Top 100 Albums - #37: Funeral (2004)

Arcade Fire's first of two entries comes in the shape of their debut album, Funeral.
The origin of Arcade Fire can be traced back to 1995, when 15-year-old Win Butler formed a band with classmates Josh Deu and Tim Kile while at the Phillips Exeter Academy, New Hampshire. Butler went on to study creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College, New York, and later moved to McGill University, Montreal. It was here that he met Régine Chassagne, a Canadian with Haitian roots, and they were married in 2003. Around 2003 the band's line-up solidified around Butler (guitar, vocals), his brother William (synthesiser, bass) and Chassagne (piano, xylophone). They were joined by Richard Reed Barry (double bass, guitar), Tim Kingsbury (guitar, bass), Sarah Neufeld (violin) and Howard Bilerman (drums). The band released a self-titled EP in mid-2003, originally only sold at gigs but since remastered and re-released. Taking their name from a fire in the Exeter arcade, the band spent the remainder of 2003 and early 2004 recording their debut album for Merge Records.

This critically-acclaimed album kicks off with the first of four 'Neighbourhood' tracks. 'Neighbourhood #1 (Tunnels)' kicks off with some tragically struck piano and mournful guitars. Butler's voice may come across as weak and unintelligible to those unfamiliar either with the band or with the genre of alternative rock, but bear with it, because in the higher registers it begins to come into its own. The guitars become more savage as the song wears on, counterpointed by the twinkling keyboards and the smash of the half-open hi-hat. It's a good start, subtly imposing it self upon your consciousness.

'Neighbourhood #2 (Laïka)' begins with one of the most memorable drum beats of recent years. The floor tom and snare pattern ricochets through the mix as the accordion intervenes. This is the first time we see both Butler and Chassagne on vocals, and the first impression is that it works, a good balance of Butler's strained yearning and Chassagne's laid-back reediness. The lyrics are not immediately clear, but eventually you come to realise their significance in what is essentially an allegory of the Russian space mission of 1957 which put Laika into space.

'Une Année Sans Lumière' literally translates as 'a year without light', and there's plenty of French to go around in this track. It's more down-tempo and guitar-oriented than the previous track, like a hybrid between indie (in its drums) and folk rock (guitar) - except in the final third where it suddenly turns a bit rockabilly. Butler's voice is weaker here, a fact that could either be taken as him being more vulnerable or being lazy. The jury is out.

The verdict on 'Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out)' is clear, though. This is an articulate and immaculately executed song, which shows off the eclecticism and versatility of the whole seven-piece. Chassagne oscillates between kooky xylophones and stern keyboards while Butler thunders on and the violins and guitar create the creaking, agèd texture which suits the song to a tee. Then the jagged guitar riff kicks in at 2:16 and the classic becomes complete. The brooding atmosphere fits the subject matter(s); the most obvious meaning that can be attached can be the growing apathy among humanity in the face of duplicitous leaders: the power's out in the heart of man/ Take it from your heart, put it in your hand is a worthy and timely message for the iPod generation.

It is such a shame, then, that the final 'Neighbourhood' track is such a big let-down. 'Neighbourhood #4 (7 Kettles)' not only has the strangest title of all four such tracks, but it comes across as almost embarrassed of itself. Unlike #3, which rose to the occasion and filled the mix, this shies away with the screeching violins and even screechier acoustic guitar. The sound of a squeaky chord change is one of the most irritating and commonplace sounds in alternative rock. This comes across as an almost unashamed parody of Radiohead, circa The Bends (1995), and like most of Radiohead the lyrics take way too long to come out of their shell, even if they do emerge as quite good in the end.

Things get back on track with 'Crown Of Love', largely because the dark, foreboding textures have returned. The violins have been put back in tune to add to the mourning - as befits the album title - and the piano is deep, grand and sonorous. Butler is back on form as well, producing a great chorus:

If you still want me, please forgive me
The crown of love has fallen from me
If you still want me, please forgive me
Because the spark is not within me

Add in a perfectly executed tempo change in the last minute of the song and you begin to fall back in love with this band. Sadly, it is a love that they spurn so readily with their next two songs. While 'Wake Up' may thematically be a cornerstone of the album, as a song in its own right it comes across as rather impotent, filled with enough oh, oh, oh-oh-oh-ohs to serve as a bed on a dozen radio shows. It is has also, like so much recent indie, been mercilessly overplayed, and there is a fine line between a song being instantly recognisable and a song being boring. Finally, the music hall piano at the end really winds you up. 'Haiti' suffers from a different set of problems. The drums, especially the snare, is straight out of the 1980s, with its dodgy echoed production and oh-too-crisp sound. The keyboards are too weird to do justice to this subject matter (the dictatorship of Jean-Claude Devalier, a.k.a. Bébé Doc). And while Chassagne's vocals come across as great when read on paper, they are drowned out in the studio. What a shame.

Do not despair, though, because we now come to the best track on the album. This was the track, during their performance on Later... with Jools Holland,¹ that kick-started their career in Britain, and it's not hard to see why. If 'Neighbourhood #3 (Power Out)' blasts through into your skull with its jagged guitars, 'Rebellion (Lies)' creeps very slowly up your spine until the sadness, fear and helplessness take control. The lingering keyboards act as a pulse over which Bilerman can open the taps a little bit. Butler's lyrics, about goverment propaganda are superb once again; the structure is so strict and formal, and yet not one of the lines comes across as compromised by rhyme or rhythm. The opening lines - Sleeping is giving in/ No matter what the time is - are among the best written this side of the millennium, and even the more trivial lines like Come and hide your lovers/ Underneath the covers scans as powerful poetry. There is no fault to this song whatsoever, it is an unassailable masterpiece.

The album winds slowly down with 'In The Backseat', again sung by Chassagne. And while it cannot hold a candle to its predecessor, it feels good. This time, the lyrics are given the space to breath, so you can (for the most part) get the message. It feels tight, poised and delicate, and even at the very top of her range there is not a hint of straining from Chassagne. Occasionally, the drums get too much and the mix gets too heavy, but otherwise it serves as a fitting finale.

Funeral's greatest irony is that it gave Arcade Fire the life and success they need when its themes and recordings are marred by death. The fear of government, the war on terror and the death of self-hope and confidence are perfectly encapsulated in these ten songs; and death within the families of so many of the band members adds further to the atmosphere of mourning. It is this unique combination of the personal and the political which makes this album such a rare joy. Most overtly political albums can seem very abstract, distant, and with little humanity in them which the listener can grab hold of. Likewise, many of the personal records in rock and elsewhere are so individual and introspective that they become absolutely impenetrable and no greater issues can be drawn from them. What Arcade Fire have done with Funeral is put the two poles together almost by accident, and created one of the finest pieces of musical social comment that we are ever likely to see.

