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(Lost Highway 2005)  Review by Mark Whitfield 

The mediocrity of an overkill of material burns itself out with a return to the heady highs of Adams’ Whiskeytown days. Ah.  It’s nice to have Ryan back. After what now seems like an eternity (but which was probably not nearly so long – he’s just too damn eager to get albums out) of records which were kind of OK but nothing thrilling, reaching its low ebb with the major label forced “Rock and Roll,” Ryan showed the first signs of a recovery earlier this year with the mixed but promising “Cold Roses.”  Releasing another studio album less than six months later might seem like brave stupidity – certainly the sheer weight of his output would lead you to question whether quality really can come out of so much quantity – but here he is, back with a full length studio album and the good news is that it’s his best since his debut, even beating the pieced together “Love is Hell” for consistency and overall standard.  The second album to be recorded with his band the Cardinals (despite a slight change in line-up), there’s continuity in terms of the musicians involved, but the sound harks back to earlier times for Adams – most specifically the beginnings of his former band Whiskeytown’s output - it even sounds pre-Whiskeytown at times - with country chord changes evocative of Neil Young and the more rootsy side of Dylan, layers of violin, mandolin, pedal steel and even the Nashville String Machine (on the wonderfully George Jones-esque “My Heart is Broken” even if each verse does sound like it’s about to lapse into “Any Dream Will Do”), Adams sounds as far removed from his flirtation with the Oasis model as he’s ever done. On top of which the UK version contains perhaps the best version of “Always on My Mind” ever recorded – it’s difficult to imagine how good it sounds until you’ve heard it. If there is a low point to the record, it’s the dreary “Dear John” co-written (and vocalised) with Norah Jones, but it’s an exception, and nearly everything else about the album – from the production to the standard bearing cover makes the album feel like that instant classic that some artists can crave for throughout their careers. That Adams has managed to make two and arguably more within the space of what still feels like just the beginning moves of his career should lay to rest any doubts that the best has probably long gone already. We can no doubt expect more relapses over the years but if this is the reward for patience in less promising times, Adams is still the key force to be reckoned with in modern americana. www.ryan-adams.com

(Tiny Dog Records 2005) Review by Patrick Wilkins 

Does the thought of Americana from Nottingham make you groan? Magic Car show just how bloody wrong you can be!  As you might expect given the name, there are relatively few native Brits staking their claim in Americana.  There are even fewer that make a good fist of it without sounding like they wish they were from the Midwest rather than the West Midlands. Or even the East Midlands, as in this case, Magic Car hail, unashamedly, from Nottingham. They have an undeniable roots/country feel courtesy of some pedal steel and delicately picked acoustic, but they don’t attempt to disguise their UK origins.  Phil Smeeton is the writer, and occasional vocalist.  Other occasional vocalist is Hazel Atkinson, ‘all fluty piped, kissed her breath into the mics’ say the sleeve notes, imagine an English folk influence on the Cowboy Junkies Margo Timmins, and you’d be close, in case you were wondering, this is a good thing, a very good thing. As to the nature of the songs, as well as US country elements, from the UK point of view, along with some folk, you get a flavour of the Beautiful South, a dash of Richard Thompson, even an occasional aroma of Prefab Sprout.  Not exactly as expected there’s a couple of songs with motorcycle themes, opener ‘The Bikers Lament’, sung by Hazel, and ‘Gold Wing Queen’ sung by Phil. ‘Mother Nature’s Lamb’ possibly the stand out track, goes instead for the back seat of a bus, features both Phil and Hazel singing over an infectious and gentle loping riff, some Rocky Mountains rear up in this one.  ‘Small Town Saturday Night’, with an alcohol tinged sing-along (almost)chorus, could well be back in binge drinkers Britain, ‘Nothing to do but get drunk and fight’, sings Hazel, but some fine pedal steel drags you back over the Atlantic. Title track ‘Family Matters’ challenges ‘Mother Nature’s Lamb’ for stand out track, a quirky, almost surreal, nonsense lyric, it seems to be about a time travelling space man, but finishes with a quite strikingly sweet refrain of ‘Hold on to the one you love, never let them get away or fade away’.  Its another song in which things don’t quite go how you might have expected, a rare quality, and one that contributes considerably to making this a fine record. www.tinydog.co.uk

(Johnson Grass Records 2005) Reviewed by Phil Edwards

Political troubadour Cary Swinney releases his third CD and doesn't let up in his views about good ole USA. It's refreshing to hear some sense in these jingoistic times. Swinney doesn't mince his words and lets Uncle Sam have it with both barrels, particularly on 'American History' a sad but true indictment of the USA's history in dealing with it's indigenous nations. The chorus says it all "Let's go to the ballgame and sing our song with glee. And conveniently forget our past in the land of liberty". 'Dawson County' further reiterates what the nations leaders have turned his country into; "I think most lobbyists are liars, I think most men in suits are sad" whilst cranking out some excellent guitar licks. Maybe rock 'n' roll is the answer. And the ever relenting 24 hour news readers don't get away scott free. 'Parades Down Main Street's' outlines a narrative that compares "news chicks" with the pride that all Americans feel when the yearly parade including the National Guardsmen and cops pass along their main drag, whilst conveniently leaving the lies of their leaders behind. Everything is therefore ok. Not a bit of it. With the political bite of Steve Earle, the deceptive qualities of John Prine and some say the gruffness of Kris Kristofferson, Swinney manages to relay his views without really pissing too many Americans off. Perhaps he should try harder.  www.caryswinney.com

(Glitterhouse 2005) Review by David Cowling

Preconceptions go Walkabout as they crank up the guitars in this bonfire of profanities. After spending the last decade or so refining their sound from a loose kind of gothic-folk to a pulsing 21st century folktronic sound, on this release they take the title to heart and burn down everything they’ve done and start again. The scorched earth policy reveals that the folkier elements have been lost in the fire and a harder rock-based sound remains.  The titles alone should tell you something: ‘Fuck Your Fear’, ‘Kalashnikov’ or the title song don’t really reconcile back to folk music, even when Carla’s vocals are to the fore, and they use more electronic instruments as on ‘Have You Ever Seen the Morning’ - the sound is full and propulsive, the electronics like the short-circuited signalling of a cyborg designed for war. There is very little space within the songs; it is always filled, always driving onwards lest the flames catch up with them. When the throttle is allowed to slacken as it does on the beginning of ‘Northsea Train’ the riff is insistent and not pretty and it comes to dominate, relentless. Though apocalyptic, it isn’t without enjoyment - ‘Before This City Wakes’ is full of incendiary Crazy Horse style guitar and by the time we get to the closing ‘The Last Ones’ it’s as though they are the last survivors of a disaster trying to make sense of the lottery that left them alive. Suitably the pace slows, drums ricochet, the guitars become restrained and the chorus almost reaches richness - the refugees’ regret and hope are implicit in the tremulous vocals, the deep implosive guitar break, the few piano notes that follow and the last vestiges of a lost civilisation. The record seems like the soundtrack for a dystopian science-fiction story with flames never far away; even where there are strings (‘Whisper’) they only thicken the stew.  When they underscore the line ‘they take us in for identity checks’ they are like a totalitarian army, close drilled, uniform and soulless - this is one of the stronger tracks in addition to the strings; here the guitar riff gives off sparks as it spins like a grinding wheel and when it is joined by a brass section it makes it feel as though revolution is possible.  It has a lot in common with fellow North Westerners Modest Mouse and their ‘Moon and Antarctica’ record; grand themes, sweeping in scope, it differs in that it is more unified and cohesive as though their occasional forays into murder ballad territory have been expanded to a more wholesale destruction. It is the response to destruction that is important - in some areas regular razing maintains the eco-system and here it has given them the scope to attempt something different. Whilst it doesn’t give up pleasures easily, it is challenging, thought provoking and enduring.  www.glitterhouse.com

