Top 100 Albums - #35: Woven Cord (1999)

Iona's second entry on the chart is Woven Cord, their second live album. This was recorded with the All Souls Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall in London, on May 29th 1999.
Iona's first three releases established them at the forefront of Celtic progressive rock. Their self-titled debut (1990) was a tribute to the island's history and Christian heritage. The follow-ups, The Book Of Kells (1992, #46) and Beyond These Shores (1993) were loose concept albums, the former looking at the eponymous 8th-century manuscript, the latter focussing on the 9th-century voyage of St. Brendan across the Atlantic from Ireland. Between these albums founder member Dave Fitzgerald (saxophone) left the band to concentrate on his teaching career. With sales remaining low, the band's next effort was the more commercial Journey Into The Morn (1996), based around the modern hymn 'Be Thou My Vision'. This was followed by a greatest hits album, Treasures (1996) and a tour to support it, captured on the live album Heaven's Bright Sun (1997). This would be Terl Bryant's last album with the band before Frank van Essen replaced him on drums.

We kick off with 'Overture', a 5-minute instrumental designed to settle us into the feel of the album. Of course, since this was written by Troy Donockley, we get the usual whistles and pipes; but we also get the richer sounds from the string section, something which would feature more prominently on Open Sky (2000). The slight downside to this is that a lot of the traditional Celtic edge is lost in the old-fashioned, haughty grandeur of the arrangements. But overall, you have to say, this compliments the Iona sound very well, raising it to the level of a film score.

Even once you have figured out how to pronounce 'Bi-Sé I Mo Shuìl (Part I)' (say bee-suy i mo-hool), the song itself remains a disappointment. Taken from Journey Into The Morn, this is, aside from anything else, an unsatisfactory way of introducing the great voice of Joanne Hogg. Oh sure, she can do the Gaelic pronounciation no problem, but you are left thinking that her entrance would have been a lot better had the song blended with the orchestral accompaniment. On record, this works; live with an orchestra, it doesn't.

No problem though, because we can now move on to 'Matthew - The Man'. As I said in my review of The Book Of Kells, this is one of the great tracks to have come out of prog in the last decade or so. While the album version began with shimmering keyboards and thumping great bass lines, this is driven by a duel between Dave Bainbridge's wailing guitar and Frank van Essen's thundery, dynamic drumming. This may be even longer than the album version at 13:01, but like the album version there is no room for dragging solos. One unfortunate change is the loss of Bainbridge's tear-inducing acoustic guitar solo, drowned out here by the keyboards. However, van Essen more than makes up for it with his subtle but full-bodied fills - the section from 9:17 to 10:27 is just about the most euphoric drum and guitar section you are ever likely to find. It is utterly spectacular.

After all that drum-and-guitar euphoria, 'White Sands' takes things down a notch. With its oboe and clarinet opening, you are transported to a distant beach and are utterly relaxed when you get there. This track, from Iona, is where Donockley really gets into his stride. Backed by what sounds like a bouzouki (akin to a lute or mandolin), he performs a beautiful piece on whistle. The shrill descant of the whistle rises above the slow gushings of the bouzouki chords, while the violins provide what could be called the alto part. This is perhaps the track where you most notice the production; every note has been captured immaculately by Bainbridge.

'Murlough Bay' is from Beyond These Shores, and begins as brightly as the album version. Hogg is back and in fine form, showing that her performance on record can be perfectly replicated live. No other female voice suits the line And here at last I'm on my own with you so very well. Her voice is pure like cut glass, but unlike many singers of such talents there is emotion as well as quality. There is very little to differentiate this from the album version, but then again Iona are never the sort of band to add in lengthy solos to show off; the audience are already well aware of their talents and respond accordingly.

'Dancing On The Wall' is another "oldie, but goodie" as Peter Frampton would say. In its structure, this is considerably more poppy than anything the band have produced since; it is even more the case when we listen further and see the restraint with which instruments are being used. But that is not really a problem. Although this is for the most part just vocals and an acoustic guitar, this is not singer-songwriter schmaltz. The chords are complex and intricate, and the lyrics a damn sight more merry, as is the finished product.