3.90 out of 5

References
¹ http://youtube.com/watch?v=42g4T_tZPTA. Accessed on June 4 2008.

Top 100 Albums - #38: Send Away The Tigers (2007)

Welsh rockers Manic Street Preachers' only appearance on the chart is also their most recent effort, widely seen by critics as a return to form after the limp-wristed Lifeblood (2004).
After the mysterious disappearance of guitarist Richey Edwards in February 1995, the Manics regrouped and entered a period of critical and commercial success. Everything Must Go (1996) was shortlisted for the Mercury Prize, and was snapped up by the growing lad culture, who presumably missed the irony of the line We don't talk about love/ We only wanna get drunk in 'A Design For Life'. The follow-up, This Is My Truth, Tell Me Yours (1998), contained the No.1 single 'If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next', written about the Spanish Civil War. The band recorded their second No. 1 with 'The Masses Against The Classes' in 2000. After this great crest of popularity, the band's work grew more inconsistent, with both Know Your Enemy (2001) and Lifeblood (2004) being written off as insipid and inconsistent. Following a two-year break to focus on solo projects - including James Dean Bradfield's The Great Western (2006) - the band returned to the studio to regroup.

We kick off with the title track, and it's instantly clear how far this band have come. Don't be put off by the 1970s organ opening, this a beautiful combination of their punk and metal roots dressed up in the dignity of alterative rock. The lyrics may not be especially compelling, especially well they've been coated in some annoying reverb. But the drums are straight and true, and the guitar is deep and menacing, especially at the end of the choruses. Most impressive of all, though, is Bradfield's voice. It remains as rich and politicised as the glory days of the band in the late-1990s.

With 'Underdogs', the mood temporarily switches to toned-down indie, with all its squashed snare work and near-whispered lyrics. But before this becomes even remotely irritating, the whole mix explodes in a ball of socialist fire. The chorus follows the punk formula of short, loud and simple; it's the formula that made them famous and it still works today, producing a cocktail of passion, angst and violence designed to blow your head to smithereens.

'Your Love Alone Is Not Enough' can came across as perturbing. The vocals are shared with Nina Persson, lead singer of Swedish pop group The Cardigans, hardly the most credible force in music today. And the song pattern is more pop than punk, with its frequent breaks and light refrains. You even have overworked lyrics, which reference both Pink Floyd - trade all your heroes in for ghosts - and the band's past glories - you stole the sun straight from my heart. But if you can overlook all of these, hard as it may seem, you have a good midsummery number. It might be a little forgettable, but the feel of the piece just about redeems it.

Enough being generous. 'Indian Summer' doesn't need to pass on feel, it's good in its own right. Bradfield isn't singing at his clearest, but the way in which this is put together feels tighter than before. The lead-in to the chorus showcases the talent of Sean Moore on drums, as he plays with both tightness and brio. The guitars sound good and everything is crisply produced, preventing it from dragging at all. 'The Second Great Depression' isn't all that bad either. If anything, its overtly political nature marks it out an improvement. This feels like an old-school Manics song, though not quite along the same lines as 'The Masses Against The Classes'. The slower tempo means that it is also nowhere near as good, but still packing a fair punch.

It is from this point onwards that we get into dodgier territory. 'Rendition' may be political in image, but the punch is slipping away, being replaced by everything noisy and obnoxious that makes punk such a difficult genre (something that was, perhaps, designed to be). This is too chaotic, too frenetic and without anything to tie their rage down. Like Green Day's most recent work, it comes across sound and fury, signifying very little than hadsn't already been said by better musicians and writers.

Having tossed up such a turkey, we somehow get 'Autumnsong'. And it sounds like a whole different band, as if in a single song the band had gone forward ten years in experience and talent. The opening chords are sublime, screechingly high and yet so easy on the ease. The lyrics are better too - wear your love like it is made of hate is one of the most skillfully crafted lines of 2007. This may be a summery song, in both title and subject, but it blows everything else of this category out of the water. It may be just as simple as 'Your Love Alone Is Not Enough', but here, without stupid extra vocals and with a lot more substance, you get your money's worth. This is the Manics at the best, taking the angst-ridden rawness of the band members' emotions and chanelling through the music to create something which never drags or rushes, never bores, and always thrills.

'I'm Just A Patsy' is political - the title comes from Lee Harvey Oswald - and it may sounds like a riot. But again the punch, the climax never comes. Listening to this song is a bit like driving an Aston Martin V8 Vantage - it sounds amazing, it looks good, but when you put your foot down and demand speed, it never really comes, and you are left ever so slightly empty, and out of pocket. It's a good thing, then, that 'Imperial Bodybags' is a real belter. This is the first track on the album on which the political content properly works. The reason is simple: it's more subtle, tinged with suggestion and irony amid the metallic rhythm guitar and dark thump of the bass. The chorus is reminiscent of 'A Design For Life', and the result is that this album is completely back on track.

The closer is a double whammy, with 'Winterlovers' and a cover of John Lennon's 'Working Class Hero'. The former, with its Na na naa footballers' opening, is a sure-fire anthem. The chorus is catchy, and although, like most of the album, it is written in 4/4, the result does not come across as even slightly tedious. To call it that would be to do it a disservice. 'Working Class Hero', which is in itself an good-to-average song, is given a kick up a backside to produce a punk anthem. To use the car analogy again, this is like taking a moped engine and fitting it with a supercharger and active exhuasts. It's a great way to finish.

Although it marks a return to the glory days for the Manic Street Preachers, in terms of critical acclaim and commercial success, it seems strange to compare it to any of their previous work. Not because it is in any way a massive departure; to put it harshly, it could be described as a return to the formula which made them famous. Instead, this is the first Manics album of recent years in which they appear content in their position within the industry. This doesn't sound like a middle-aged rock album, but you get the sense that all talk of burning out and disappearing is gone, completely. The band are no longer kidding themselves that they are now an established and successful act, and they seem to be content with that. And with the quality of material they have produced here, let's hope that this continues to be the case for a long time to come.

3.90 out of 5

¹ 'Manic Street Preachers', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Manic_Street_Preachers. Accessed on May 22 2008.

Top 100 Albums - #39: Us (1992)

At number 39 is Peter Gabriel's Us, his long-awaited follow-up to So (1986) and his seventh of nine entries.So brought Gabriel commercial success, something he undoubtedly deserved but didn't know how to deal with. Like his former bandmates, who left a gap of five years before the release of We Can't Dance (1991), Gabriel chose not to capitalise on his new-found fame with a quick follow-up. Being a man for whom the phrase 'more of the same' is completely anathema, he instead devoted his energies to humanitarian causes, beginning with tours for Amnesty International in 1986 and 1988. During this time he also put in a performance at The Secret Policeman's Third Ball in 1987, for the same organisation, playing 'Biko' to close the concert. After recording Passion (1989) for Martin Scorsese, Gabriel suffered a series of personal tragedies which led to extensive periods in therapy and a lot of scope for new material.