(Pointy 2005)  Review by David Cowling

It’s not math rock but it is full of odd angles and it all adds up to a well rounded effort. Obsession isn’t a healthy mental state but it can fuel art in a way that workaday love can’t, and this record seems shot through with a sense of unjustified loss - ‘Since K Got Over Me’ or ‘E.M.P.T.Y’ for instance have been imbued with a strange passion that has skewed them slightly and made them all the better. The melodies are simple and the vocals lightly melancholy - the music though is something different. It jangles, strings sawed and then psychedelic flourishes flower and then die like an acid flashback - something stirs, something dark. In some ways, especially vocally, these songs remind me of Friends Again with added attention to detail and more ambition. At times it’s as though the escape from the obsession leads to the romantic overtones of prog - then again, ‘Step into the Light’ is a spoken word piece and even here it is the story of another escape this time into the past, a simpler time before the complexities of adulthood. ‘I Can’t Seem To Make You Mine’ is a long way from the Seeds song of the same name, with soft modulated strings moving like curtains in the breeze - the vocal is melancholy and the melody sad.  It’s one of those songs that makes you want someone to hold you to prove that you’re not alone. Though geometry plays a part in at least three songs here, the record is far from coldly calculated or regular in shape.  When it slips into patterns as ‘Since K Got Over Me’ does with its Byrdsian shapes, there is still scope to bend things.  There are few straight lines - ‘Impossible’ starts with a flourish of strings, bubbles along a psych-pop path (think Green Pyjamas), swoons like the Smiths and ends with a crashing cymbals and angular guitars. This is the kind of gently twisted music that echoes around your head seeking out dark corners in which to hide, its geometry the same irregular walnut shape as your brain. www.theclientele.co.uk

(Frogville 2005) Review by Phil Edwards

Santa Fe's "Cowgirl Hall of Fame" mainstay Joe West successfully combines his South Western humour with some serious country licks. West doesn't appear to take himself too seriously and this is reflected in his approach to his music. Whilst managing to be serious on a few tracks ('The Human Cannonball', 'Cowgirl Hall of Fame' and 'Heaven') West manages to bring out the lighter and usually unexplored side to alt-country. 'The Combines are Comin' displays his observation for an easy-paced hillbilly tune that starts off with the torching of a trailer park, and goes onto tell of an affair with a married woman whilst she proclaims her love for her husband. '$300 car' outlines what West feels toward his automobile; not a lot as it happens and it also flies ! 'Straight Man in a Gay World' is SO very B52's but without the hairdo's. Most of the tracks on this album indicate that he's happy to include serious lyrics within songs who's titles don't necessarily take themselves seriously; so it's difficult to understand if West is trying to be quirkily serious, is simply being ironic or just taking the piss. West also enjoys adding sound effects to tracks to emphasis the effect. The crowds cheering in 'The Human Cannonball' (which is actually quite a sensitive song), and the vacuum cleaner during the Mariachi vibed 'Anita Pita'. The Mexican feel simply adds to the atmosphere of getting the house clean whilst enjoying ones self. Margarita's anyone ? I'm not sure whether West wants us to take him seriously or not, but this album is worth checking out. Then you can make your own mind up. I like his humour. It's warped. www.joewestmusic.com

(Eleven Thirty 2005) Review by David Cowling

Full bodied AM(ericana), way too cool to be bracketed with the likes of Paul Simon, Billy Joel and the Beatles. This record has such a big confident sound that you can’t quite believe it’s by somebody you’ve never heard of - ‘Don’t Let Me Down’ opens proceedings with an insouciant swagger and a huge dose of power pop, like Mathew Sweet at his most belligerent. ‘Baby Tonight’ follows, full of AM dynamics, piano led with delicate harmonies that raise it to another level - then ‘Call Me Dear’ which adds a note of vulnerability with its bubbling chorus, Greg Leisz’s 12 string mandolin dancing around the song flapping like a kite tail in a breeze. The chunky piano chords of ‘Lying on the Ground’ threaten Billy Joel like moments but swirling uplifting strings raise the song above the mundane. He seems to have the knack for writing tunes that seem to have been around for ever - you can sing along to most of these well before the end of the first listen, but this is because he uses well worn templates and the Beatles play a big part in this. Then there is the delivery - his voice can be affecting and infectious, carrying the songs easily, never going anywhere near the edge of its range, always comfortable with the material and always in love with the words that come out - there is real joy in moments like the chorus of ‘Upside Down’. The accomplished nature of the songs could be annoying if it wasn’t handled with such enjoyment and panache - he’s not showing off his talent, he’s using it. An all out assault of bouncy melodies expertly played over the course of 14 tracks can’t really be a recipe for disaster, even if at times it’s like spending too much time with happy clappy people. I can forgive him that for the sheer exuberance and skill he brings. For Mojo readers everywhere, here’s an entry for your annual top ten. www.ajcroce.com

(Independent 2005) Review by Robin Cracknell

A riveting, ravishing debut gleaming with understated opulence and a slow burning cool. The major curses of most self-released albums are: They sound either numbingly anonymous or so heavily influenced and derivative they are, in all but name, tribute acts. The tracks are usually quickly and cheaply produced with any flashes of inspiration well trampled under a leaden mix. Puerile or toe-curlingly pretentious lyrics--often mercifully muted by the same ham-fisted mix. The artwork is usually a sloppy collage knocked up by someone’s girlfriend at the office with a few more blurry pics in the insert of the guys sulking with their guitars. Essentially, a completely forgettable vanity project given away to friends with the vast unsold remainder gathering dust in the attic along with the yellowing reviews from the local paper. Well, Last of the Blacksmiths is an exception to all of the above. This unassuming California quartet is pure quality from every angle, a standard to which every other unsigned band should aspire. From the intelligent, evocative lyrics to the unhurried, textured musicianship to the simple, tasteful design of the inserts extending even to the delicate, cream bird silhouettes printed on the disc, this package is a treasure containing an even greater treasure.  Recorded live on a faulty Tascam 388 in Nathan Wanta’s house while his parents were away, these songs have a distinctly informal, low-key atmosphere but are certainly not lo-fi. Despite one track being recorded in the living room with Nathan’s grandfather sitting in the corner waiting for his fish supper, these have the intimacy of a home recording but none of the associated lo-fi shortcomings. The sound is faithful and pristine; so much so that studio technology could well have compromised its natural integrity. This reel to reel is real.