Hereon in, things get a little more hit and miss. 'Encircling' clocks in at 12:25 and most of that is overkill. The lyrics are not as compelling as before, and we get the first hints of van Essen's irritating tendency towards flashy playing. The drums do way too much in this piece, and Bainbridge has put them right at the forefront of the mix so that their effect is unmitigated. Unlike on previous long tracks, the instrumental sections do drag, turning the whole thing into a bitter disappointment.

If you can endure this superfluous epic, you are duly rewarded with the best track on the album. 'Lindisfarne' begins very tentatively; under a slow murmur from the cellos the higher-pitched instruments one by one poke their heads up above ground, like the first flowers of spring. This again has a film score feel to it, rather than just an orchestrated rock song. It is hard to believe that both this and 'Encircling' came from the same album (Journey Into The Morn), because they are so utterly different. Where that was bloated and drawn out, this blends beautifully from one section to the next, and all the time the musicianship is tight and full of lustre. You don't realise that this is a true gem without listening all the way through. Everything is so modest and subtle that it needs to be appreciated holistically, like looking down on a completed jigsaw. This is a quietly-styled masterpiece.

'Revelation' has a hard act to follow, but it has a pretty good stab at it. As on the version from The Book Of Kells, the star of this song is Hogg, who by now has gotten completely settled into her surroundings. Her delivery and diction are not quite as immaculate here as on the album, but even then she wipes the floor with her rivals (ever wondered why Enya never performs live?). Once again, Bainbridge has tweaked his guitar part so that the jaunty solo has been replaced by a screechy workout, but this is still a very good track.

After so many old classics, we come to something new. The title track is another instrumental, and would become the opener to Open Sky just under a year later. Like a lot of that album, this is hardly throughbred Iona, chiefly because (once again) van Essen goes a bit too mad a bit too often. It is not completely impotent, with Donockley's pipes carrying things along nicely. But the riffs are a lot less agreeable than on previous recordings, and by the end they begin to try your patience.

Thankfully, we end on the great Iona closer, 'Beyond These Shores'. This is longer than the album version by nearly 2 minutes, largely because of the long violin opening and the extended (and deserved) applause at the end. Nevertheless, this remains one of the band's all-time great compositions. For a start, it is perfectly suited to Hogg's range and delivery, allowing her to push herself in the name of passion without any sign of strain or struggle. The instruments are more restrained, with Bainbridge handling the piano like an old master while the violins hum near-silently in the background. The lyrics are pretty damn good too. You reach the end, as the cellos and keyboards mingle with the clapping, and you are left completely fulfilled.

Making a good live album is difficult. Making a good prog live album is even more so. Making a good prog live album with orchestral accompaniment is well-nigh impossible, as so often the music is overshadowed by the grandeur and pretention surrounding big bands. The most immediate example is Procol Harum's Live With The Edmonton Symphony Orchestra (1972); all that could have been extracted from a few half-decent songs is ruined by the bloated, stuffy nature of the arrangements (see my review of Procol Harum - The Collection (1985, #67)). With Woven Cord, however, Iona have cracked it. For the most part the orchestra is there to bring out and add to the most emotional parts of songs, rather than just padding out the mix. That said, the best moments are when the band is trying to be as restrained as possible; there is no noodling or shredding of which to speak, but van Essen is not always economical on the drums, too often sounding like a loose cannon. Overall though, you get the sense that Iona did not do this because they had the money, or the egos. They did this because they knew what full orchestration could bring to their work, and the result - for the most part - is profound.