This impossible sequel begins with 'Come Talk To Me', and like 'Red Rain', the opener on So, this starts softly and then starts to unfold with a nervous swagger. Featuring Sinead O'Connor on vocals, this song describes Gabriel's troubled relationship with his first daughter, Anna. And while it cannot come close to 'Red Rain' in terms of raw spiritual power, it's still a great song to start things off; its lyrics unfold at a pace which is leisurely enough for you to appreciate the richness of the mix. Not only is Gabriel's voice perfectly complimented by O'Connor, but the production (the work of Daniel Lanois) means that it is clearer than ever before - and he's at the peak of his powers.

Having started on a lively note, we take things down a bit with 'Love To Be Loved'. Opening with some attractive tabla (a Hindu variant of the bongos), this is again a very easy listener. And like the last song, this swells very gradually, teasing you and yet rewarding you at the end. Here Peter is on his own, but that doesn't matter one bit, because the voice is good and the lyrics are verging on catchy. The chorus in particular has a great structure which blends seamlessly with the verses to form one fully functioning unit. And while he may not be pushing the limits of his vocal registers to any great extent or frequency, his voice still radiates power and the final workout is incredible.

Well, not quite. 'Blood Of Eden' is an incredible track. As you would expect from the title, there are Biblical tones here, but don't think for one minute that this is a preachy foot-stomper. Quite the opposite. Opening with some tender violins and sweet guitar, this is a eulogy for humanity. And what an eulogy - Peter pours his heart and soul into this song, with lyrics that stick in your throat and almost bring you to tears. The chorus is depectively simple, and yet completely breaktaking: In the blood of Eden/ Lie the woman and the man/ With the man in the woman/ And the woman in the man etc. The break after the second chorus is proof of Peter's ability - not just in the way in which he holds the high cry but the passion which goes into it. O'Connor's harmonies on the chorus are sublime, slotting in perfectly to create a true heart-surger. This is one of the album's defining tracks: it's carefully constructed, given the space it needs to breathe and develop - and as a result it's flawless.

After all that tearjerking serenity, we need something a bit more exciting. And 'Steam' does just that. Often derided as simply "Son of 'Sledgehammer'"¹, in reality it's so much more. This may have won awards for innovation in video, just like it's dad, and like its dad it is a song with sexual overtones. But unlike 'Sledgehammer' this is not overplayed and overidentified with the 1980s. This helps it to stand better on its own, and given the chance to do that, it shines. Its pulsating drum beat, combined with David Rhodes' visceral guitar, create a sharp pulse over which rides the distinctive bass of the masterful Tony Levin. Meanwhile, Gabriel's lyrics are cheeky, inviting you to form your own conclusions.

After doing so well, we hit an obstacle with 'Only Us'. This wierd intro sees a combination of flashy electronic effects, faint guitar and echoed world vocals. And that more or less sets the tone for the rest of the track, which is as murky as hell. Trying to make sense of this track is like trying to navigate through a labyrinth with your eyes closed. And even once you've established that you won't understand it, and sit back to try and appreciate the feel of things, you are left with at least four wasted minutes as it leaves you unfulfilled.

Thankfully, 'Washing Of The Water' is a definite return to form. The song starts off very mellow, with just a lilting drum beat and almost whispered lyrics. But this will not send you off to sleep. Gabriel offers up exhilirating vocals, backed by the graceful piano whose notes glide like a boat on a lake. It's a serene, relaxing tune which swells to its emotional conclusion with an expression of contentment on its face. It may well be the shortest track, at 3:52, but it unwinds to its conclusion without a drag or a rush.

'Digging In The Dirt' is more serious, more angry, more brooding. It's not sinister enough to make your hair stand on end, but you are made to feel claustrophobic. Then, just when you think you've adjusted, the anger explodes and you are plunged into the terrifying chorus. This achieves the unusual feat of being an aggressive, dark rock song which manages to come across as tender, all without a hint of slush. The rage suits Gabriel's raspy registers, and the result is an all-round great.

Unfortunately, the next two tracks are decidely half-cocked, in more ways than one. 'Fourteen Black Paintings', described by Rolling Stone as "music for Third World airports"², is poor. With its lonely duduk (an Armenian woodwind instrument, like a clarinet in sound), this is muddled and, like 'Only Us', jam-packed with echoed vocals. It feels misdirected, like Gabriel is just dumping world music in the mix to serve as continuity. 'Kiss That Frog' is even worse, though. This is a song where, as soon as you know what the lyrics are about*, you can't listen to it again. Unlike 'Steam', which was clever, this is completely shameless. It's Gabriel growing old disgracefully - and it isn't pretty.

Thank God, though, for the closer. Not only does Gabriel redeem himself with 'Secret World', he sets the bar even higher for next time. At 7:03 you certainly get your money's worth, but more than this, this is the distilling of the album into a microcosm of absolute joy. The opening tittilates you with its playful guitar, lingering keyboards and methodical drums, courtesy of Manu Katche. Then Gabriel comes in, and you instantly recognise his honesty. The third verse is amazing - In this house of make-believe/ Divided in two, like Adam and Eve. And again in the chorus - In all the places were we hiding love/ What was it we were thinking of?. This is spectacular live, as the Secret World tour proved, it makes your heart race and your face brighten. It's a masterpiece, unequivocally.

While So easily passed as a singles album which you could dip in and out of, Us requires your full and unmitigated attention. It is hardly surprising, for an album that took six years to make; indeed a work any less meticulous might have been a disappointment. But rather than being an obsessive, difficult work, like The Final Cut (1983, #49), this is as rewarding and as empowering as its predecessor, if not more so (no pun intended). As you would expect from such a personal work, there are times when the quality slips, either because the material becomes impenetrable or the subject matter makes you flinch. But at its heart, Us is a passionate odyssey through human emotion and the rollercoaster of relationships. It deserves a place in any collection, where it may unwind over the years, delighting you with something new every single time you play it.

