+++++ Intermission +++++

We have reached the halfway point in the countdown, making it as good a time as any to pause for reflection on a number of matters.First off the top of my head, many of you who have been following this countdown (and I hope there are more than I imagine) will have been bemused by my choices on a number of occasions. Only the only day, I got into a discussion with a Dylan fan after I reviewed Time Out Of Mind (#53) quite scathingly. Why, he asked, if I am so critical of Dylan's work, did I plump for that album instead of something like Blonde On Blonde (1966) or Blood On The Tracks (1975)? A few of my choices have been compilations, and there are a few more to come, which many would not count as proper albums and therefore not eligible for the chart.

Sometimes, I admit, the choice comes from ignorance. In the case of Dylan, when I compiled this chart I had had little contact with his earlier work, no great sweeping knowledge of his oeuvre - that album simply happened to be in that position. Other times, my tastes would change as I wrote the entries, either because of new albums coming in or just changing my mind about songs upon closer inspection. It's an interesting process, even for someone without considerable technical knowledge such as I, to go through your music collection and justify to tastes, as if all the world were a jury.

This brings me on to the matter of late entries. I compiled this chart in August 2007, around the date of the first entry, funnily enough. Being a slow writer and an even slower critic, I did not expect to finish it by Christmas, as has become plainly obvious by the fact that, on December 15th, we are only at #51. I had to devise a system therefore to accomodate new music that I would doubtlessly absorb while this rundown was being completed. New albums coming in were scored and examined in the same way as every other, the rating derived by giving each song a score out of 5 and then averaging over the number of tracks. To have included new entries on the chart, as they surpassed existing ones, would have been both unfair and impractical, until it would have gotten to the stage where I had lost count of how many albums I had reviewed because the numbers would not correlate.

Looking at my current music collection - which stands at a meagre 4,165 songs - there are so many records which I have come to in the past few months which I wished I could have included. My fascination with Pink Floyd has led me to the solo work of Roger Waters (and David Gilmour, for entirely different reasons). Once you have experienced the psychosis of The Pros And Cons Of Hitch Hiking (1984) or the acrid, poetic treatise that is Amused To Death (1992), you are compelled to share it. David Bowie's "Heroes" (1977) was another step into the unknown - I have referenced it before but only once you have heard Eno's soundscape on that album do you really get a sense of how important an album it is. Then there is The Blue Nile, whose later efforts - Peace At Last (1996) and High (2004) - are both sublime; alas, too late. Finally, only yesterday I was exposed to Janis Joplin for the first time - I fell in love with Pearl (1971) and am scouring the net for more.

What is more, many will question the omission on my chart of so many albums which are considered 'classics'. Precisely which classic are missing I shall not say, for fear of giving the game away and thereby making the second half pointless. But I will say this. I am a great believer in subjectivity, especially when it comes to music. I don't believe that you can differentiate between songs according to absolute rules of melody, rhythm and production. These are all useful guides in their own right, but if they become the rules they serve only to mechanise music, removing all the life from it and rendering the whole process of music rather anodyne and dull.

What matters to me is what music says to different people. A piece of music, a good album for that matter, should resonate with you, describe you, challenge you and engross you. It is much the same with the choices on my chart. Some of the albums have blown me away at a single listen; others have summed me up at a particular point in my life and thereby have an historical quality; others still are good occassional listeners and mood setters. What connects them all is that they have an emotional resonance, an empathy or shock value, which puts them and keeps them close to my heart. All have their foibles, for there is no such thing as a perfect album - none of the records on here have the coveted '5 out of 5' rating. But these flaws, which become all the more miniscule as we climb, only serve to keep me interested.

The great thing about this is that people can get away with having completely incompatible tastes, both within their own collections and between each other. Some people might have a CD collection crammed to the brim with country & western - the kind of music I shudder to when it comes on. But that's okay - if they can justify their choices, just as I have done in my own small way here, then that's fine. Anything goes for anyone, so long as we accept that we have a right to be different and to disagree.

This chart, then, is not designed to be an all-encompassing, infallible judgement on music - no-one ever has or ever will manage such a feat, which is why these endless polls by the likes of Rolling Stone produce such endless and wonderful debate. This is designed to explain to you, if you will let me, my musical tastes and why these albums mean so much. I chose not to write in a personal tone ('I like this because...') since that might come across as preachy and petty; I like to have a professional air to my work, even if I have no aspirations (as yet) to pursue this field as a career.

Having got that out of the way, we must press on with the chart...

Top 100 Albums - #51: The Man Machine (1978)

Electronica pioneers Kraftwerk make their only appearance on the chart with The Man Machine, an album which produced their biggest hit in 'The Model'. Kraftwerk formed in 1970 out of the wreckage of the quintet Organisation, who released their only album, Tone Float, before splitting. Comprised originally of Florian Schneider-Esleben and Ralf Hütter, throughout the first four years the band reheased in a rented loft. It had a constantly fluctuating line-up, recruiting many sessions musicians for their sporadic live performances. After being introduced to producer-engineer Konrad 'Conny' Plank, the band began recording at his studio in Cologne. After producing the first three, largely forgotten albums, Plank left after their breakthrough Autobahn (1974) over a contract dispute. By now the band had a steady line-up of Wolfgang Flür, Karl Bartos, Schneider and Hütter. Over the next three years, the quartet steady toured and produced two critically acclaimed albums - Radio-Activity (1975), a concept album about radio, and Trans-Europe Express (1977), about Europe and the disparities between imagination and reality.