Calling themselves the Blacksmiths has more to do with their love of 60’s black music and The Smiths than any attempt to conjure up some iconic americana image of sweaty labourers and all the tired horses etc. Having said that, don’t expect much in the way of grinding soul or clever Morrissey-isms. With their sad keyboards, brushed drumming and a lazy, loping melancholia, LotB meander around Wills Oldham and Johnson territory with space, patience and a general cool oozing through every uncluttered track. It’s a cliché but true in these songs: the notes not played are as palpable as those that are. The lyrics are equally spare and evocative with words rarely wasted. In ‘Tree Song’, a dying tree laments the fact that children are always indoors saying ‘I don’t know why those kids never come out of their houses/I haven’t felt the climb of their hands in years’. ‘Grass Blade’ evokes memories of a simpler time ‘before televisions were in cars/when it was good enough to stare outside the window at the moving stuff’. ‘In My Hands’ with guest violin from Jolie Holland, reads like a hymn of affection centred around a father’s guiding hand. Other songs, ‘Pete McKenzie’ and ‘Russian River’ also explore the shifting ground between fathers and sons, ends and beginnings. Over 14 tracks and almost an hour of music (all originals except for ‘Columbus Stockade Blues’), this is a remarkably weighty and mature debut. Taking the simple, timeless stories of the everyman--caught between home and beyond, moving on and looking back-- and framing those stories in an equally timeless but contemporary way is something few bands manage. The inevitable comparisons to laid-back Wilco, Richmond Fontaine, even The Band are accurate and justified. www.lastoftheblacksmiths.com

(Reprise Records 2005) Review by Andy Riggs

Ellaborate return to form for a legend. The big questions for Neil Young fans are 1) Is this a 'Rust Never Sleeps' or 2)  another visit to 'Greendale'? The recent loss of Neil's father and his own recovery from illness has accelerated this release and perhaps focused Neil's attention on making one of those records we know he still has in his vault, but so often follows his own muse which takes very few of us with him. In the last ten years his output has been as always unpredictable, and at times well below par. Records such as 'Mirror Ball', 'Are You Passionate' & 'Greendale' were disappointing, especially bearing in mind that Neil is one of rock’s survivors (not only in terms of health but credibility). Having read recent reviews and pre-release publicity for 'Prairie Wind' apparently it's a follow up to 'Harvest Moon' - well it's not, it's Neil doing what he does best, writing songs about his life, family, career and world around him - indeed a recurring theme throughout the record is Neil's father and looking back. Unlike the much talked about 'Greendale' (Emmerdale) where the themes got lost in over long and heavy arrangements, 'Prairie Wind' sees Neil return to some basics and simplicity. He is joined by some old favourites Ben Keith, Spooner Oldham and Pegi Young. Track by track:

1. “The Painter” - pedal steel and acoustic guitar introduce the first song and thematically it sounds like it could have come from Greendale - but there's a warmth to the song and it contains one of Neil's great throwaway choruses that were missing from Greendale. Neil writes about his friends, some who are still with him and some 'that can't be found'.. it's a strong start to the record.  2. “No Wonder” - one of the best songs Neil has written in the last 20 years, 'tick-tock the clock on the wall, no wonder we're losing time'...making references to 9/11..and the march of time. 3. “Falling Off The Face of The Earth” - dedicated to his father, and another great song.  4. “Far From Home” - an up tempo song with horns, Neil writing about 'rocking on his daddy's knee' and family nights making music that influenced his life. 'Bury me out the on the Prairie where the buffalo used to roam, you won't have to shed a tear for me, cos' I won't be far from home'.  5. “It's A Dream” - Neil at the piano, comparing his life to others, and the bad news that greets each of us every morning in the headlines. His life has been a dream, and looks back at his childhood days in Canada. 6. “Prairie Wind” - horns again in this up tempo bluesy title track - 'trying to remember what my daddy said, before too much time took his head' - going back to his early life 'Prairie Wind blowing through my head - trying to remember what daddy said'.   7. “Here For You” - sounding like 'Out on the Weekend' Neil is content with his life and love with Pegi.  8. “This Old Guitar” - Neil writes about his guitar and his career, 'This Ole Guitar, it's a been messenger in times of trouble and times of fear' liking his guitar to his life' It's been around years & years' waiting in it's oak case'....'it can be blamed for my mistakes, it only does what's it's told......  9. “He Was King” - In the intro Neil talks to Ben Keith -' the last time I saw Elvis he was shooting at a colour TV'- he was singing a gospel song'.....'the last time I saw Elvis he was riding in a pink Cadillac the wind was blowing in his hair, guess he never looked back'.... We even get a Neil Young 'thank you very much' at the end...!   10. “When God Made Me” - one Neil's anthemy endings, questioning the gifts that were given to him and how he has used them in his life.

“Prairie Wind” will not convert any new fans but should bring back those fans who stopped buying his records in the mid-90s. As Neil reaches his 60th birthday, Long May He Run, and let's have the Neil Young 'Archives'....'tick-tock' - hats off to Neil and Happy Birthday.

(Sub Pop 2005) Review by David Cowling

Bats undergo semi-successful sonic transformation. When you lose your edge, there are only two possible outcomes - you either become dull or you become well rounded, and here I’m not quite sure if the two things preclude each other. It has been a gradual move from the experimental earlier recordings with Brian Deck at the helm to these self-produced almost pure pop songs. No longer could you say that they are Califone-lite, there’s none of that wheezing creaking rural electronica now that the catarrh of experimentation has been expunged; now a clear throated honeyed sound prances around the strawberry fields of classic pop. There is still an awful lot of attention to detail: ‘Born in the 70’s’ masterfully builds from an acoustic strum, bubbled bass, sweet vocal, echoes of piano and bentand sustained notes with whirling organ to provide a lush atmosphere, a cowboy in a conservatory. There are obvious parallels to Wilco, ‘Legs of Bees’ building like a lot of ‘Summerteeth’ piles of decorative antique keyboards sketching and stretching out the pop template. You keep waiting for everything to slip into place and to soar, and there’s a moment after the helium vocals on ‘The Wind That Blew My Heart Away’ that promises that, the guitars taking over a fragile melody driving it forward with accompanying piano and deely-boppers of synths waving around - you think this is going to be it but it promptly ends, moving into the title track which is like a pocket version of Mercury Rev, the gentle washes of music like reeds bending in the breeze, roots washed with watery melody. The closing ‘Every Day That We Wake Up It’s A Beautiful Day’ sums up the record perfectly, with its bright chords of piano and some Flaming Lips style electronic alchemy overlaid with a simple vocal melody, the instruments flitting around like a swarm of midges until the music fades and the bird song takes over. No matter how many times you listen to this record, it seems to promise more than it can deliver, which is a great pity because underneath it all, this is a great bunch of songs.