3.90 out of 5

References
¹ Greg Kot, 'Us', http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/petergabriel/albums/album/301075/review/6067873. Accessed on April 16 2008.
² Ibid.
* Fellatio

Top 100 Albums - #40: The Good Son (1990)

The second of four entries from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds is The Good Son, which retells the parable of the two sons from the point of view of the elder son.
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds formed out of the wreckage of post-punk pioneers The Birthday Party, who split in 1983. Former members Nick Cave and Mick Harvey quickly assembed Blixa Bargeld (guitar), Hugo Race (guitar) and Barry Adamson (bass/ piano) and released their debut album, From Her To Eternity (1984). From this a string of albums followed which charted Cave's devout Christianity (The Firstborn Is Dead, 1985), his love of American music (Kicking Against The Pricks, 1986), and his battle with heroin addiction (Your Funeral... My Trial, 1986). The band, like King Crimson and Jethro Tull, had a constantly fluctuating line-up, with only Cave and Harvey remaining throughout. The release of Tender Prey (1988) set the trend for most future Bad Seeds recordings, linking these common strands together for the first time.

'Foi Na Cruz' opens the album, bringing with it some acoustic guitar and multi-dubbed vocals. This is loosely based on a Brazilian hymn, whose title translates as 'it was on the cross'. It's hardly a convincing start, with its slow-strum guitar and ponderous vocals. But eventually Cave's weary baritone rises to the challenge and staggers through the verses drenched in melancholy and bitter abandon. Backed by a Hammond organ part played with the subtle brilliance of Matthew Fisher (ex-Procol Harum), it's not five-star Bad Seeds but this remains a worthy start.

Now to the title track, and oh dear. Not only is the gospel opening enough to grate your nerves to shreds, but then Cave insists on setting his crooked syllables and thought pattern against an irritating snare roll and other more thundery percussion. The chorus drags terribly, lacking inspiration; and while Cave's lyrical style might have worked on something like 'Tupelo' or 'The Carny', here it comes across as all muddled and confused. This is not what we have come to expect from the enigmatic Australian.

Hereoin in, though, things slowly get better. Having vomited up enough gospel for the moment, Cave reverts to what he does best; introspective-sounding, piano-laden ballads with a twist. 'Sorrow's Child' is just this. The style and delivery of this, while a little heavier than his stuff from the late-1990s, is enthralling; as the verses tumble through your ears you are soothed and challenged in equal message. This sounds like the starting point for '(Are You) The One That I've Been Waiting For?' - elegant, soft in its instrumentation and complementary towards Cave's knarled tones.

'The Weeping Song' continues the promising trend with yet more piano. Well, not quite - it's a vibraphone. As well as this, this is not just Cave taking the mike; Bargeld joins him to sing the part of the father. And yet you'd never tell without reading the sleeve notes, since they sound so similar. There are some lovely touches here, like the timpanis which thunder through the off-beats at the end of each stanza, and the mournful-sounding hand claps that lead you teasingly into the chorus. The lyrics are good, too: "Father, why are all the women weeping?"/ "They are all weeping for their men"/ "Then why are all the men there weeping?"/ "They are weeping back at them".

After digging halfway through the unrelenting melancholy, we come across a particle of joy. 'The Ship Song', like its predecessor, is now a Bad Seeds standard - and it doesn't take a music critic to see why. Its tender piano opening comes across as crisp and smooth around the edges. The ghostly male backing vocals are absolutely ethereal, offset against Cave who shakes off the bitterness and irony for just a minute and croons from the gut. The whole band feels tight, allowing the choruses to swell with the drums and the verses to slide down to a crawl as the vibraphone takes control. More than anything else, though, this is an old-fashioned love song, a hymn from Cave to God and his lover, without the trappings of a slushy hit. It's magnificent.

Back to darkness now, and 'The Hammer Song'. This is much more typical of the 1980s Bad Seeds sound - unrelenting in its production, creepy in its vocals and deep and resounding in its percussion. The insistent xylophone and stricken violins only add to this mood as the song swells and reaches its climax. Like a lot of Bad Seeds songs, the meaning of the lyrics (or, for that matter, the lyrics themselves) get lost in the mood. But that doesn't matter so much, because the desired effect is there; this song is designed to shock you out of your senses, which is precisely what it achieves.

On the surface, 'Lament' seems like a calming of the storm, another relaxing love song. In fact, this is the love-child of the last two songs - the stricken violins from 'The Hammer Song' are there, along with the anxious delivery from Cave. But in the midst of this is the soothing, sumptuous chorus:

So dry your eyes
And turn your head away
Now there's nothing more to say
Now you're gone away

It may not be the most accomplished piece of poetry that Cave is capable of. But once again it serves its purpose. And once again, like on 'The Ship Song', we get a chilled-out fade-out to end the song.

After keeping it under lock and key for so long, the gospel gene rears its head again with a vengeance. 'The Witness Song' takes its inspiration from the American gospel number 'Who Will Be A Witness?' and the whole album suffers for it. Not only is this a confused and stupefying number on its own, but it throws the whole record off course. By dressing his performance in every cliché of the Deep South, the entire romantic and heartfelt atmosphere Cave has painstakingly created is cast aside in favour of a quick dance. It's pathetic.

But fear not, oh ye of little faith, for this is not the end. 'Lucy' closes the album by returning to that mood. And while the recovery can never be complete after that travesty of a song, this is a staggeringly good attempt. Roland Wolf's piano is fuller and richer than Cave's, allowing him to swell and kiss the violins in the heavenmost registers. The lyrics are enchanting in their feel and in their message, when you are distracted enough to make them out. As closers go, this is right up there with the best. Even with the harmonica at the end.

The Good Son, despite its Biblical overtones, should not be seen as a concept album. Cave comes from the post-punk generation which fought to rid the world of such things, and in any case the narrative - if such a feat is attempted - is hard to discern if you don't know the story already. As a collection of songs, then, this album generally comes out very well. The gospel elements don't work, as if to prove that white musicians cannot do black music justice. But above and beyond that, it's beautiful, with some of the finest piano ballads of recent times. Above all though, this album serves as a pivot between the uber-aggressive menace of the 1980s and the calmer introspection of the 1990s. Perhaps it is best to view this album as the grandfather to The Boatman's Call (1997). This is rougher around the edges, but all the emotion, sincerity and grandeur are here, waiting to endlessly enthrall you.

3.89 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #41: So (1986)

Peter Gabriel's sixth chart entry comes in the shape of So, his most commercially successful solo offering.

After the release of Peter Gabriel 4 (1982, #80), which fully exhibited his new found love for world music, Gabriel devoted his energies to the creation of World of Music, Arts and Dance (WOMAD), an organisation devoted to the promotion of world music artists. To help fund the project in its initial years, fans were treated to a one-off Genesis reunion in late 1982 at the National Bowl, Milton Keynes; both Gabriel and Steve Hackett (who left the band in 1977) joined the band playing under the name Six of the Best. Gabriel went on to accompany David Bowie on his Let's Dance tour, pausing only to put out Plays Live (1983), culled from the tour of his fourth album. In 1985 Gabriel worked on the soundtrack to Alan Parker's Birdy (1985), produced by Daniel Lanois. A protégé of Brian Eno - who contibuted to The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway (1974) - he would go on to produce both Gabriel's next album and U2's The Joshua Tree (1987).