The opening track, 'The Robots', kicks the album off in supreme style. With its metallic percussion and great use of stereo, it creates the perfect soundscape for the computerised vocals. What makes this superior to anything on Trans-Europe Express - widely touted as their masterpiece - is that has a kind of sense of humour. While 'Europe Endless' or its counterparts successfully conveyed their themes by being metallic and sterile, this does the same but twists it, giving it a pop edge and thereby making it a bit more fun. The lyrics, about the futurist synthesis of man and machine, are heaps more memorable (catchy isn't the word) because they are engineered in this mildly tongue-in-cheek way. It's a masterpiece which neither drags nor cuts out too soon, and a brilliant beginning to the album.

'Spacelab' begins with the kind of wierd, electronic noises that characterised Radio-Activity. But while these were often used to form the, erm, melody in itself, here they provide a hypnotic pulse over which the keyboards and drum pads can be overlaid. And boy, does it work. The keyboards sing and shimmer their way along the bars as the riffs tumble out, creating something which is rare in electronica - a hook. If there's one thing wrong whith this song, it's that the (tinny) drum machines are a little too loud in the mix. In reality, however, this is so well put together that you most likely won't notice, or care.

Having covered man, machinery and space travel thus far, 'Metropolis' shifts the theme again, this time to urbanisation. It's clear that, as on Trans-Europe Express, Kraftwerk are trying to cram in as much as possible onto an album. This is darker, more driven, and spookier than the previous two numbers. The long, leering keyboard parts take you onto a dimly lit street, with wiry figures peering out of the shadows. Like 'Hall Of Mirrors', it's a strange and scary number, very edgy and yet so mechanical and predetermined - just how Kraftwerk should be.

'The Model' is probably Kraftwerk's most well-known and accessible song, surpassing even their (severely) edited version of 'Autobahn'. Unlike the full-flung 'Autobahn' - a humungous 22:43 - this is a much more accessible 3:43. The lyrics, as before, are in English, which is a great help; not only that, they have a inexplicable catchiness. Kraftwerk were never the most biting social commentators, but this indictment of the fashion industry is as good as anything around at the time. Above all, it's insanely danceable, being underscored as it is with a great bass line over which the higher keyboards dance.

Having been on course for a total masterpiece, we slip up on 'Neon Lights'. This reworks the same themes of 'Metropolis', only with more lyrics and less musical variation; which means that all the good bits of the previous effort are somewhat compromised. What is more, it's the longest track at 8:54, and once you put that together with its retreading of old ground, you come to see it as superfluous, a drawn-out, dishevelled half-caste in contrast to its highly refined, gleamingly efficient predecessors.

The title track closes the album in equally unsure terms. The rhythms are more attractive, the sounds are interesting, and the high-tech vocals work just as they did on 'The Robots'. But again, as the title gives away, it's retreading a theme which has already been explored. This is one flaw of the so-called 'split concept album' which Kraftwerk pioneered. Because you are dividing attention to two, often mutually exclusive subjects, there is an enormous temptation to focus too heavily on one field in each subject, underming the whole idea.

Of the classic era, The Man Machine is easily the most accessible album Kraftwerk ever made. Both Autobahn and Radio-Activity are esoteric, alienating and sterile; Trans-Europe Express is too grand, has too much of an aura to it; and Computer World (1981) reeks of self-parody. This pop edge, coming as it did at the birth of new wave music, means that all the melodies are tight and efficient; there is no room for self-indulgent experimentation. That does not mean, however, that it lacks flair; on the contrary, you can clearly sense that Hütter et al are in their prime and enjoying themselves. It's this sense of humour which lifts the record, making it more than just a standard piece of Krautrock. The Man Machine may not have the presence or grandeur of its predecessor, but's the only time when everything worked for Kraftwerk in just the right measure, before the pop world and its imitators made the innovators obsolete.

3.83 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #52: Devoted (2004)

Christian singer Liz Fitzgibbon makes a surprise appearance on the chart with Devoted, her most recent effort.Liz Fitzgibbon was born and raised in County Cork, Ireland. Through her early years she became an in-demand soloist, and began writing songs in 1997. She first came to the attention of the Christian music industry through her involvement in worship at her local church. Her synthesis of traditional Celtic motifs with modern worship attracted the powers that be at Kingsway Music, as did her sweet, pure voice. She got her big break appearing on The New Celts Volume 2 (2002). This recording helped to lay the groundwork for both the resulting albums and her work across the UK and USA, joining the likes of Iona at the forefront of contemporary Celtic Christian music.

Devoted opens with 'You Are My Strong Tower', the only track on here from The New Celts Volume 2. And it's a good choice to begin with. The beautiful piano and flute parts provide the ideal opening into which Fitzgibbon's voice fits so serenely. Her voice is purer than Iona's Joanne Hogg without losing any of its character or power. And it's better than Enya because it's authentic; you don't get the impression that every note has been tweaked and passed through a synthesiser, and you become confident that the sound will be as good live as it is on here. The production itself is tight, the lyrics are masterful and the whole product is a work of art, an ethereal start to the album.