(Independent 2005) Review by David Cowling

Welcome to the reflective thoughtful side of Nathan - you may find it unexpectedly moving. You know how we now have two very different types of non-fiction television, reality and documentary - fifteen years ago these were one and the same thing, the difference being that the former exists purely for the cameras and the latter would happen whether or not the cameras were there or not. Well, there is the same kind of dichotomy in music, those that are making music to fuel dreams of fame and celebrity and those who would make music anyway, Nathan (and you know I’m going to say this) belongs to the latter category. There is something authentic in his songs - his heart isn’t an artifice but a source of material for these delightfully sad songs and he has that extra thing called charm that begins to separate him out from others. There is nothing remarkable about the material; the songs are constructed simply, with mainly acoustic guitar and the melancholy sound of the pedal steel providing the settings for his troubled voice. The best passage of the record starts with the alley cat steel strings of ‘Nine Pound Hammer,’ a song that makes use of the ‘tell me you don’t love me and I’ll let you go’ cliché.  We then move on to the stripped back almost rockabilly ‘400 Miles’ which is a ‘distance comes between us’ song. He saves his best chords for ‘Nova Scotia,’ music as bleak and beautiful as the geographical winter landscape, another miniature masterpiece, this time with a pedal steel solo every bit as dextrous as Jackie Chan. The range that Nathan displays on this record is illustrated by ‘Call and Call Me Baby’ where he is joined by Jill McCallister, a call and response song reminding me of the Caitlin Cary and Ryan Adams Whiskeytown vocal battles. This is a surprising triumph for a man better known for his more humorous work; here he deals with deeper subjects and even offers some comfort for reality TV wannabes - ‘false hope gives hope as good as any other’. Here’s hoping that he gets what he deserves. www.myspace.com/nathanmayberry  

(Compadre 2005) Review by David Cowling

This is the perfect album for the disenfranchised folk of New Orleans. McMurtry is like wheat beer - cloudy, agricultural, substantial and something of an acquired taste, you might be put off after a few sips but if you get the taste, it’ll stay with you. This isn’t a sparkling translucent brew, the issues aren’t transparent, the music is a thick southern brew that serves as a background for the sermon like prose that he delivers - capitalism is evil, and it robs the ordinary man of his dignity and leaves them as flotsam on a tide of globalisation. The stories are hypnotic, like driving long distances - the thrum of the tyres on the road, the monotonous rhythm of his voice, it’s all much the same, occasionally the lyric will act as a rumble strip.  The music is an unchanging rain spattered flat country and offers no relief (actually that’s not quite true, a few shafts of sunlight do burn through - the baritone sax, trombone and fiddle on the opening ‘See the Elephant’ bring some welcome levity). Otherwise it’s the same pace throughout, though the old standard ‘Ole Slew Foot’ shows a welcome flash of humour. It’s not as though you can’t gain any enjoyment from the record - the songs individually would be great on the radio or a compilation and songs like ‘We Can’t Make It Here’ would stand out as gritty realist invective, the downbeat tone and the flat intonation a welcome change. Over the course of a record the sheer weight of it beats you down much like the system that he rails against - perhaps this is an ironic strategy on his part. In a way he’s like a curmudgeonly Status Quo sticking to the same chug and boogie sonic template; in some ways it’s admirable like the discipline of Buddhist monks and similarly if you are not a devotee you can’t quite unpick the reasons why they’d do it in the first place. I’m left perplexed wondering if I’m not getting it or if I’m reacting on some level to the liberal nationalism on display and I’m left with a phrase: in small doses a tonic; in one sitting an overdose. www.jamesmcmurty.com

(Décor 2005) Review by David Cowling

Promising start for Irish semi-experimental popsters. This is a band that have ambitions to be more than they are at present - they keep threatening to cast aside the conventional parts that keep pulling them back; the problem is they are good at those bits. ‘The Price of Winter’ rolls along on a wave of poppiness and ‘I’ve Got Wings Irene’ reaches out across the Atlantic to its spiritual Grandaddy - these are the most immediate parts, and thus those that are difficult to let go. More sonically interesting is ‘The Way I See Things’ with squelches of electronic noise hanging around in the background like a flock of hungry seagulls waiting to swoop for any juicy nuggets of melody. ‘I Don’t Know Where Are You’ threatens to go off into interesting territory, like Larmousse and their grand electronic anthems with added vocals and when you think ‘You Make Me Feel Amazing’ is slipping into the cosy soft-focus pop, a few bars of discordance shifting the perception so that the rest of the song seems all the juicier for it.  It’s a pity that this is then over-egged with too many layers of vocals and too many synths. ‘Dirty Love’ also tries to add in elements of electro pop and the result is pretty weak and unworthy of much of the good work that they do elsewhere. The closing track redeems some of the low points with a slow-burning strum but they can’t help but add in a few splashes of unneeded convention to dilute the overall effect - it must be said that this is the strongest vocal performance on the album. Once the song proper has finished we are left with a threatening coda of electronic rumblings that seem to narrate a descent into menacing darkness until acoustic guitar and vocals appear to illuminate the cavern, and when stalactites of piano notes drip down you feel that perhaps the whole endeavour would have been more successful if it had followed this more experimental bent. I, for one, will be looking forward to seeing them support Richmond Fontaine in the autumn. www.theamazingpilots.com

(Smokeylung Recordings, 2005) Review by Jeremy Searle 

Intensely beautiful stripped down Americana from doyens of burgeoning Leicester scene.  Leicester-based Pacific Ocean Fire’s second album is their first for American label Smokeylung, which means that their music is now much more easily available that side of the Atlantic, which can only be a good thing. The album has nine tracks, five of which are the entirety of their 2003 “Roadsigns” EP (no longer available), and a further two are from their 2005 co-release with Don’s Mobile Barbers, leaving only two new songs. Damn fine though this brace is, English fans’ purchasing decisions will surely depend on the extent of their fandom, as few will buy an entire album, no matter how good, for just two tracks. Leaving financial pragmatism aside though, this is a damn fine album.  On release I gave “Roadsigns” 9/10, and described it as “music to clutch yourself to, music to ache to, music to sing along with, this is simply glorious”, and time and distance do not dispose me to revise that assessment now.  The remaining tracks approach the same level, with closer “Stalled Hearts” (one of the newies), which has an unsettling, near-discordant melody that manages to be both disturbing and catchy at the same time, being particularly good, The music is sparse, intense, literary and passionate, and while, as with any band, one can play spot the influence (Calexico, Lambchop, Flaming Lips spring most readily to mind) their sound is their own.  Plaintive, passion-drenched, intense vocals are overlaid on sparsely brooding melodies, with guitars, steel and brass layered in to create brooding, often troubling music. The playing is exemplary, the production the same, and the overall effect is simply beautiful.  In fact, ignore what I said earlier, if you’ve got all but the two new tracks buy it anyway, and if you haven’t, what are you waiting for? www.pacificoceanfire.com

(Network America, 2005) Review by Jeremy Searle 

Lyrically superior set of bluegrass-based nu-folk. Hailing from Charlottesville in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains, the Hackensaw Boys are steeped in that area’s famous bluegrass, and as good as exponents of it as you’re likely to hear.  They rejoice in a fine set of pseudonyms, namely Four, Shiner, Baby J., Salvage, Mahlon and The Kooky-Eyed Fox Hackensaw, although they’re far from the Deliverance refugees, or indeed college humourists, that this might suggest.  For this, their fourth album, they’ve moved on from the high-powered furious playing that has characterised their earlier work, particularly 2000’s “Get Some” and the 2003’s live “Give It All Back”.  “Love What You Do” is the sound of a band stretching out and pushing boundaries. There’s still the occasional high-octane piece like “Cannonball”, and a couple of self-penned tradders like “Fiddle My Blues Away” not to mention the entertaining and risqué “Kiss You Down There”, but the core of this album is the more reflective and thoughtful pieces like opener “Sun’s Work Undone” and the keynote tracks, “High Faller” and “All Good Dogs”. The first is a high and lonesome lament, starting with a single voice and banjo, building to an elegiac refrain, and adding a keening and mournful backing wail at the end.  The second follows a similar musical format and weeps with loss and regret, with lyrics the likes of “It’s a suspect profession/to sell your love when it’s gone cold/All good dogs turn to beggars/That I know, that’s all I know” that twist your stomach into desperately tense knots of anguish and regret. Recommended. www.hackensawboys.com