So opens with the sound of a hi-hat, intricately played by Stewart Copeland, formerly of The Police. 'Red Rain' blossoms forth from it - and 'blossoms' is the word, because this is a sublime start. The first thing you notice is Gabriel's voice - Lanois has managed to capture it at its best, able to crest the high registers yet smoky, raspy and full of emotion. That is something which no Genesis record ever managed. More than that, though, this song is overflowing with emotion even without the delivery. The lyrics take their inspiration from a dream Gabriel had where he was drowning in a sea of red water, and the feeling of defenceless and vulnerability is well conveyed. Add the funky bass of Tony Levin and the sweet keyboards and you have an instant classic.

We now come, inevitably, to 'Sledgehammer', a track which is so overplayed that Gabriel tried to get MTV to pull it. It is almost infamous for the success it brought him, becoming his only US No.1, knocking Genesis off the top spot, and of course everyone remembers the innovative stop-motion video made by Aardman Animations, the brains behind Wallace & Gromit. So is it any good? Well, aside from the oh-so-fake shakuhachi flutes throughout, the short answer is yes. As I said in my review of Hit (2003, #72), the fact this is so overplayed and so 1980s prevents it from being a true five-star track, but it remains compelling in its Motown-esque beat, its suggestive lyrics and its bombastic rhythm section.

Onto something more serious. 'Don't Give Up' has a longer intro than on the single version, but it still features Kate Bush and still scores very highly. The production is crisp and the instrumental section is lush. The keyboards remain bright and Levin's 'funk fingered' bass playing adds a down-to-earth feel to this song about unemployment and dejection. The problem though is Bush; her range might suit the song, but her delivery just doesn't have the emotional clout to completely carry the mood. She is still in 'Running Up That Hill' mode and though it doesn't exactly ruin the song, it never really gels either.

'That Voice Again', co-written by guitarist David Rhodes, is the only song on here that comes to close to matching the brilliance of 'Red Rain'. Unlike 'Red Rain' it's bombastic, bouncy and packed with plenty of punch. And that's fine. But the beauty of this song is that manages to combine a hyperactive drum section (courtesy of Manu Katché) with the sensitivity and power of Gabriel's voice, which comes into its own amidst the shimmering keyboards. The harmonies are sweet, and the lyrics are heartfelt and meaningful. Perhaps it is a little long, but not enough to spoil the wonderful sensation you get from hearing it.

'In Your Eyes' is, again, a commercial sounding song, but unlike others of the day (Genesis included), this is not reduced to a weepy ballad by fancy effects and overzealous production. Instead the jangly keyboards serve as a foil to the world influences and the merry feel of the piece is brought to fruition. On the Secret World tour (1993) this track came into its own with the addition of Paula Cole's vocals, but here the solo from Youssou N'Dour and the creepily low vocals from violinist L. Shankar will do just fine.

From hereon in things get more downbeat and go downhill. 'Mercy Street' retains the cerebral, introspective core without the commercial trappings. The subject matter in question is the American playwright Anne Sexton, and the song copies its title from her 1969 play. It's not so much that this is inpenetrable; instead, the change in texture comes as a bit of a shock (on vinyl, it may have been less so, since this would have been the start of the second side). This is so quiet and acquired that it would seem more at home on Up (2002) than on this otherwise upbeat album.

Speaking of upbeat, 'Big Time' reassures us and returns us to something ressembling the first five songs. This great satire of the yuppie culture became an ironic hit and like 'Sledgehammer' featured an animated video. Its lyrics are a lot simpler than, say, 'Don't Give Up', but the continual emphasis on big allows them to flow well. What is more, the backing to this savaging of narcissism is bubbly, creating something so incredibly catchy you will struggle to keep your head still.

The last two tracks, sadly, fall short. 'We Do What We're Told (Milgram's 37)' is almost ghostly in its feel, which is appropriate considering its subject; the song is about the famous Milgram experiments of the 1960s which revealed that humans will generally obey those in authority out of self-preservation, even if their orders are of a most immoral nature. For the most part this is okay, it feels dark and shadowy - and then the mood is ruined by Gabriel's final, robotic lyrics; they feel disjointed and the whole thing suffers as a result. 'This Is The Picture (Excellent Birds)' suffers from a similar problem, which as before derives from the female vocals. This time courtesy of co-writer Laurie Anderson, they sound twee and overly dramatic. If the cowbell doesn't drive you mad by the end of the first minute, then the sell-out simplicity of the verses surely will.

Because of the success which 'Sledgehammer' brought Gabriel, comparison must be drawn to his former bandmates, who were also at the height of their commercial powers. In this comparison, So comes out as the winner on so many levels; while Invisible Touch (1986) comes across as fake, devoid of any real emotion, and pandering to Phil Collins' solo success, So manages to create a more commercial sound than its predecessors while retaining so much in the way of substance. It may not be the most consistent of albums; things really do get uneasy in the second half as the more ponderous side of Gabriel emerges. However the quality of the first half is reason enough to own this album. Over 20 years after its release So still stands as a record which both defined the time in which it emerged and has survived the test of the following decades.

3.89 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #42: Endless Wire (2006)

At number 42 is Endless Wire, The Who's first album in 24 years and their fourth entry on the chart.The death of John Entwistle in June 2002 on the eve of a US tour left the band depleted of half its members. The tour continued after a short delay with Pino Palladino filling in on bass. The death of Entwistle had the side effect of bringing Roger Daltrey and Pete Townshend closer together, as proven by Daltrey's defence of Townshend during the latter's child pornography allegation. In the next few years The Who continued to tour, playing at the Isle of Wight Festival, and recording two new songs for the compilation Then And Now: 1964-2004 (2004, #63). In the face of ecstatic reviews both from critics and pollsters, Pete Townshend announced a new album to be released in Spring 2005, but the release was held back due to the slow pace of recording and drummer Zak Starkey's commitments with Oasis.

Get ready, then, for the longest comeback in the world. This hotly-anticipated album begins with 'Fragments', whose intro takes its inspiration, if not its exact chord progression, from 'Baba O'Riley', the opener to Who's Next (1971). But before the parody even begins to become unbearable, Townshend and Daltrey kick in. Daltrey's voice may be deeper, huskier and a little strained, but the power and presence is still there, even amongst the twinkling piano which backs the song. This doesn't quite feel like a classic Who song, partly because it is co-written with enigmatic composer Lawrence Ball. But it's a bright opener which at the very least does not immediately deter you from listening to the rest of the record.