3.91 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #58: White Ladder (1999)

At number 58 is David Gray's White Ladder, the album that made him an international success and his most critically acclaimed effort to date. After graduating from the University of Liverpool, Sale-born Gray began his career as a folk rocker. In the early days of obscurity, he relied on his fanbase in the Republic of Ireland, which he had earned thanks to the patronage of comic playwright Pat Ingoldsby. In 1993 Gray signed to EMI and released his debut, A Century Ends. Both this and its successors, Flesh (1994) and Sell, Sell, Sell (1996), were folk-rock albums which received a lukewarm reception from the critics and sold relatively poorly. Following this poor showing, Gray was dropped from EMI. Over the next two years he signed to Iht Records before going in hiatus.

This much-hyped album starts off with the piano-laden 'Please Forgive Me'. Once you overlook the overactive drum section and the off-putting fake strings, this actually becomes a very pleasant song. The vocals and the speed of the song suit Gray's raspy voice to the letters. The minimal feel to the piece brings out the personality of his delivery where so many others have simply rippled into the background. As the piece wears on - and it is a little too long - the acoustic guitar which defined his early work comes into the mix at just the right juncture and warms the cockles of your heart.

Having set you up, 'Babylon' manages and then some to carry the momentum of the record. If 'Please Forgive Me' was designed to make you curl up in a comfy chair, then this will bring a smile to your face as you sink deeper into a satisfied state of semi-consciousness. This is more up-tempo, it must be said, but it achieves the perfect compromise of being a showcase for Gray's passion without being shouty. It takes the laid-back folk of someone like Eddi Reader, overlays some keyboards and drum machines and creates a pop masterpiece.

With the tone of the album so firmly established, Gray changes direction with 'My Oh My'. This is reliant on his guitar and double-tracked vocals, which serve only to make it more middle-on-the-road. There is a good reason why Gray didn't sell many records before this own - when he's not doing piano-heavy stuff that he's difficult to discern from the next singer-songwriter. This track is like what Peace At Last (1996) was in the career of The Blue Nile - having established a brilliant sound on the first two installments, they changed course and lose many listeners on the way.

The tedium continues with 'We're Not Right'. The guitar is there again, only this time it's backed by some incredibly irritating sound effects. The horrible-sounding backing track provides rhythm but little else. It's not just the subject of the song that isn't right, it's the song as a whole - it feels so fake, so superficial, so shallow.

On these criteria, 'Nightblindness' should also fall by the wayside. But it doesn't, because although this is guitar-led, it's stripped back, so that Gray is singing bare. With no fancy effects to rely on, at least at first, he's forced to focus. This track is very similar to 'The Other Side' (the closer to the follow-up, A New Day At Midnight (2002)) - it's introspective, it builds naturally and doesn't try to overimpose itself on the listener. It works, simple as.

Both 'Silver Lining' and the title track are exercises in studio tedium, I'm afraid. The former is simply a drum machine track overdubbed with an annoying two-note riff on electric guitar and some substandard acoustic work. Gray's voice is completely uncompelling, and because of this the entire piece falls flat for the reasons I have hinted at before. With 'White Ladder' itself, its shortcomings are a combination of overproduction (especially at the start) and the fact that it demonstrates the limits of Gray's voice. Just because he can hit the higher registers doesn't make him any less annoying when he does it.

If you have been determined enough to get this far, well done. We are now rewarded with the two best pieces on the album, in direct succession. 'This Year's Love' is an incredibly emotive piece, and like all the best songs of its type, it's simple in both its message and its chord progression. Gray is at his most clear and open in the entire album, delivering perfect lines while the bittersweet chords tumble out of the grand piano. Everything comes in at just the right moment - from the individual vocals to the synthesised strings, nothing is rushed or allowed to overstay its welcome. It's brilliant. 'Sail Away' matches this brilliant track by bringing in some percussion and, unlike on 'Please Forgive Me', keeping it under control. The acoustic returns, welcomed back and restored to its rightful place, providing the understated chords while Gray echoes over the mix. Listening to this sounds like you are in a concert hall and you are the only spectator - it's so distant-sounding but it doesn't disappear into some kind of solemn mess.