(Independent 2005) Review by David Cowling

A lovely delicate dark brooding Americana all the way from Birmingham (West Midlands). This type of music is usually linked with porch sitting but to my ears this record is more of an indoor album. As the autumn arrives, you get an impression of doors closed, fires lit, an aura of protection from the elements and from feelings - the music is contained and constrained and his voice is intimate rather than expansive. Everything is knit together, woven so that each instrument is part of the blanket that is wrapped around his voice. There’s plenty of texture but not a huge pallet of colour - the tones are definitely those of the Fall. With acoustic guitar, banjo some threads of dobro, lap steel and violin with embroidery provided by harmonica and mandolin, even when they all join together as on ‘Son O’ Gold’ the sounds pull towards each other rather than push outwards, like the nervous fry of mouth-brooder fish the instruments never stray far from the heart of the song. The songs themselves are like individual squares on a patchwork quilt, his voice the stitching that holds everything together: the first square ‘Drunk in Montreal’ contains only his voice and where he doesn’t have the raw power of Richard Buckner, he does a good job, not trying to overfill the space.  It is the first inkling that we have of the interior landscapes of what follows. The tasty guitar and organ combination on ‘Road Killer’ is rendered all the sweeter by the contrast to the silence of the opener; it’s a record that reminds me a lot of James Yorkston, and the songs seem natural and the performances unaffected. The songs are threaded with the subtle colours of each instrument - ‘Spider on the Window’ is constructed of these delicate threads, the strings of the instruments individually discernable and on ‘Hard to See’ the lap steel provides melancholic notes of blue throughout. Whilst it’s not a record to set the world alight, it has more modest ambition than that - it is one that you can find some warmth in as the nights draw in. www.jamessummerfield.co.uk

(Road Trip Records 2005) Review by Jeremy Searle 

Decent “Best Of” from Nashvillian and ubiquituous UK tourer, featuring the legendary Al Perkins.  Kevin Montgomery has spent a large proportion of the last few years touring his heart out across the UK, and has been rewarded for his troubles with a sizeable fanbase, so a live album is a logical step.  Recorded at King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut it documents a performance from June 2003 and features his usual band the Road Trippers, who include Paul Deakin and Robert Reynolds from the Mavericks, and on steel and guitar Al Perkins from almost anyone who matters (Burritos, CSN, Emmylou to name but three).  Stylistically this is a warts and all album (not that there are many) and hasn’t suffered from much post-recording studio work.  This means it has a real live feel, but from time to time the overall sound quality, and Montgomery’s vocals in particular, are a little strained. 2003 was probably the peak of Montgomery’s live show, as latterly it has descended into tedious self-indulgence (notably from Montgomery and Reynolds) and little if any new material is offered.  On “Live from Glasgow” though the band were still in rocking blow ‘em away mode and relatively fresh, and it shows.  Songwise what you get is essentially a best of, and despite the odd dip (“Angel Tonight” is particularly maudlin and lachrymose) there are a lot of A1 songs here.  “Tennessee Girl” and “Melrose” rock with the best of them, and “Fear Nothing”, “Another Long Story” and “Let’s All Go To California” are a tryptch that can hold their own with anybody.  Instrumentally, while the band is never less than competent it’s Al Perkins, as you would expect, who is the star. The set proper finishes with blistering versions of “Crossroads” and “Ooh Las Vegas” and Perkins’ fingers fly with unfeasible speed and skill. Eat your heart out Jerry Douglas. Live albums are often a difficult proposition, suffering as they do from hints of contractual obligation, and often being little more than milk-the-fans exercises.  “Live from Glasgow” is a decent offering though, and a handy starting point for the uninitiated. www.kevinmontgomery.com

(Circus 65 Records 2005) Review By Mark Phillips

Illinoisan Brooklynite in Career-Defining, Triumphant, Return. Recorded to two-track tape in Wall To Wall Studios in Chicago over three days in January, Mills’ latest offering of atmospheric, scratched, vinyl comes good in so many ways that you’re left short of breath and heartbroken by it’s end, even if it comes in at a mere 30 minutes and a few spare seconds. Finally (finally..!!), the production is spot on, and it seems that the songs have been set free to feel and to be themselves, without sounding compressed or having to be something that they’re not. It luckily follows that the arrangements make many of the tunes here life-affirming, string or brass-lead affairs, but that they are just delicate enough for the quite sounds of hearts being shredded to come through very clearly. It’s a remarkable feat and Mills and his co-producer / arranger David Nagler should regard the finished product as an artistic peak of such giddy heights that it betters most records released so far this year in any genre. The roots of this record lay firmly in folk and classic singer-writer territory, yet he is content to borrow from other places, and you can’t help feeling that much of the heart comes from the blues and from soul, blue eyed though he undoubtedly is.  Even the Lennon and Tweedy-isms which occasionally crop up are neatly moulded to the Mills way of doing things, and everything about this record screams of it’s individuality- it just doesn’t give two hoots what you think about it and it’s key success is that this is an artist who has reached a level of maturity and confidence which allows him to do what the hell he wants. The addition of both Kelly Hogan and Nora O’Connor on backing vocals on some tracks is pure genius and they both put in the astounding performances that you would expect of two of the best, if most underrated, singers in America today. Dave Max Crawford’s trumpet is present throughout, as is Fred Lonberg-Holm’s familiar cello; both are the heart of The City That Works- the Mills band- but additions to the usual in the form of tenor and alto saxes, violin, flute and oboe all define the new textures that envelope you as you take the narrative in. 

The Songs? Oh my God. They are amongst the best in a career of touching intimacy, but one or two here are better than recent work by Tweedy, Ritter or even that camp warbler, Anthony Hegarty. “In the Time of Cholera” is perhaps the most heart-strangling moment this writer has heard in a decade.  Perhaps predictably, it’s about waiting for a whole life to spend time again with the one who owns your heart, and he somehow summarises all you need to know about that emotion without the pretentiousness of his literary counterpart. Surely a challenge to get through without choking or at the very least, getting very damp eyes. You’d defy anyone not to immediately think of that very special person, not to feel their physical presence right next to them, listening. Otherwise, “Everything about The Heart” and “You are My Favorite Song” deserve a special mention- the former a painful cry to a father for wisdom on how the heart works, though you suspect there no answers.  “Favorite Song” is at once daft and sweet:

It’s half a throw-away, but then with this songwriter, his scraps and his daft whims are better than most others’ encore material. So, finally, Chris Mills has made something approaching a perfect Chris Mills album, and on this evidence, he stands a fighting chance of eclipsing the likes of Workman and Coyne, artists who he has covered, yet whom he may turn out to be rather better than. Mills has moved into the front rank of today’s best music makers of all stripes and shades- this record deserves critical plaudits and a huge audience. www.circus65.com