Like a lot of comeback albums, the pace of songs are slower and the tone more mellow. This is reflected aptly in 'A Man In A Purple Dress', an acoustic, folky number that sounds like a more mature version of 'Blue, Red And Gray' from The Who By Numbers (1975). But for all the borrowing from past albums (and incarnations), this is a great song in its own right. It is a passionate yet unpreachy critique of religious hypocrisy - Townshend wrote it after watching Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ (2004). But look further in the lyrics and you see hints of Townshend's child pornography turmoil. Daltrey vocalises Townshend's anger at his treatment, spitting out lines like How dare you be the one to assess/ Me in this God-foresaken mess? with a mixture of venom and intelligence.

'Mike Post Theme' is the first song on here to really get your pulse racing. Daltrey, as ever, pushes his vocal range right from the first second, and the result is startling. Considering that this is a song about a TV theme tune writer, and considering it's backed by a mandolin for the most part, it still manages to sound like an arena anthem. The soft verses crescendo into the belter-of-a-chorus, which is actually a good laugh, and everything feels tight yet unpredictable, just as The Who were at their peak. On the down side, it's a bit too long and the drums rely too heavily on the cymbals, especially on the middle eight. On the up side, this song stands as proof that the aggressive, dynamic spirit of The Who has been renewed and updated, rather than just being lost to age.

Townshend growls 'In The Ether', literally. Whether for effect or simply because of age, he strums his way through this sounding like Daltrey's early voice, which aped 1950s American Blues singers. An Englishness remains, however, drawn out and extracted by the subtle piano which pervades behind the acoustic. Again, this is not the most catchy song in the world, and again, it's closer to the quiet introspection of The Who By Numbers than the rip-roaring ecstasy of its three predecessors. But there is a lot to like here, even if Townshend's voice isn't one of them.

'Black Widow's Eyes' is a bold move from Townshend, being a song about Stockholm Syndrome and the Beslan Massacre. Coming across as a twisted and sinister love song, it slowly unfolds into quite a merry and pleasing number. This is the only song on the album which features Zak Starkey - Ringo Starr's son - on drums. And it shows. There is a reason why he is described as 'neo-Moon-ish'¹; he comes as close as damnit to the real thing, while producing the polished sound required by the contemporary consumer. His tom-tom fill after the second chorus is simply inspired; the old man would have been proud of it.

With 'Two Thousand Years', we get more mandolin, more Christian imagery and more bravado from Daltrey. This is another song that came out of The Passion of the Christ, but while 'A Man In A Purple Dress' was barbed and vitriolic, this is a song of patience and clarity. The lyrics deal with the role of Judas Iscariot in the 'betrayal' of Jesus; lines like Then I find I can't be perfect/ Not even a perfect snake really leap out of the mix and capture a fragment of his feeling. This is a very dynamic song, in which Townshend's string work is counterpointed beautifully by Daltrey's full-blown bluster.

The first real slip-up on Endless Wire comes with the next track. 'God Speaks Of Marty Robbins' is an example of Townshend at best being facetious and at worst showing that he really does have no sense of humour. This song, sung by Townshend, is about God waking up after the Big Bang and deciding that he should get a move on so he can hear the music of Marty Robbins, his favourite singer. This comes from a Townshend solo demo from 1984, and like a lot of Townshend's solo stuff - like White City (1985), for instance - it's overambitious and way too serious.

Forget about that, though, because we now come to 'It's Not Enough'. This is unreservedly the best song on the entire album. It may begin with an acoustic, but then the amazing electric guitar takes over and Daltrey takes off. He may have been 62 when this was recorded, but he still crests the high notes (and very high notes) with confidence and passion, bringing out all that Townshend intended. Never mind that this song is co-written by Rachel Fuller, Townshend's partner, and never mind that it takes its inspiration from, of all places, Brigitte Bardot. This is a full-on, proper Who song, packed full of rock'n'roll's rebellious spirit. It's an instant classic, outstanding from start to finish, and one of the most overlooked and underplayed tracks of the year.

The main album ends with 'You Stand By Me', Townshend's eulogy to both Fuller and Daltrey. To Who fans, especially those who have followed their relationship through the course of their career, the latter meaning will obviously take prominence. Townshend could never have written this song at the height of The Who's fame in the early-1970s, the conflict in the band was too great. It might come across as sentimental in its lyrics, but musically it feels peaceful and refined.

Now we come to the mini-opera, Wire And Glass. Townshend's overambition and referencing to his past both come to the surface here, as this ten-song suite brings 'A Quick One (While He's Away)' to mind. That was a slight, incredibly awkward and rather twee collection of demos slung together to please Kit Lambert; this begins a lot more promisingly. 'Sound Round' begins with some smashing drums, which serve as the perfect foil for Daltrey just as Keith Moon did in his prime. The song begins the story of Ray High - who cropped up on Townshend's solo records, like Psychoderelict (1993) - who sees a vision in the sky of a future society strangled by communications and wires.

'Sound Round' is very short, at 1:21, and leaves you wanting more. But then to come to 'Pick Up The Peace' and are met with disappointment. Ray High is now an aged rock star, in an isolation room, hallucinating about a band formed out of three kids, a reminiscing of his own beginnings interlaced with modern fantasy. All of that was discerned from reading Townshend's own explanations, not from listening to the indiscernable lyrics. Not good.

The next song, however, begins to show you what you should really be concentrating on. 'Unholy Trinity' begins with the lines Three kids from the nieghbourhood/ Three different lives/ Three different ways to be/ Three identical smiles. At once it dawns on you that, for all the intricacies and ambition of Townshend's suite, this is actually about the band itself. And why not? Why not retrace through and admire the history of the band in such a poetic way?

From hereon in, then we have some idea of the concept in our minds, and the plot serves only to get in the way. Not only does 'Trilby's Piano' come across as irritating, but it throws you off the scent of the deeper, clearer meaning of the songs. It is a total red herring, which is appalling. The title track makes up for this though, being as it is a work of beauty. It may be Townshend singing it (again), but this time he does a seriously good job; the way in which he croons words like paper and caper gives them an enchanting quality. Although the lyrics are conceptual you don't get perturbed because melodically this is absolutely superb, with the bright, brilliant acoustic and sophisticated drums. Definitely recommended.

Once again, though, brilliance is followed by brutal failure. 'Fragments Of Fragments' has nothing really going for it; even the name suggests a lack of inspiration or ingenuity. Just like Mike Oldfield continuing messing with Tubular Bells (1973), here Townshend produces a squashed, shortened and self-parodying version of the opening track. The cymbals are choked, the vocals warbled and it all feels old and fake. 'We Got A Hit' helps to make up for this; even if it only a measy 1:18 long, it's full of punch. Daltrey's vocals are as bright and as swaggering as they were on Quadrophenia (1973). This was a great choice for the first single from the album, even if it underperformed in the charts (predictably, since this is good and nothing in the charts is). Again, however, a duff track comes along in 'They Made My Dream Come True' and ruins the mood. It's a good thing that this is so short, because it feels and sounds way too sentimental. Pete Townshend whines through the lines like Phil Collins, only with three noses.