With his credentials signed and sealed with these two masterstrokes, it is perhaps fitting that Gray finishes things off with a cover. His rendition of Marc Almond's 'Say Hello, Wave Goodbye' is a monolithic 8:58 long, but it has a couple of big advantages over the original. One is that Gray is a much better sing, provided a richer sound to lyrics which Almond's voice delivered so tinnily. The other is that the acoustic and bright production remove this song from its context - 1980s pop - and breathe new life into it without passing it off as a hollow pop exercise.

As we have seen, not all of the hype White Ladder received should have been so readily granted it. On many occassions Gray gets it spot on, but, frustratingly, there are too many moments where cracks appear into the folky techno plaster. It should be a vital part of anyone's collection, largely because of the optimism which radiates from it, something that modern pop so often reduces to shameless pap in the shape of Sandi Thom. Like all good albums, White Ladder will reveal more of itself the more times you listen to it. But as with A New Day At Midnight, its success or failure hinges on whether people lose patience with all the chaff before they get to the wheat.

3.80 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #88: Reasons To Be Cheerful (1999)

The second consecutive compilation serves as a summary of the career of Ian Dury and the Blockheads, released a year before Dury's death of cancer in March 2000. The career of Ian Robin Dury began in 1971. Following the death of his idol 'Sweet' Gene Vincent, Dury formed Kilburn and the High Roads. This 'pub-rock' band incorporated keyboardist Russell Hardy and also features many of the students Dury was teaching at the time, at Canterbury Art College. The band never released an album, but got enough of a cult following to open for The Who before disbanding in 1975. The Blockheads were assembled in 1977, signed to Stiff Records, and lasted until 1980 in its original incarnation (when pianist and guitarist Chris Yankel left to start a solo career). The group folded in 1981 but reformed in 1998 after Dury was diagnosed with cancer; they played together until his death and still tour today.

In typical brash style, we open with the catchy, cleverly worked 'Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part 3'. The intelligent opening features a simple drum riff, after which the backing vocals and off-beat cowbell come in. Dury's voice works well against the jazzy guitar, and as usual we are treated to his wonderfully witty lyrics; few artists have produced lines like Summer Buddy Holly, the working folly/ Good Golly, Miss Molly and oats. The whole thing is rhythmic, a sure-fire toe-tapper and a great way to kick things off.

'Wake Up And Make Love To Me' is more direct and relies on Yankel's piano. Good as he is, this does not have the same kind of reggae-punk pull that the previous track had. Dury 'sings' slowly and as such the sexual nature of his lyrics is compromised by the tempo. This is a bit too mellow even for such a personal subject. But before one can lose faith, we power into the sublime and majestical 'Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick', without a doubt one of the greatest and wittiest songs ever written. Dury's delivery is at his most charmingly humorous and the lyrics and excellent. The band functions like a complete unit in this swirling, blues-funk number which deservedly got to No. 1 in 1979. From the spoken-word vocals to the jazzy piano fills and the two saxophones being played simultaneously by Davey Payne, this is a flawless British gem that has stood the test of time.

'Clever Trevor' returns thing to a slower pace. Here Dury gives the Blockheads some room, which is much appreciated. While he thrashes out every conceivable word which rhymes with 'Trevor', Mickey Gallagher's keyboards and Norman Watt-Roy's bass swirl and thunder around us, leaving us feeling... well, cheerful. Overall, though, this is a weaker effort, despite the sublime final line: Also, it takes a lot longer to get up north... the slow way. There is for one thing too much room given for inane guitar improvisation which is thankfully guillotined.

'What A Waste' is a much-needed rebound to upbeat, witty mode. Lines like I could be the driver of an articulated lorry/ I could be a poet, I wouldn't need to worry sum up this song about inadequacy and nerves. You can sense that Dury is singing about himself.Physically speaking, he was not suited to the rock star life - having almost died of polio aged 7, his growth had been stunted and his voice reflected this, on top of the thick, even more hindering Cockney accent. But by writing songs around his voice instead of what the people thought or wanted him to sound like, he made songs like this Top 10 hit and 'Sex And Drugs And Rock And Roll' into anthems. This especially is remarkable, if nothing else in the simple statement in the chorus which became part of the common language - Sex and drugs and rock and roll/ Is all my brain and body need/ Sex and drugs and rock and roll/ Is very good indeed. The guitar riffs hark back to the 1960s and the lyrics reflect Dury's love of music hall, both welcome if unusual ingredients in this classic.

