors”, but a certain je ne sais quoi of the country’s core collective consciousness runs through every note - enough so that after a while, it started to be one of the primary reasons I’d put the record on. It has an understated, homely charisma that radiates with the ambience of the silent countrysides, quiet small towns and calm urban centres of where it came from. The emotional directness of the lyrics have an understated quality so befitting of Finnish personality as well, and manage to convey a lot about their context through that stylistic decision, not to mention that there’s “Quarantine”: a dryly comedic documentation of the utter horror of being happy and social with strangers, which is about as Finnish as it gets. Every melody brings back memories of old familiar places and sights even though the album was never directly associated with them, each sung line resonates probably more than it should (Vierula is a great example of a frontman who’s not the greatest singer or lyricist objectively speaking, but who fits absolutely perfectly to what the band are going for). It’s turned Delay Trees into a portable home away from home at sorts - a particular familiar atmosphere to sink into.

That’s a grand thing admittedly, an aspect that already makes the album special in a way, but even better is that this wholly personal vibe is just an additional, subsequently developed layer to what is a generally impressive album even in more “objective” terms. These are great songs, where the directness and melodic emphasis results in music that balances the line between intimate and anthemic: sky-soaring pop songs, walls of sound and heartfelt epics. Look no further than the opening trio: “Gold” is an incredible, ever-building tower of textured atmosphere, and “Cassette 2012” and “About Brothers” are just about the most perfect kinds of indie pop gems. The latter two, in particular, perfectly captures all the bittersweetness, soulfulness, haziness and beauty that the band reach for throughout the album. It’s a trio of instant classics that are enough to land the album on the map, and that the album actually keeps up the momentum is fantastic as it is, but it even matches it later on with its closing trio. “Tarantula/Holding On” is a masterpiece that builds into a gorgeous, gigantic finale where the album’s heart and soul is exposed, “4:45 AM” is the sunset to the sunrise of “Gold” and while “Whales & Colors” is a fairly minimal song largely intended to be the breather between the two epics, its effortless beauty and tranquility shining through in its moment of stillness. The album’s two central elements are highlighted by “Pattern” which lets the ambiance be the lead and sounds like the sweetest dream, and the pop part of the dream pop aspect comes through the most in “Quarantine” which pairs its humourous lyrics with a laid-back, feel-good stroll of a tune that lifts up the album’s energy.

On those terms, just based on the songs (including the two not specifically mentioned - still really good), Delay Trees is already one of the best debuts of its era: the kind of album that makes you gleefully excited about a new band and which you keep wanting to return to. It’s where all the building blocks that Delay Trees use are in perfect balance and harmony: an ideal blueprint of sorts that has since been followed by the band’s more emphasised exploration of the various facets of theirs. Clearly, I openly admit there is a lot of personal bias at play because when I listen to Delay Trees, it’s not just the great songs that I think about. Delay Trees are a fantastic example of the particular traits that Finnish indie rock has and the unique way the country’s musical talent filters through and adapts their foreign influences, and through that they’ve managed to bring forth so much of the country itself so evocatively that each listen is a trip to various memories and abstract notions of their - my - culture. An impressive feat for an album that appeared way after I first moved out and never directly associated itself with the context it somehow bears. But while normally something so personal is hard to recommend because it’ll never have that reaction to anyone else, it’s not the case with this album because all of that personal malarkey appeared out of nowhere a long time after the album had already become a part of my frequent rotation: the great set of songs on their own had already claimed a part of my heart before then.

Rating: 9/10

CMX - Iäti (2010)

1) Sateenkaaren pää; 2) Kappaleina; 3) Taistele; 4) Auringon kultainen kaupunki; 5) Kuoleman kulkumies; 6) Iäti; 7) Totenmann; 8) Manisola; 9) Kättenpäällepanijat; 10) Linnunrata; 11) Laulu todellisuuden luonteesta

Simplification and less pretension are fine goals on their own, but the opposites were always part of CMX's charm and somewhere along the line it's gotten a bit too... bland.

Key tracks: "Sateenkaaren pää", "Iäti", "Linnunrata"

The aim of Iäti was to simplify. CMX’s discography is roughly speaking a series of reactions and counterpoints, so when it came time to follow up on the space opera prog rock epoch Talvikuningas, the band’s first instinct was to strip away the pretensions. In a typically CMX-like fashion, it couldn’t just end there. A set of dogma-esque rules were written, to be followed throughout the sessions. No heavy, no prog, no compression, no needless layers, no keyboards unless all other options had been thoroughly exhausted, no cryptic lyrics full of arcane theological references, and so forth. Direct and straightforward rock music. Uncomplicated.