Once again, though, just when you're about to write them off, the band pull a complete corker out of the bag. 'Mirror Door', a song about musical heaven as one great party, is a tribute to the band's influences and favourite bands, as the likes of Howlin' Wolf, Elvis Presley and Eddie Cochran are all acknowledged in the opening verse. Once again Daltrey pushes his vocal range without sounding either old-aged or old-fashioned. Backed by shimmering organ, great drums (especially at the start), and a dazzling Townshend beating the living daylights out of a Fender Stratocaster, it's a proper Who song, a riot to listen to with a sensitive centre.

But if it's outwardly sensitive that you want, then turn to 'Tea & Theatre', the closer to Wire & Glass and the song which has replaced 'Won't Get Fooled Again' as the closer to The Who's live set. And you can see why. This is as close as Pete has ever come, and perhaps ever will, to writing a love song - certainly it's the most straight ahead he's ever been. The lyrics, with a little leeway, are a great eulogy to the band in its twilight:

We made it work
But one of us failed
That makes it so sad
A great dream derailed
One of us gone
One of us mad
One of us, me
All of us sad

As the song closes, you get a warm sensation, happy at the state the band is in and hopeful for more. And you get more. The final two tracks are extended versions of 'We Got A Hit' (used as the radio edit) and 'Endless Wire'. But unlike the alternative version of songs on Who Are You (1978, #47), these are not offcuts left on the studio floor, rescued to sate and satisfy the sound nerds. Both benefit from their extra verses, which flesh them out and make them more rounded as singles. However, these extensions take none of the charm from the originals, and you keep coming back to them.

Special editions of the album also include a second disk, dubbed Live At Lyon. There is little so say about this, save to say that it serves as evidence of the renewed and lasting live power of the band. 'The Seeker', a single released in March 1970, has a great opening from Townshend and retains its energy throughout. 'Who Are You' is a mild improvement on the Live 8 performance of July 2005, while 'Mike Post Theme' comes across as proof enough that the new material can translate to the live stage. The next three tracks all suffer though - 'Relay' sees Daltrey straining in the higher registers, 'Greyhound Girl' is nonsensically twee, and 'Naked Eye' remains as inadequate as the day it was recorded. The final track, 'Won't Get Fooled Again' is, as ever, pure bliss - Daltrey's performance is still spectacular - and yes, he can still do the famous scream. The track interpolates into a reduced version of 'Old Red Wine', the 2004 eulogy to John Entwistle.

Comeback albums are always difficult to predict. Some, like U2's Achtung Baby (1991) are hailed by the critics and represent a new era for the band; others, like Peter Gabriel's Up (2002), delight the fans but leave the critics divided and confused; and other still, like Billy Idol's Devil's Playground (2005), are just downright atrocious. Endless Wire is difficult since, although the critics were divided upon its release, it has the sense about it of ushering in a new era for the band. Although many of the tracks, like 'Fragments', lift from the band's past glories, this is not just a celebration of the old music like the tours of the reunions of the 1980s and 1990s. There is so much to like here, with a series of brilliant tunes and some hearty subject matter, tarnished only, in the case of Wire & Glass, by Townshend's continuing overambition (and, some might say, inability to explain what he means when it matters). This is a brilliant Who album by any standards, and if recent rumours are anything to go by, this is not the last Who album we shall ever see.²

3.89 out of 5

References

¹ David Fricke, 'Endless Wire', http://www.rollingstone.com/artists/thewho/albums/album/12075311/review/12222928/endless_wire?source=thewho_rssfeed. Accessed on March 18 2008.

² Jonathan Cohen, 'The Who Mulls Next Album, Revisits Classics', http://www.billboard.com/bbcom/news/article_display.jsp?vnu_content_id=1003709331. Accessed on March 21 2008.

Top 100 Albums - #43: The Best of 1990-2000 (2002)

U2's penultimate entry is The Best of 1990-2000, a compilation which sums up the second full decade of the band's career, drawing on the albums Achtung Baby (1991), Zooropa (1993), Pop (1997) and All That You Can't Leave Behind (2000).After the shaky reception of the semi-live album Rattle And Hum (1988), and the resulting concert film, U2 announced at a concert on December 30, 1989 that they needed to go away for a while to "dream it all up again".¹ The following year saw the band nearly split as bassist Adam Clayton and drummer Larry Mullen Jr. favoured keeping the sound which had brought them success, Bono and The Edge wished to go into more experimental, electronic areas. A compromise was reached in the hands of producers Brian Eno and Daniel Lanois, who helped to synthesise the two interests into a series of demoes which became 'One' and which led on to the band's comeback, Achtung Baby.

And it's at Achtung Baby that we start, appropriately. 'Even Better Than The Real Thing' has an ironic title, considering what has been said before, and it does carry the self-affacing swagger that the 1990s U2 represented. But, when you finally settle down from the changes and begin to dissect the sound, it's not that pleasant a place to be. The intro is a garbled mush of distorted guitars and synthesisers, the former of which feels weak throughout the track. And the lyrics may hint at ambiguity - is it about a woman? It is about the band? - but there's nothing for you to grab onto so as to find out.

'Mysterious Ways' is a damn sight better. Indeed, this would be a brilliant track but for one thing. If there's one thing that's wrong with compilations, it's where they go back and tinker with old lyrics. And really good lyrics at that. Just like 'Games Without Frontiers' was altered on Hit (2003, #72), here the second bridge to the chorus has been changed from She's the way, she turned the tide/ She sees the man inside the child to She's the way, she turned the tide/And amongst you she goes wild. It's always been quite an untelligentible passage, but you can't help feeling cheated if you spot it. Otherwise this is a much better effort. Not a brilliant one though.

Only now though can we start to get at the good stuff; the next two tracks are complete belters. 'Beautiful Day' is lifted from All That You Can't Leave Behind and it remains fresh every time you listen to it, even if you did have to put up with ITV using it as a footy theme (philistines). Bono's voice is more gravelly than on the previous tracks but that makes him easier to love and appreciate. This kicks off the third phase U2 by bringing back together all the right ingredients - brilliant lyrics; uplifting guitars; simple, powerful drums; and an uncomplicated bass line which chisels deep into your spine. It's an amazing song, even if it has been overplayed.