Few artists in any genre can follow genius with genius, but that is precisely what Fitzgibbon does on 'Show Mercy'. This is slightly more conventional, insofar as it could be conceivably used as a worship song. But although it has a simple refrain and even simpler lyrics, it loses none of the power instilled by the previous track. The flute is again out in glory, and the drums are a very nice touch - like Franz van Essen in Iona, they are dynamic without being imposing. It's a glorious song, the perfect showcase for Fitzgibbon's range and her natural grace with words, as the lines tumble out of her lips like bells chiming.

On the basis of the last two tracks, 'I Need You More' might come across as a letdown. But it's not. It's a track which manages to strike a good balance between emotional tenderness and strength. It's set out in the same verse-chorus pattern of 'Show Mercy', and the lyrics are just as overtly spiritual. But the delivery of such lyrics works because it is not being done by or like a random guy with a badly tuned guitar. Equally good is 'Wash Me Clean Lord Jesus'. This is acoustic-based and bereft of drums or anything else which benefitted the last track. There is an attractive violin part put in on the quiet (and it is quiet), but once again the vocals are put at the centre, and the end result is brilliant.

'Come Down O Holy One' not only continues this trend of brilliance, but it extrapolates it. This track is closer to Iona in terms of the background music - the long, yearning strings and keyboards. And yet Fitzgibbon's voice shines through resolutely, beaming through the mix like a laser in a blizzard. Her voice is so pure and so unobtrusive that it's very hard to hate this performance, as with everything that has gone before.

The first real letdown on Devoted in 'Every Knee Shall Bow'. To describe this as 'obvious' is to do it something of a disservice, since it is a worship song and therefore is meant to be. The problem is more that the music is very flat - the drums especially - and as such there is nothing to cushion and support the vocals. It does sound like an award-winning singer, backed by a worship band which only rehearses every other month. It has a kind of Hillsongs feel to it which renders it just a bit... old hat. 'Won't You Come Lord Jesus' suffers from the same maladies. Although this is quite beautiful, especially the organ part, it just feels that bit too forced to work completely - at least set alongside its rivals.

The title track is a step back in the right direction, being as it is a return to so-called Celtic production devices. The lyrics are a little simpler this time round, but nothing is lost in the performance. The flutes here are deeper and subtler, allowing more room for the blossoming vocals. She sings about her relationship with God, and you don't have to think twice to understand the honesty which resounds from her performance.

The last third of the album proves to be a little shaky. 'What A Friend I've Found' is a rehash of a standard worship song. Delirious? covered this on King Of Fools (1997), and did a terrible job dressing it up in indie-style vocals and sub-standard guitar work. But this rendition is more freewheeling; Fitzgibbon is not boxed in or confined by the original lyrics, instead she improvises over and around them. This makes it more personal, making you satisfied that it is more than just a lazy cover of a worship song sung so many times before.

'How Long O Lord' meanwhile is below par, mostly because of its percussion section. It's way too loud for this kind of song and this kind of subject (being forsaken by God). Clearly the percussionist was getting carried away in recording, or the producer forgot to turn the volume down when putting the mix together and mastering the album. 'Sing To The Lord' is just as inferior, thought on this occassion it is because it feels too much like a rehashed worship song. It's got an acoustic guitar with regular chords, it sounds like it's being played with a rictus on its player's face, and - worst of all - it has some terrible harmonies which jar awfully.

It is a welcome relief, then, that we finish on 'Here Is Love'. Yes, it's another worship song; but yes, Fitzgibbon makes it her own. Doing the first verse in Gaelic is... sublime, even before you hear it confirmed in her voice. A beautiful song in its own right, it is lifted onto a different plane by these Celtic touches. It may be the longest track (at 5:40), but you certainly won't be bored. You might even be prompted to join in, even if reaching her registers is a physical impossibilty.

So many albums in Christian music suffer from a profound and perpetual cheesiness - their music, and their lyrics in particular, are so oblique and repetitive that they alienate all but the seasoned evangelical. Devoted, like so much of Celtic music, goes against the flow. It may be uneven in places - especially in the final third - but it's stunningly beautiful, and very well-produced. This is exactly how Christian music should be - honest, sophisticated, and not in the least sense cheesy. Not all of these songs are suited to church worship, but all are superbly well-constructed. True, compared to the likes of Iona, Devoted falls short from a musical perspective - compared to the works of Dave Bainbridge, the melodies here are quite flatlined. But Devoted still stands as one of the finest Christian records made in the last decade.

3.83 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #53: Time Out Of Mind (1997)

Bob Dylan's only entry comes at number 53, with Time Out Of Mind, widely considered to be the root of his modern-day comeback.The 1980s had not been kind for Bob Dylan. After converting to Christianity, which spawned the album Slow Train Coming (1979), he went through a 'gospel phase', releasing albums which won him audiences in the Bible Belt but few critical plaudits elsewhere. Throughout the rest of the decade his output oscillated from the acclaimed Infidels (1983) to the tiresome Knocked Out Loaded (1986). While the 1990s saw a continuation of Dylan's hectic touring schedule, it saw no new material, only endless compilations, a live album for MTV and a brace of albums containing covers of traditional roots and folk songs. This lack of new material led many to questions whether the sun had finally set on Dylan's career.