(Corrupt Records 2005) Reviewed by Andy Riggs 

A cursory glance at the Philip Kane web site gives you an indication of Philip's view on life... on the first web page Philip greets us with....Greetings Bumsuckers... Welcome to the World Kane. Another thinly disguised attempt to make you part with your money for shit you simply do not need ....Philip is a self confessed poet, raconteur & arsehole....obviously Philip wears his humour on his sleeve. His last record 'Songs for Swinging Lovers' received critical praise from MM, Uncut, Rolling Stone & The Observer - I'm afraid that release passed me by. On first hearing he sounds like Jeff Buckley with a mix of Nick Drake, Al Green and a dash of Michael Weston King but he has a fine voice and the arrangements are very strong - with support of a full band and strings. First song up is 'Paul Bowles' Last Letter to his Long - Dead Wife' and Philip ain't a happy man as he states 'I'm gonna play Jonny Cash at full fucking volume' - as the press release states 'this record is for adults about his generation where he meditates on ageing, alcohol & loss'. On the third song he sings 'Well we're both 38, and we ain't been to be bed, we spent half of the night sniffing glue in the shed, it was alright, I might do it again tonight' - it's all gloomy stuff but half way through there's a great Leonard Cohen-ish chorus. There are some catchy songs with some excellent arrangements, especially on the brass led 'A Big Hole in the Ground'. Philip's voice can be heard to fine affect on the soul tinged 'Still' where his Al Green influences came to the fore - and it's a fine song, one of the highpoints of this unusual record. He tackles the Holocaust on track 9 'Thereseinstadt' which is an uncomfortable theme for a song with a wah wah guitar in the background. Written from the perspective of a SS guard at the camp he says to the prisoners, 'there are no songs to come out of Terazien' and 'the music won't save you, and prayers won't save you' half way through we have violins crunching their way through the chorus - in the end the guard begs to be forgiven as 'I come to you fresh from the war trials' - but hell awaits him 'The are not enough tears to wash clean this soul of mine'. On a 'What a Man's Got to Do' we are in much lighter poppier territory. The album closes with a superb love song 'The reason I Love Her'. A really varied and interesting record, with some brilliant arrangements and strong songs. www.philipkane.com

(Volare 2005) Review by Paul Kerr

Great collection of obscure covers.  A veteran of American new wave/post punk/power pop bands including Dumptruck and the Hello Strangers, this is Priggen’s second album.  A collection of covers , he states that “a lot of the artists I admire were known as great songwriters and equally as great interpreters of other peoples songs.” Cover albums can be fairly awful vanity projects (the equivalent of inviting someone over to see your very tasteful collection) or a chance to bring a particular vision to bear on influences allowing a degree of insight into an artist’s roots (Bowie’s Pin Ups?, any other takers?). Priggen falls firmly into the latter camp although there is a  degree here of having impeccable taste (but then, don’t we all?). The only songs that listeners might immediately jump on are Alex Chilton’s “Nightime” and (gulp) Alice Cooper’s “I’m Eighteen.” Otherwise Priggen’s tastes seem to be biased towards mid eighties British indies , Nikki sudden and the Jacobites, Everything But the Girl and Orange Juice with a nod to earlier years with the Zombies “How We Were Before” and a smattering of American indies. Gathering together a collection of worthy musicians including Bun E. Carlos(Cheap Trick) and (the) Mark Spencer (of Blood Oranges and Jay Farrar fame), the sounds here are redolent of vintage power pop, approaching the delights that were to be heard from Dwight Twilley and his ilk. Opener, “In the Inside” (originally by The Hot Bodies) churns along with  Priggen’s voice sounding a little like Alejandro Escovido. On “Big Store” (written by Stephen “Tin Tin” Duffy, originally by the Jacobites) the band conjure up a colossal wall of noise with the guitars riffing away until unleashed at the end. The guitarists throughout (Mark Spencer and Ivan Julian of the Voidoids and Matthew Sweet) are superb. There are some hidden tracks after the main fare, one, a musicians’ in-joke apparently, is a recording of some guy pitching to record labels execs to put on a huge show of some sort. This tape provides the album’s title as he states that Warner Brothers have on their roster “stars after stars after stars.” The humour escapes me but after this there are two other songs, the final one a rousing cover of Orange Juice’s “Felicity”.  Priggen has a healthy attitude to the internet and his website has information on several of the covers on the album. There’s also an opportunity to listen to it as a stream, so if this review whets your appetite head on over there and tell him we sent you. www.spikepriggen.com

(Black Hen Music 2005) Review By Mark Phillips

Mellow, Groovy and Kicks Jack Johnson Ass. It may not be what BC’s Steve Dawson is trying to do, but if you’re after mellow, acoustic, laid back and bluesy, he lays it down with charisma and personality, and he effectively puts the ludicrous Hawaiian back into 88th place where belongs (For regular readers, this Steve Dawson is not the one who’s an Idaho native, went to Berklee College of Music in Boston and now lives in Chicago- this one is definitively from the Canadian west coast; see reviews passim for mentions of the Idaho lad). Dawson’s great strength is his ability to inflect urgency and emotion into picking that’s superficially just nice to hear- he has enough of the old time feel for when a guitar, banjo or (if you were lucky) an autoharp was the main source of entertainment, and his retains a stain of the hard working life throughout his songs. He’s unlikely to be called “the new Bob Dylan” as the Mail on Sunday has been referring to Johnson, but then it’s unlikely that any of our readers take any notice of the nonsense that comes out of Derry Street. “Gold Coast” can be recommended to anyone who digs country blues, but likes a little of Cali or ‘Strine surf layered on the top; Dawson also isn’t afraid to use electronic noises, beats and samples, but they never dominate, merely adding to an environment which is defined by more organic sounds- from pedal steel and Hawaiian guitars to viola, cello and ukulele. It’s a warm, inviting mix and the likes of “Ruby” and “An Orange Grove in Calfornia” are real standouts- the former starting off briefly like a Portishead track before veering off into a dark, introspective and mildly claustrophobic world- never quite cutting it’s ties with the paranoiac Bristol sound. The string arrangements by cohort Jesse Zubot enhance the sense of darkness. “Orange Grove”, meanwhile, is completely the reverse- sunny, cheery and somewhere between Western Swing and straight 20’s flapper jazz; it’s a joy to behold, and occasionally nods in the direction of a ragtime sound, making your hips sway ever so slightly. Overall, “Gold Coast” is a real pleasure and one which you should acquaint yourself with at the first opportunity. www.blackhenmusic.com

(Tonehaus Recordings, 2005) Reviewed by Andy Riggs

The Clifford Brothers consist of brothers, Brad & Bryce Clifford and this independently produced release was recorded in Austin over the last 12 months and the brothers are joined by Kim Deschamps (formerly Cowboy Junkies pedal steel player), Tony Scalzo (from the much under-rated Fastball) and Jon Blondell (Austin session player and Willie Nelson sideman). The boys influences range from such stellar performers as Elvis Costello, Bob Dylan, The Band and the great Paul Westerberg. Of the eleven tracks all but two are written by the Brad & Bryce, with two covers 'Shelter from the Storm' and Mike Scott's 'Always Dancing, Never Getting Tired'. Brad plays drums, while Bryce handles lead vocals, guitars, piano & harmonica. Guest musicians also include Thomas van der Brook on tenor saxophone, violin, plus Rachel Lynn on backing vocals plus Brett Humphrey on harmonica. First track up is 'Home' and we are straight into top draw Americana, held together by some stunning pedal steel, drumming, piano and one of those guitar breaks that you wish you could play. Telling a tale of lost love, 'And if my heart fails to bring you home, I'll blame myself, my words are desperate, they fail to move you' - it's a very strong start to the record. Next up is the buoyant 'College St' with a riff that The Fountains of Wayne would have been proud to have written. The upbeat tempo continues with 'All The Girls (Never Care Less)', and there is some fine trombone and guitar work, working together on this song, that sounds reminiscent of Chicago (before they went MOR) in their prime. Up next is the beautiful 'Beautiful Is Never Alone' - acoustic guitar, piano, tenor saxophone combine together with stunning, evocative lyrics 'I am the great traitor, that great hypocrite, for just one kiss could kill this loneliness, you're beautiful but it's just a sketch, you're as empty as me I bet' - clocking in at over 5 minutes this is one of the many stand out songs on this record. The quality of the songs and playing never falters over the 40 plus minutes on the penultimate track 'Last Call In The North East' with it's haunting harmonica, guitar and lyrics clearly show that these brothers have the talent to make their mark, overall a very impressive record. www.clifford-signalthesun.com