The other corker is something different. Very different. Because 'Electrical Storm' is a new song. Yes, it is a love song, and yes, when you first hear the pulsating keyboards and echoey vocals, you get images of middle age pop stars losing their minds. But if you have the faculties to perservere to the soft, heartfelt acoustic, then you are transported somewhere quite beautiful. It's very hard to put your finger on what is so good with this song; but whatever it is you like you find yourself drawn to it. Even the ending, which is edgier and darkier, works because the whole product is light enough for there to be something here from all concerned.

Now we come to the famous 'One', the song voted the best recorded of all time by Q Magazine² and the song with the greatest lyrics of all time by the British public.³ With a reputation, one would expect a music maverick to trash it, write it off as tosh. But actually no - it's not too bad. Sure, it's not the greatest song ever written, but the band play tightly, it builds nicely and the lyrics are notable - not least for their ambiguity. Unfortunately, the next song has one of its qualities. 'Miss Sarajevo' features both a wasted Pavarotti (perhaps in more ways than one) and Bono in 'save-the-world-in-what-I-say' mode. The music drawls along like a crippled snail on a harp while the inane lyrics tumble out, and when the opera section comes you just want to break the tenor's neck. It's off the forgotten album Original Soundtracks 1 (1995) - recorded under the pseudonym Passengers - and should definitely be avoided.

Sticking with the 1990s, we jump back a couple of years to 'Stay (Faraway! So Close!)'. Lifted from Zooropa, this is much more like it. The riff is pure pristine Edge, jangly, jaunty and high-pitched, set against Mullen's ominously simple drums. Bono half-snarls, half-sighs the lyrics, displaying despair and disgust in equal measures. The lyrics are more attractive because they are refreshing cryptic and indirect; it takes several listens for it all to make sense. But even before it all hits you and you stop dead like the ending, there are delightful segments to tease you; for instance, You're dressed up like a car crash/ The wheels are turning but you're upside down.

Back to tedium, sadly, and it's 21st century tedium. 'Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of' is the second single off ATYCLB and it's a big let-down, as second singles usually are. In the first place, the opening is very flat for a U2 song; with its metallic drumming, trapped hi-hat and very 80s piano dabs, it comes across as a bizarre cross between pop rock and lounge music. But even after you've overlooked that, Bono's lyrics are too weak to offer you anything to cling onto and eventually you lose interest completely.

The next two tracks are heaps better though. 'Gone' begins with an ominous strum or two before launching into the jagged whine of The Edge's guitar. This is actually closer to the sound of How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb (2004) in Clayton's pounding bass lines which throb beneath Bono's workout. The lyrics are amazing - look at the second verse:

You wanted to get somewhere so badly
You kind of lose yourself along the way
You change your name, but that's okay, it's necessary
And what you leave behind you don't miss anyway

This is precisely what U2 should be giving us at this point in their career - we know what they sound like, but they are refining the content of that song. 'Until The End Of The World' is just as good, with its astonishing repeating riff. The opening might be offputting, but from thereon in it's a complete riot. It's one of the best songs off Achtung Baby, describing the relationship between Judas and Jesus in a way which manages to be both subtle and obvious in its message. U2 have always been trailblazers in the non-oblique, non-cheesy end of Christian rock, and this is a perfect showcase as to why.

As good as these two tracks are, and they are very, very good, they are no match for 'The Hands That Built America'. Recorded for the soundtrack of Martin Scorsese's Gangs Of New York (2002), it begins with some simple tender piano, the bedrock of all the greatest U2 songs since October (1981 - see my review, #87). Bono may have lots of echo to play with her, but by keeping the instrumentation simple (guitar, piano/keyboard and what sounds like a oyloxophone, all at isolated intervals) The Edge managed to reign him in, to stop him getting lost in the atmosphere. It's a hard task, considering the mood and depth of the song, so it's to his eternal credit, for all our sakes, that he does it. This may not feel like a typical U2 song, but it's a more than worthy candidate for inclusion here.

After all this Pavarotti-related glory, 'Discothèque' brings us back to the world of Pop and the dodgy side of U2. With its synth-heavy opening, this rapidly dovetails into U2-lite, a quirky combination of Eno's meddling and self-parody. Much like the Passengers album, this has a lot less substance; and the production cannot make up for this dearth because there is nothing genuine to grab hold of. No matter though, because 'Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me' is there purely to grab you by the scruff of the neck. Once again, there are brilliant lyrics - Dressing like your sister/ Living like a tart/ They don't know what you're doing/ Babe, it must be art - but here U2 succeed where before they failed in combining this with a more electronic feel. The result is a relentless masterpiece, a perfect film score piece which sounds like something off Zooropa.

Sadly, as it often the case with U2, no sooner have they produced something brilliant that they ruin it with something inane. 'Staring At The Sun' is from Pop and often nothing compelling whatsoever. The guitar sounds garbled, Bono's delivery is lazy, Clayton is unintelligible and where Mullen can be heard, he's boring. 'Numb', from Zooropa, suffers from a different problem. This was never the best track off the album, but this remixed version features both Bono's original, annoying falsetto and Clayton's stupid I feel numb, which clunks across the soundscape like a football fan trying to speak French.

'The First Time' is amazing. No more needs to be said. This was the best track on Zooropa when it came it and it's the best track here. The emotion which Bono pours in is incredible considering that most of the song is spoken. The beauty of this track is its simplicity, both of its message - the relationship between a lost son and his father, i.e. God - and it's execution. The Edge is on superb form with his downbeat licks, and the piano in the final third is absolutely ethereal. This is a sublime song, full stop.

It's a real shame, then, that we are forced to finish with something as inextricably awful as 'The Fly'. As shown from the new film U2-3D, this track really comes into its own live, but on record it's always been a massive disappointment. Bono can't make up his mind, oscillating widely from whisper to early-1990s falsetto, and the band seems completely lost. What a shame indeed.

U2 are like The Smiths in that their work seems to translate well onto compilations as well on the albums themselves. This is not so much because of the quality of the material so much as you are able to see the spread of both the good and bad in one place. And we get plenty of both here. There are plenty of gems, largely from Zooropa, and the compilers have generally chosen well; even if you have to put up with stuff from Pop, it doesn't take too long to get back on the good stuff. The Best of 1990-2000 is both a good record to dip into for the rarer stuff (like the soundtrack work) and a decent way to look back at the band in its most transitional period.

3.88 out of 5

References
¹ 'Rattle And Hum', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rattle_And_Hum. Accessed on March 7 2008.
² 'Achtung Baby', http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achtung_Baby. Accessed on March 7 2008.
³ Paul Lewis, 'Britain's best-loved lyricist? Bono's the One', The Guardian, 18 April 2006 - available at http://arts.guardian.co.uk/news/story/0,,1755768,00.html. Accessed on July 11 2007.