Unsurprising. The self-imposed rule set is audible but not really in the way you’d think. You would expect something more rough and raw but that’s not the case, as Iäti sounds like any other later period CMX album through and through with enough production shine that any dogmatic lack of layers and additional instruments isn’t really all that apparent. It’s in fact the structure and style of the songs that’s affected the most. The “no prog, no heavy” thing doesn’t jump out when you read the list but it’s most clearly present, in the sense of the band avoiding any stylistic extremes. That means Iäti is a string of songs that comfortably course somewhere in the middle, rock a little but not too hard, aren’t keen on twists and turns and are always racing for the next chorus. The band have always included a token “easy” radio single like this on their albums but this time it’s an album full of them, and rather than making Iäti a compact and direct streak of hits, it’s instead made the band sound like any (Finnish) mainstream rock band. Iäti sounds predictable, in lieu of a better word, and is settled down and content with it.

It doesn’t help that for major parts of the album the band seem to be coasting along through the motions, and the typically efficient production style that’s worked on the prior albums now just highlights how streamlined the songs are. A good chunk of the album, particularly towards the latter half, is one largely unbothered riff rocker after another, the kind that the band could write in their sleep. Sometimes they wake up from their stupor momentarily - the chorus of “Totenmann” threatens to be effective, “Manisola” has some interesting vocal manipulation going that’s memorable if nothing else, “Kappaleina” comes so awfully close to Apulanta et al that you remember it for that alone, “Laulu todellisuuden luonteesta” almost reaches the epic closer levels it wants to be when the uncharacteristic guitar solo appears. Mostly though, they stay effectively in the background, not particularly budging in either quality direction. For once in their lives, CMX are dangerously close to uninteresting. 

But when it works, it works really well. Pardon the cliché but there’s a great EP (or an extended singles run) within Iäti that is so much more thoroughly exciting than anything else on the album. “Sateenkaaren pää” for instance highlights everything that works in the album’s chosen direction: a shamelessly catchy, devilishly instant chorus monster with a deliciously crunchy bass (one instance of the album where the production shows some life). Almost like a perfect prototype that they couldn’t replicate again. “Linnunrata”, similarly, applies the same strategies to a classic rock anthem formula and turns out something genuinely soaring and heartfelt. “Taistele” was once described by someone else as a hockey match anthem (and I’m stealing that description) and there’s a lot to raise your eyebrow about its hokey motivational fist-pumping, but damn it if it doesn’t get the foot tapping and energy going. “Auringon kultainen kaupunki” is the secret weapon, an initially unassuming song that eventually unleashes a chorus so lush that it makes up for the slow start. The album peaks at its title track: in start contrast to the rest of the album it’s gentle and has space to breathe, turning into something very effortlessly beautiful. The replacement of your usual keyboard part with vocal harmonies is also one of the album’s most inspired moments in light of its ruleset, and gives it a heightened sense of intimacy.

These five songs give Iäti its main reason to get in the listening rotation, without which it would probably get lost in the discography completely. It’s no total failure but rather it lacks character and, to some degree, inspiration, as if somewhere down the line the goal posts got moved and the restricted, dogmatic album became just the simple album. And it’s not an issue with the direction in itself, because the band have gone back to basics before with 1998’s Vainajala. The difference between the two is obvious though. Vainajala was full of rejuvenated gusto, not only because of the context it was recorded in (and the age gap) but also because all those intentionally direct songs were packed with power and intent. In comparison Iäti is borderline stiff in its execution and flat on energy, and it’s all rather blurry whether it’s because of the production, inspiration or motivation (Funny enough, Vainajala was the first album recorded with drummer Tuomas Peippo who at the time injected a new level of vitality to the band, whereas Iäti was his last album before being let go due to lack of motivation - this seems entirely coincidental though). Whatever the case, even if Iäti generally stays in the alright level, it’s a notable drop down from the previous run of albums - and out of all of the band’s albums, including the weaker ones, it’s arguably the least interesting one. Basic, if you will.

Rating: 6/10