(Rough Trade 2005) Review by David Cowling

The faux shambolism of Pavement meets the intricate Americana of the Band (oh, and some classic rock along the way). This leads to passages that are a complete mess, portions of seemingly accidental genius and a lot in-between - what it doesn’t allow you to do is to sit back and relax thinking that you know how it will develop. There are quiet passages of beauty in ‘The Pretender’ surrounded by guitars that want to join a biker gang and ride of into the sun. Underneath many of the songs there are hints of classic AM rock - they are well hidden, the noisy ‘Say Something’ keeps hinting that if they toned things down and weren’t so difficult they’d give REO Speedwagon a run for their money. Less worrying is ‘Today’ that has swirling eddies of guitar notes with some disturbingly straightforward vocals and a well-behaved guitar break and again, closing your eyes you see moustaches and large hair. Similarly the last track ‘Wake Up’ has a guitar break that wouldn’t be out of place on a Journey record, but then it mutates into a mass choir sing-along that redeems it. Redemption (musically) is a recurring constant: ‘Oh No’ does so with some cello and strings that rescue it from MOR, the sleigh bells helping too as they bridge to Flaming Lips style baroque construction before spiky angular guitar and irresistible vocals smash everything into a most satisfactory conclusion. There is some kinship between Dr Dog and Home - both have no real care for convention other than subverting it to create something new. The title track is gentle psychedelia shot through with acid blessed with a strong unifying tune that flows through like Cleethorpes printed-through rock. ‘Dutchman Falls’ is as traditional as it gets – it could almost be Hoagy Carmichael with its lazy drawl and crawling melody. Decoration comes from snatches of cello and impassioned vocals, with drums as primitive as you like building to the sustained crescendo of a guitar weeping like a wolf calling its lost mate. In contrast ‘Fools Life’ luxuriates in its atonal guitar interruptions and its mercifully short excursion into country speed metal. They clearly enjoy playing with our perceptions and, like a cat with a ball of wool, it’s bound to come undone occasionally, but for the most part it’s fun to be toyed with. www.roughtraderecords.com

(Homesleep Records 2005) Review by John Hinshelwood

It is always somewhat disconcerting when the accompanying press release takes on a hectoring tone, seemingly trying to dictate how you are supposed to react. For instance, we are told here that this CD " ....WILL (my italics) confirm Midwest as one of the most interesting and important bands of the European alt-country scene." Right then, so no need for any critical evaluation from the great unwashed, as it has been decreed. Apologies to the author if that seems like an over the top reaction, but really, this kind of stuff does not do the band any favours. If you are confident that the music is so good, how about just letting listeners make up their own minds? As it happens, there are actually some good moments here on the second album from this Italian four-piece. The opening two tracks impress immediately. "Release the Catch" has a slow, moody introspective feel, with violin and cello featuring strongly. "Odd Fair" is a total contrast with a bouncy, trad jazz feel allied to some Jayhawks style vocals (if you can imagine that !), and trombone, clarinet and tuba all featuring. A few more songs down the line, however, and eclection fatigue starts to set in. The prevalent, rather self conscious over zealousness to be constantly wacky and "different" (reminiscent at times of the most hippy / trippy excesses of the Incredible String Band) starts to grate more than a little. The fact that, with the exception of a few words here and there, it is almost impossible to discern any of the lyrics, obviously does not do their cause much good. That is not intended as a criticism of the band's English, it's just that the constant chewing and strangulation of the vowels by lead vocalist Matteo Gambacorta becomes more and more irritating with each song, and tends at times to detract from some interesting musical ideas. By the time we get to the aptly titled "Chewing Its Name", the plot has been well and truly lost. If you can imagine the Grateful Dead on a particularly bad trip, singing with the theme to "Steptoe and Son,” you will get an idea of what this is about. There are several songs which take on a shambling country feel with obvious nods in the direction of Son Volt, Wilco etc. that are executed with varying degrees of success, but at times there are just too many ideas (and instruments!) vying for attention, with the overall sound becoming too cluttered. The band is at its best on a song like "Magpie On a Wire" which has a thoughtful structure and arrangement with a definite contemporary "classical" influence, and if only it were possible to make out the words, this could have the potential to be a very compelling song indeed. Overall, a very erratic set, but there are clearly a lot of creative ideas circulating within the band with three different writers represented here, and hopefully, this can be harnessed to better effect on future releases. www.midwesttheband.com

(MeMe Records, 2005) Review by Jeremy Searle

Indispensable, intelligent adult pop.  A common critical lament with Miracle Mile is “why are they not more popular?”. The reason is simple, it’s because of what they eschew, not what they do. Not for them the obvious lyric, the trite sentiment, the inevitable key change and the overwhelming predictability of 99.9% of pop songs.  Instead they offer gorgeous melodies, hooks galore, intelligent lyrics that demand and repay careful listening, beautifully produced instrumentation, and an overall effect that combines poignancy and joy in equal measure, and the result is as close to a pop masterpiece as you’re likely to hear this or indeed any other year.  Recorded with the vocals right at the front, so that every word and nuance can be heard, their lyrics document and celebrate the extraordinary ordinary, the quiet highs and lows of the so-called average life.  Underpinning them is a delicate mix of acoustic and electric instruments, never too much, never too little, with bits of brass, pedal steel and the like dipping in and out of the core guitars. Each song would be a standout on lesser albums, and with lines like “I’ll see you in the morning/And like you least but love you the best” from “What Kate Did Next” it’s not hard to see why. “Paper Planes And Ponytails” subject matter would be mere nostalgia in lesser hands, but here it’s a paean to defining childhood moments and memories “waterpistol in my hand/stuck in never nowhereland”.  “Baby’s in the House” questions the desire for escape, where we are “trading our hope for a distant sun” and ending up where “baby’s in the house and she’s scared to be”, all over an irresistible melody and chorus.  There are two semi-spoken pieces: “The Secret Fold”, a poignant take on childhood that captures perfectly the loss of innocence and gentle pleasures that none of us ever quite get over, and “Night Sail”, which describes that strange feeling of being both completely enclosed and safe and simultaneously completely open and exposed that we all experience from time to time, on a boat, at a festival, at night.  Fine though they are, it’s the songs that linger the longest, as “Glow” is one of those rare albums where music and words come together in a state as close to perfection as makes no difference, and leave you with a delicious ache that makes you hug yourself with the sheer overwhelming joy of hearing such wonderful music. Needless to say the album is packaged to the same standard as the music, and the whole experience, from picking up the package through to the fading sound of the last note is quite simply, sublime. An indispensable album.  www.miraclemile.co.uk