We begin with 'Love Sick', and from the start it is clear how much Dylan's voice has changed in thirty years. It's pretty ravaged, retaining its nasal character but coming across as much more weathered and its range reduced quite considerably. As indiscernable as the lyrics are becoming, the tone of the piece is more sceptical, as Dylan himself admitted: "the songs on Time Out of Mind... share a certain skepticism. They're more concerned with the dread realities of life than the bright and rosy idealism popular today."¹

Having started well, we come to 'Dirt Road Blues'. As the title suggests, this has a more transatlantic bluesy feel to it, but this is counterpointed by the strange use of an electronic organ. The sound is very distant and echoey - you feel like you are sitting in the back row of a concert where the microphones are all broken. That aside, it's a fairly run-of-the-mill 12-bar affair, and Dylan has written way too many of those in his time.

We get back on form with the next track, however. 'Standing In The Doorway' has better sound, better vocals and a better use of the organ. It's very relaxing, winding you down as you drive the long way home. Unlike earlier Dylan releases, perhaps going as far back as Highway 61 Revisited (1965), the vocals do not crowd out the (simple) isntrumental parts - the guitar and organ, not to mention the drums, are given plenty of room in this slow-tempoed number to expound their delights.

The album remains shaky, however, with 'Million Miles'. The production is again very distant; Daniel Lanois, who produced U2's The Joshua Tree (1987), demonstrates that he is at his best with rock, not folk. In fact the dodgy production prompted Dylan to self-produce all his subsequent efforts. The song itself suffers from the same calamaties as 'Dirt Road Blues': it's too formulaic, and it's too slow to produce the desire to get up and sway to a forgettable 3-minute song. Had this been quicker, it might have better.

'Tryin' To Get To Heaven' is quicker, more mellow and heaps better for it. Dylan's voice is strained to keep up, and on the higher registers he does sound a bit too much like Bluebottle from The Goon Show. Nevertheless, this is relatively catchy and has a nice refrain. Lines like When you think that you've lost everything/ You find out you can always lose a little more are the kind of lines that we have come to expect from Dylan - it's the sort that he moulded in his 1960s prime and which he has not crafted so well since 'Gotta Serve Somebody'.

''Til I Fell In Love With You' may be guilty of the echoey production of previous turkeys, but this actually works here. It makes the song more laid back, more American. It certainly makes a change for those of us who quickly tire of Dylan's shouty protest songs. The guitar sounds like it's being playing by a broken violin bow, which creates a wierd, distorted effect, juxtaposing the bluesy folk with electronic touches.

'Not Dark Yet' eclipses all that has gone before on this album. It's not so much that everything has been fixed; it's more that all the flaws - the production, the guitars, etc. - have been ironed out and turned on their heads to work. Critics have drawned comparisons between this and John Keats' 'Ode To A Nightingale'², and it's true since Dylan, in his hushed and raspy sort of way, expresses fortitude against death (ironically, since he nearly died after the album was released.). Like all Dylan classics, the lyrics become more memorable and warmer the more you listen to them and examine them. This is a classic song, which soothes you into a state of contentment as the sun goes down.

'Cold Irons Bound' has a harder, more metallic guitar as its anchor. The licks are more powerful, the drums are more powerful (if a little tinny), and Dylan growls the lyrics as best he can. Like a lot of songs on this album, this is quite a lot longer than it needs to be. However, the mood and tone of the sound is more than satisfactory in holding your interest. The only downer is that the same cannot be said for the lyrics. 'Make You Feel My Love' comes close to 'Not Dark Yet' in quality. At 3:32 it's the shortest track on the album, making it the most accessible; also, it's as heartfelt as the other tracks, and Dylan pushes his voice to convey this, even when he is clearly in pain from doing so.

The penultimate track, 'Can't Wait', falls into the same traps as 'Dirt Road Blues' and 'Million Miles' and as such falls short. It's repetitive, the production is too distant, it's Dylan in a holding pattern. Above all, it just isn't as compelling or as interesting as Dylan should be or has been on the rest of the album. We close with the mammoth 'Highlands'. This is the longest track Dylan has ever recorded, at a whopping 16:30 - so not one for the faint-hearted or the casual listener. That aside, giving the chance it's a reasonable song, a song which you think follows the straight blues formula and then subverts it just a little to make you keep listening, even with only one ear.

Time Out Of Mind is a problematic album, made all the moreso by the fact that Dylan himself has attacked it. The production is a big problem - the sound is mediocre at best, and even on the tracks where this is used to the song's advantage, it remains frustrated. Dylan's voice is still in good nick, but he chooses to sprawl out the lyrics in many slow moving songs, in contrast to Modern Times (2006), where everything is faster and tighter. The main problem with Time Out Of Mind is its pace - it's too slow, it's too long and it becomes tiresome. Nonetheless, it deserves a place in the chart because it is consistent - something which cannot be said of Dylan's career as a whole - and has a grace or fortitude to it where most of his contemporaries became weak. It should not be considered his best work, but it ranks alonside Achtung Baby as one of the best comebacks in music.