(Rough Trade 2005) Review by Patrick Wilkins 

Get those decks swabbed and that main brace spliced, the Portland pirates are back. The Decemberists, from Portland Oregon, deliver folk derived fare that has elements of 80s indie, particularly British, but some colonial too. Vocally Colin Meloy is similar to Tim Booth, formerly of James, put this over a backing that is part Smiths, part Levellers, and you have the basic ingredients. On this, their third full-length record, they have gone for less of an acoustic approach, and for more blood and thunder, with plenty of percussion amidst the usual array of odd instruments. Opening track ‘The Infanta’ signifies this, sounding like a joyfully wild update of a lost Victorian music hall overture. The most distinguishing feature of the Decemberists comes from Colin Meloy’s lyrics, in the manner of a time traveller, Meloy lands in different decades, and on different continents, to find his themes. It’s a record that a dictionary will help you get through, so, for a start, ‘Picaresque’ is defined as ‘a type a fiction in which the hero, a rogue, goes through a series of episodic adventures’, an appropriate choice. ‘This Sporting Life’ has a mixture of American and British references, the title relating to a 1963 British film of the new realism ‘Saturday Night and Sunday Morning’ kitchen sink school, and starts with another percussive flurry just like the Jam’s ‘A Town Called Malice’. ‘The Bagman’s Gambit’ tells a cold war tale of embassies, attachés, documents and microfilm. Both of these songs have a mood closely related to Neil Hannon’s Divine Comedy. As a counter to the Brits, ‘We Both Go Down Together’ is remarkably similar to REM’s ‘Losing My Religion’ in places. ‘Eli The Barrow Boy’ is virtually straight ahead hey-nonny-nonny folk, and as such sounds a bit too contrived. The sea shanty territory, a favourite haunt of Meloy, works better, such as on the plaintive ‘From My Own True Love (Lost at Sea)’, and the jaunty epic ‘The Mariner’s Revenge Song’ where the narrator survives an attack of a giant whale ‘I must have slipped between his teeth’ we hear. An anti war song ‘16 Military Wives’ has a psych-pop feel, part XTC, part Beatles, with a hook laden chorus that runs against its serious message. Not everything works, ‘On The Bus Mall’ has more hints of the Jam, this time ‘That’s Entertainment’, but rambles on for nearly 6 minutes, outstaying its welcome. However, bands as adventurous as this are a rare commodity so a couple of misfires is an acceptable price to pay for the unexpected. If you’ve already been press ganged and dragged aboard the Decemberists pirate ship, this record will not disappoint, if you’re malingering and merely observing with curiosity from telescope distance, step right up, its worth it. www.decemberists.com

(Bird Song Recordings 2005)  Review by David Cowling

The name suggests the Three O’Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock, wake up: it’s time for a psychedelic revival. If like me you discovered the Byrds through the Paisley Underground and if you still retain a fondness for the Rain Parade, the Moving Targets, Bleached Black and others, then you’re going to enjoy this. There’s a moment on ‘A Parting’ that sums it all up: harmony vocals, jangling guitar falling out of tune and then alongside it a long sustained note warping into feedback - that’s the sort of thing that hooked me in the first place and fills me full of nostalgia now. ‘Too Much To Think About’ is a mixture of the Seeds ‘I Had Too Much to Dream Last Night’ and the Long Ryders ‘I Had A Dream Last Night’ going further than either into the interior of dreams, the guitars probing the sub-conscious realms with short forays away from the centre of the song prodding synapses until they end up stranded in a vast cavern with everywhere to go and nothing else to do but stop after the 10 minute journey. Tons of fuzzed guitar obscure the melody at the heart of ‘One Trip Later’ like clouds blocking the sun, with sunny bursts of pop climbing 8 miles high to break through before the effects pedals are stomped and the Angels are playing air guitar. There’s an early REM feel about ‘Taken’ in the way that everything is knitted together so that to add or subtract anything would completely change everything - then unlike them the guitars are allowed to chase off after stray notes and five minutes later we’re back to the integrated close harmonies. The closing ‘Everything Again’ is a mildly psychedelic pop song - barely three minutes of harmonies and irresistible chords that jangle courtesy of Roger McGuin and vocals by way of Gene Clark, the same template as followed on the opening ‘So Far To Fall’. So we’ve gone full circle, not heard anything new and yet the journey has got me rooting through my record collection to rediscover half-remembered songs - and more importantly plastered a huge grin across my face. www.thequarterafter.com

(Cooking Vinyl 2005) Review by Patrick Wilkins 

A (mostly) covers record from the lo-fi gloom maestros, and don’t mention the rapping. Since the Cowboy Junkies made ‘The Trinity Sessions’ in 1987, one of the landmark records of modern Americana, there have been few developments in their style. Having said that, the slow hypnotic pace, with Michael Timmins ghostly guitar swirling around the languid sensuous voice of Margo Timmins, is still a great combination, so why fix it if it aint broke? Plus they have always had an interesting way with covers, ‘Sweet Jane’ from the ‘Trinity Sessions’ is a masterpiece of interpretation, and from live shows their rendition of Springsteen’s ‘State Trooper’ is brooding, haunting and dark, and the marathon jam based on Robert Johnson’s ‘32-20 Blues’ is frightening, eerie and thrilling in equal measure. Therefore a record of mostly covers is an interesting prospect, particularly following on from the fine EP of non-originals ‘Neath Your Covers’ that came with the last record ‘One Soul Now’. That included some unexpected choices, like the Cure’s ‘Seventeen Seconds’, and this record too has some unlikely Junkies fare. This time though there is a theme. The band gathered in February this year, together with an additional Timmins, older brother John, and each member brought two or three songs to the table with the themes of war, violence, fear, greed, ignorance, and loss. Says Michael, ‘We hoped to reach a critical mass of material that would reach out and touch a couple of hearts and souls. Our goal was to create our own small document of hope’. One of a couple of traditional songs, a bluesy anti slavery lament ‘No More’ the band first played twenty years ago, and it still fits like a glove. Less comfortable is Lennon’s ‘Don’t Want To be A Soldier’ which works fine until the rapping, from guest, Rebel, cuts in, the best thing to be said about this song is, well, at least they were brave enough to give it a try! Fellow Beatle George Harrison contributes ‘Isn’t it A Pity’ which featured in live shows on the last tour, and is considerably less painful than the Lennon song. U2’s ‘The One’ doesn’t quite step out of the shadow of the original. The two Michael Timmins songs are among the best on the record, both from the ‘One Soul Now’ sessions, ‘December Skies’ is in a familiar Cowboy Junkies pattern, and ‘This World Dreams Of’ has a great, almost spoken, vocal from Margo. What might be called the usual song writing suspects appear, there’s a reasonable take on Dylan’s ‘License to Kill’, which has Margo in fits of laughter at the beginning, and we get a couple of Springsteen songs, ‘Brothers Under The Bridge’ and ‘You’re Missing’. The latter is brilliantly worked, a female vocal transforming the perspective of this simple and very moving song. Not a great Junkies record, its really one for the already converted, there are at least as many misses as there are hits, but then those that do hit, like ‘You’re Missing’ and ‘This World Dreams Of’ hit well enough to