3.82 out of 5

References
¹ Bob Dylan, cited in 'Time out of Mind', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Time_Out_Of_Mind. Accessed on December 14 2007.

² Christopher Ricks, cited in ibid.

Top 100 Albums - #54: Big Calm (1998)

Morcheeba's first of three appearances on the chart comes in the shape of Big Calm, their critical and commercial breakthrough which marked their departure from 'the Bristol sound'.Morcheeba formed in the winter of 1995 by brothers Ross and Paul Godfrey, former griddle chefs from Kent. Teaming up with session vocalist Shirley Klarisse Yonavive Edwards, better known as Skye. Their debut album, Who Can You Trust? (1996) came at the height of 'the Bristol sound' (also known as trip-hop), pioneered by Massive Attack on their album Blue Lines (1991). Critical reception was warm but sales dragged while more established acts, like Massive Attack, continued to dominate. Feeling that trip-hop posed a dead end, the trio retreated to the studio to dream it all up again.

'The Sea', the album's opener, really does give a flavour of the new sound. While Who Can You Trust? was all about sterile tape loops and dark background noise, this begins with some wailing bluesy guitar and keyboards. Then the party piece comes out - Skye. Her voice is sweet, seductive and full to the brim of soul. It's not imposing, it gently warms you up, so that by the chorus you are utterly enchanted. You enjoy listening to her delivery so much that you almost overlook the copious production features, like the smooth string section on the second chorus.

Having started so well, Morcheeba continue the trend on 'Shoulder Holster'. Featuring the vocals of rapper Spikey T, this is a complete different kettle of fish. Instead of massaging you while you lie on a comfy chair, this wakes you up with its intelligent percussion and groovy beat. The lyrics are quite oblique, but that doesn't matter because the mix is just so immaculate - it's as precise as a late Steely Dan record, with an added dollop of carefree attitude. You never get bored or frustrated because it's so well-put together and yet so cool.

'Part Of The Process' is one of Morcheeba's best known songs. Although it begins with the sound of somebody farting through a keyboard, there's some lovely acoustic guitar. It also has a suave chorus: It's all part of the process/ We all love looking down/ All we want is some success/ But the chance is never around. As if this wasn't enough, this track is topped off by some at-first subtle, then flamboyant violins. It's one of those tracks which belongs on Later... with Jools Holland - it's laid back, sophisticated, interesting, and you listen with the knowledge that these are some of the best in their field.

'Blindfold' changes the mood of the album quite drastically. After some industrial-style sound effects muffled in the mix, Skye comes into her own. One interviewer once described her as "a singer... who could draw tears with her throat"¹, and he wasn't far off. Here she's not designed to chill you out or warm you up: she's in mourning, world-weary and struggling to go on. It's an amazing shift, not because it's obvious, but because it is not in the least sense artificial - you still feel that it's her, not just her being tweaked with in a studio.

But Skye cannot stay sad for long, and before you know it we've come to one of the liveliest tracks on the album. 'Let Me See' is bouncy, bold and very catchy. Skye is singing with a smile on her face, and the combined efforts of keyboard and drums on this serve to make this a clinching track on the album. There is also, for the tuned ear, a brief flute part, which sets off on the chorus and then is given an extended run in the fade-out. But never fear - Morcheeba have not magically changed into Genesis, it does nothing to damage the sound.

For those among us that are not dance-hall fanatics, 'Bullet Proof' will come as a disappointment. It's vocal-free (losing points already), it's based on a repeating loop (which becomes very annoying considering what it's a loop of), and relies on some ridiculous scratching for variety. After such a buoyant first half, this is a crushing let-down. More reminiscent of Who Can You Trust?, it has a sterile, traffic jam feel to it.

It's both a reward and a relief, then, that this song eventually gives way to 'Over & Over'. This is a splendidly different song, one of two truly five-star songs on here. With just an acoustic to accompany her (at least to start with) Skye sings so sweetly and so honesty that you cannot help but fall for her. The synthesised male vocals and the strings only add to this atmosphere, and while the lyrics are simple they are not bland, plain or synthetic, like so many half-baked numbers from this genre. It's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.

If you're a Tangerine Dream fan, you might recognise the drums at the start of 'Friction' - they must almost certainly be lifted from 'White Clouds' (see my review of The Essential Collection (2006, #86). But then the Godfrey brothers dressed up in funky drums, honky-tonk keyboards and a brass section to create almost a ska kind of a feel. The chorus to this may not have the best lyrics - Friction is turning to fire/ Friction is burning much high - but it's insanely catchy nonetheless.

We come now to 'Diggin' A Watery Grave'. Now, where the last instrumental, 'Bullet Proof', let us down, this compensates and then some. This is a dark, desolate and very atmospheric piece. With its brooding bass lines and wailing blues guitars - both acoustic and electric - you find yourself in John Steinbeck's America. You can feel the dust all around you and the rain falling in sheet with the harmonica.

It's a great piece of music, but it can't be made to match 'Fear & Love'. You might think that the strings in its intro make it too vulgar and grandiose - but Skye again proves you wrong. It's a tender masterpiece, where once again the chorus is beautiful, both in the lines themselves and the way in which Skye delivers them: Fear can stop you loving/ Love can stop your fear/ Fear can stop you loving/ But it's not always that clear. The cornet part is exquisite, matching the yearning in the singer's voice. It's the best track on the album, not just a match for 'Over & Over' but the perfect track to outshine it.

It is a great shame, with all that has gone before, that we finish on a complete turkey. The title track is another instrumental-of-sorts which lasts precisely 6 minutes - and all of them are awful. While the other ten tracks on this album have the feeling of being perfectly constructed, endlessly tinkered with until they were satisfied, this sounds like an outtake from a jamming section, being drowned in a toilet. It's a pathetic piece of self-indulgence, all echoes and effects which serve no purpose at all, except to annoy you.

As we shall discover, Big Calm is by no means and criteria Morcheeba's best album. However, there is so much good stuff on here that stands up on its own that no self-respecting critic can sweep this aside as a stopgap between the trip hop of Who Can You Trust? and the high-paced pop of Fragments Of Freedom (2000). All the elements which made Morcheeba a transatlantic success are here - the meticulous textures in the music, the serene and soulful voice of Skye, and the dedication to technical perfection which keeps them so refreshing and so lasting. Big Calm is an album that will either chill you into a nirvanic state or make you put your head close to the speakers, just to hear the sheer genius of what the Godfrey brothers have achieved.

3.82 out of 5

References

¹ 'Morcheeba Biography' (2000) - http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Morcheeba-Biography/04F36D8C3912647548256A6B000061F7. Accessed on December 11 2007.

Top 100 Albums - #55: The Ill-Tempered Klavier (2007)

At number 55 is classically-trained jazz pianist Chris Lyons, with his first solo offering, The Ill-Tempered Klavier. The title is a reference to J. S. Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier (1722), reflecting his classical influences. Chris Lyons was born in Dalkeith, Scotland in 1987. A child progidy, he began winning national composition competitions at the age of 7, and by age 10 he was performing his work for the Edinburgh Contemporary Arts Trust. Outside of music, he won the acclaimed Pushkin Prize for Poetry. After he graduated from the City of Edinburgh Music School - the youngest person ever to do so - he began working on a novel. His fascinations with jazz and the state of modern music in general has made him a bright young hopeful in the jazz scene, as proved by the performance of his Trio at the Edinburgh Jazz & Blues Festival in July 2007.

The Ill-Tempered Klavier, therefore, has a potential genius at its helm, a man whose training and expertise is otuflanked only by his dedication to music. We begin, appropriately, with '(Intro) Der Klavierspieler'. Beginning with some scintillating cascades down the keys, it's pretty harmless stuff, and at 1:22 it's the shortest track on the album. But what you do get from this is the sense of poise and the elegance which Lyons brings to the instrument.

Before you allowed to muse and mull over this any further, though, you are through up-tempo and head-first into 'Pterodactylic Hexameters' (answers on a postcard how to pronounce this). Here the vibrant dynamic drums come into play, rocking the whole thing up and about. Having demonstrated his classical prestige on the opener, Lyons uses this track to blow away all notions that he has just another stuffy chold prodigy. True, it's not the catchiest piece you'll ever hear, but it's unpredictable and doesn't get boring - just as jazz should be. And, there's some very graceful guitar at the end.

Having set the bar notoriously high, Lyons comes just a little unstuck with 'Molly's Blooming'. This does not invoke the same dignified, sophisticated rush that the previous two pieces. This has a flavour of self-indulgence to it - had this been played on something like a Minimoog, it would not have felt out of place in the ELP-end of prog rock (an area we shall we return to in due course.). It's less dynamic, it's slower and it's generally a lot less compelling. What is more, the drum part is littered with annoying bell rolls (repeatedly hitting the bell of the ride cymbal) in that stereotypical jazz fashion.

Thank goodness then that the trend is discontinued. 'Free Market Orgonomics' is an incredibly pleasant tune - you feel like you're walking in Central Park with the sun out and the flowers in bloom. But then the mood grows more cagey, just enough to quicken your step and prick up your ears so that you don't doze off, like you were listening to Eddi Reader. Here the drums and piano combine beautifully, taking what The Bad Plus pioneered and twisting around to give a refreshing, relaxing tune.

'Autotheism (Etude For Piano And Pianist)' begins like a concerto by Sergei Prokofiev, before transmuting into an uptight but balmy piano workout. Again, Lyons has chsen a cumbersome title which may serve to dissade many the casual listener. But pray, continue listening, and once you get past 1:37 the whole piece moves up the registers and becomes a great deal more playful. The 6/8 time signature is a refreshing break, if nothing else, from the 4/4 tedium of much modern music, especially from the pages of MySpace.

'Offa's Dyke' begins like the best kind of dinner party music - the kind which conjures to mind champagne and Ferrero Rocher, and finds your guests constantly inquiring as to the origins of what is playing behind them. This is a very graceful number; from the moment you hit the play button your head is soothed and your ears massaged by the sweet tones of Lyons' piano. Having said that, he doesn't let you get bored, he lulls you into a false sense of security, before the crash cymbals and off-set tom-toms let rip and make you listen all the more inquisitively.

The only other time that Lyons fall short on this album is on the next track. 'Thus Swung Zarathustra (Execution Soundtrack For A Bad Artist)' has one of the most pretentious titles since the songs of Ron Geesin's The Body (1970). Not only that, it's pretty formulaic, sounding like a relic of the Ray Ellington quartet with a Fender Stratocaster's effects overdubbed by a very clumsy editor. The piano work is not so much sloppy as indifferent, and the vibe of the piece is not one that makes you cry for more; it's one that makes you want to shout "Get on with it!".

No matter, though, because the remaining three tracks are all a delight. 'Never Crushing The Yellow Flower' has a summery romantic feel to it, the kind of music you'd listen to in a field of dandelions. Or the kind of stuff you'll see on mobile phone adverts by the middle of next year. It's a great deal punchier that a lot of its counterparts, and it rolls along like its title in the wind. Part of its appeal, without beign too derogatory, is the total absence of drums. That might make it plain, but no - instead it creates a sound that just smacks of honesty and devotion. It's a bit like the Red House Painters, but without the dreary vocals.

If you're left pining for the drums however, don't despair. 'Everything You Know (I Taught You)' is a great chance for the drum section to show off, which it does in spades - there are some beautiful rock triplets near the start. The rhythm is often displaced but in a very good way - rather than startle you like it might in rock, because this is jazz you are more relaxed by it. The feeling that no-one is in control lifts you to a different state, and you go from strolling around Paris to reclining in the clouds. (True, there are no accords to make it completely Parissian, but then Lyons is no Yann Tiersen).

To close this remarkable album, we have 'The Advent Of The Artist Tyrants'. While most of the preceding tracks have been flung right at you, this is quieter - it creeps up on slowly with its low minor chords and then rocks you gently in its arms - like you're in a hammock under the full moon. The drums are again given a back seat, reduced to cymbals and soft toms only, but this only heightens the mood - until the piece goes through another motion and it all changes. All of which serves to create something truly great.

Lyons may not have the sense of humour in his playing as his contemporaries The Bad Plus (listen to their rendition of 'Chariots Of Fire' on Suspicious Activity? (2005) if you need convincing). But that does not reduce him to a dour, troubled and mind-numbingly serious composer, doing this project to off-set the tedium of a marketing degree.² The Ill-Tempered Klavier is the perfect combination of classical finesse with the improvised nature of jazz and the groove of rock. In an interview with The Herald in July, Lyons was compared to Gentle Giant, the forgotten pioneers of prog rock. And yes, the talent and the sounds are quite similar. But the most appealing thing about this album is that it's forward thinking. This is not a record designed to buy time while its composer goes off and reinvents jazz in his head. This is him reinventing it now, on paper and on record. This combination of talent and ambition is why Chris Lyons is destined become one of the most important figures in 21st-century jazz.

3.80 out of 5

References
¹ Rob Adams, 'Mane man roars about his inviting vision of jazz' (July 27 2007) - http://www.theherald.co.uk/features/features/display.var.1576826.0.0.php. Accessed on December 10 2007.
² Ibid.

Top 100 Albums - #56: Aladdin Sane (1973)

Bowie's sixth and penultimate entry is Aladdin Sane, the follow-up to The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars (1972) and the closing chapter of his glam rock phase.Ziggy Stardust, both the album and the personality, had turned Bowie into a glam rock superstar. Having had some small flirtations with fame in the three years preceding - 'Space Oddity' and 'The Man Who Sold The World' being singles highlights - he had until now remained a kooky figure, sought after by producers but on the commercial sidelines. Ziggy Stardust changed that, producing five hit singles and a series of extravagant, sell-out tours, featuring Bowie in his now-trademark red hair and androgynous, flared outfits. Between tours, Bowie turned producer on Transformer (1972) - Lou Reed's solo breakthrough - and The Stooges' Raw Power (1972), both artists being icons of Bowie. After frenetic touring, the Spiders from Mars finally returned to the studio after Christmas.

'Watch That Man' kicks the album off. It's a great guitar-driven glam rock song in the same vein as 'Suffragette City'. It sounds very similar in its pattern of verses and choruses, and Bowie's delivery is almost identical. Then again, it is supposed to, being the sequel to Ziggy Stardust (albeit without a storyline). Plus, there is some stylish piano from guest Mike Garson, and the female vocals stand very well with the harder, rockier sound.

Having disposed in a single track of all the folk-induced whimsy he had acquired over the past two years, Bowie changes gear on the title track. 'Aladdin Sane (1913-1938-197?)' may have one of the strangest (full) titles in the business - outside of psychedelic music, that is. The dates in the title refer to Bowie's belief in an impending World War III (the character is 'born' before both WWI and WWII). This is slower, more piano-driven and features some lovely saxophone, played by Brian Wilshaw. In the instrumental section, both combine alternately to produce an excellent piece of avant-garde jazz. The witty title disguises the increasingly unhinged nature of Bowie's lyrics, to the extent that you feel like he is singing about himself.

However masterful these changes of direction may be, they are put to shame by the next track. 'Drive-In Saturday' is a tribute to Bowie's taste for strange concepts driven by the lyrics. The words depict a world where people are having to learn to have sex again by watching old pornography. It's a piece of 'futuristic nostalgia', that is, people in the future longing for the past (presumably, it was an influence on ELO, whose album Time (1981) addresses the same themes). But the success, or brilliance, of this song, does not have to come with an understanding of the lyrics; you can sit there and not comprehend a word Bowie is saying, and yet the chord progression will reel you in. It's a staggering song, jazzy, pop-worthy but also of so much substance.

'Panic In Detroit' is a big step backward on the album. As its title suggests, it is much closer to American rock of the time, and as a result all of Bowie's English charm is drowned out by distortion. The lyrics are as indiscernable as they are uncompelling. Sure, it manages to create a nice rhythm, leading to you to nod your head: but it's bottom heavy, there is nothing coming from Bowie to bolster and conflict with the armour-plated Spiders From Mars.

'Cracked Actor' is, to be perfectly honest, rubbish. It's a combined rip-off of The Rolling Stones (guitars and boring drums) and Bob Dylan (terrible harmonica), while Bowie gurns his lines about an ageing film star having a homosexual encounter. If you can bear this long enough to peer through the pea soup, you might be surprised by its quality. Most, however, will be too frustrated to care because of this song's complacency.

Such blemishes aside, 'Time' is a good way to get the album back on track. While perhaps not as famous as its namesake (released a month earlier by a certain band), it does feature some great lyrics. The most celebrated, Time... falls wanking to the floor serves to intrigue only, while in general they provide a beeline to Bowie's motivation, desiring to change with mind of his impending end. The sniper in the brain/... incestuous and vain provides a fairly good example of this. Where the music is concerned, Garson's piano is thunderous and atmospheric, and Mick Ronson's guitar tragedian, producing a song that would have sat just as well on Diamond Dogs (1974).

'The Prettiest Star' is a trashy, thrashy, self-indulgent piece of nonsense. It's a relic of 1960s doo-wop with its 'bah, bah' backing vocals, with contemporary guitar shoved over the top in an attempt to continue the album's style. Not only that, but it's not original to the album - the single was an unsuccessful follow-up to 'Space Oddity' in 1970, which featured Marc 'T.Rex' Bolan on guitar. It's as if Bowie was so short on time that he just picked the most convenient sounding item out of his back catalogue and shoved it inbetween two throughly decent songs. (The stripped-down acoustic version, found on The Platinum Collection (2005), is a mild improvement).

Maybe "thoroughly decent" is underdoing it. 'Let's Spend The Night Together' is a cover, from The Rolling Stones, so it already has the flavour of the album. But this is miles better than the Stones version. While that was just a snail's-pace R&B workout with lazy work from Mick Jagger, this is a high-speed, high-octane rampage which tears apart your ears and then reassembles them as you jive away. It throws you around the room with the jaunty piano, Ronson's loud distortion acting as a plunger on a stack of dynamite. Mike Woodmansey's work on the drums is brilliant, and with Bowie on the best of form the four-piece create a piece of musical ecstacy.

'The Jean Genie', the first single to be culled from the album, is billed as a combination of the R&B hooks of The Yardbirds with the "stylised sleaze" of The Velvet Underground.¹ It features a great riff, executed to perfection by Ronson, and for once the harmonica part on the record doesn't make your toes curl so much that they end up on the other side of your heels. It's a great, thundery piece of pop rock, including a very melodic bass line, something which most pop is without.

What a shame then, that on this most divisive of albums, Bowie chooses to end with something as stupid as 'Lady Grinning Soul'. This song's comparison with a Bond theme (and the similarities are obvious) don't serve to elevate it; instead it is reduced to cult status for some, mediocrity for the rest. It drags Bowie down to the same level as Duran Duran and, for heaven's sake, Madonna. Who the hell wants to bracketed alongside them?! To take a more objective criticm, the production is terribly skewed towards the Franz Liszt-induced piano, drowning Bowie out at almost every turn.

Bowie described Aladdin Sane as "Ziggy goes to America", on account of the fact that all the songs were written while the band was on the road.² That might help to explain both why the album was very popular in America, and why the press have always been in two minds about it. For some, it is a great departure from the glam rock era; for others, it is an album with style but no substance, the musical equivalent of David Cameron. The best way to pass judgement on it is to compare it with its predecessor. The character may be effectively the same, but Aladdin Sane has no overlying concept - it's not a rock opera. But it's better than Ziggy Stardust because musically it has a lot more substance and variety, even at the cost of being a more united album. It may not have a concept, but then the storyline on Ziggy Stardust was so convoluted that it became lost in the melody. Here, the melody is within set boundaries which allow the lyrics to burst forth and create something a lot more memorable, and a lot more enduring.

3.80 out of 5

References

¹ Roy Carr & Charles Shaar Murray, Bowie: An Illustrated Record (London: Avon Books, 1981), p.52 - cited in 'The Jean Genie', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Jean_Genie. Accessed on December 9 2007.

² Nicholas Pegg, The Complete David Bowie (London: Reynolds & Hearn, 2000), pp.281-3 - cited in 'Aladdin Sane', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aladdin_Sane. Accessed on December 8 2007.