'There Is What We Find' returns to the graphic connotations explored in 'Wake Up And Make Love To Me', but is more quickfire. Sometimes this works against Dury, who often sings so quickly that all meaning is lost. But generally this is a good combination of reggae and 2-tone ska, with Dury at his most rhythmically obscene. 'Itinerant Child continues in this vein but changes the focus from sexual gossip to the rebellious lifestyle. Paying homage to Steely Dan in the lyrics, it's a great document of generational change - though which is unclear, since it references both punks and hippies - told through the story of a clapped-out car, driven to a gig which turns into a riot. Once again, above Dury's vocals rise the swirling keyboards and saxophones that make the Blockheads such a great listen.

If you like musical practical jokes, then 'Sweet Gene Vincent' is just about the best around. It opens like a funereal tribute to Dury's idol, and though we later find out that Dury is holding back the laughs, this feels deeply serious and gives nothing away. Soon the sombre drums die down, leaving silence - and then a great piano rockability song rushes to the front, Dury's sense of humour bounces forwards and the result, thanks to one of the greatest turnarounds in music, is a hilarious masterpiece.

'I Want To Be Straight' starts with the band introducing themselves, Bonzo-style, before this easy but effective little number saunters through. This is again addressing Dury's concerns about his health and lifestyle, but lines like I want to be straight/ I want to be straight/ I'm sick and tired of taking drugs and staying up late also reference rumours that Dury was gay. Overall this is a bit cloyed, goes on far too long and the ending with the Scottish harmonies - Straight, straight, straight, that would be great - is awful, but thanks to Dury this is disarming and honest enough to pass muster.

The same praise should not be accorded for either 'Blockheads' or 'Mash It Up Harry'. The former screws is reduced to an unvarying shouting match. Dury was always too poetic to be a proper punk - and also way too talented - so there was no point trying. Certain lyrics may have comteporary relevance, should chavs develop a fancy for black and orange cars, but others are just plain rubbish - what the hell are premature ejaculation drivers? The latter sounds more quintessentially English, in its subject of football and its inventive use of innuendo. But that is not enough to save it, since while this is not a shouting match, the two halves don't gel - the first is a friendly, coy look at football fans, the second boils down to a supporters' chant which just doesn't work.

The last truly great track on the album is 'There Aint' Half Been Some Clever Bastards'. It's inspirational, not just musically but because it's one of Dury's lyrical masterstrokes. In the space of three verses, he praises the likes of Noël Coward, Vincent van Gogh and Albert Einstein through wonderful rhymes, before concluding that they were probably so clever because their mums helped them. The Einstein verse in particular is to die for:

Einstein can't be classed at witless
He claimed atoms were the littleist
When you did the bit of splitingingness [?!]
Frightened everybody shitless

From hereon in, things look a little more uneven. 'Billericay Dickie' attempts to replicate the faculty for poetic rhyming that the previous track achieved. But while the verses work very well, conveying the theme about a hopeless romantic and his most recent dates, the choruses just jar alongside the meaningless middle-eight: You should never hold a candle/ If you don't know where it's been/ The jackpot is in the handle/ On a normal fruit machine. Just as humdrum is 'In-Betweenies'; it's quite lazy on both lyrical and musical counts, with a cabaret sound that one would have thought anathema to the Blockheads. The backing vocals in particular sound too much like a pop hit from the 1950s - and the use of sirens in the instrumental section doesn't lift it, but rather makes it sound more desperate.

More promising is 'Spasticus Autisticus', a song written for the National Disabled Persons' Day in 1981 and banned by the BBC. It's easy to see why the squeamish executives would have shuddered at this offering - because it's one of the most direct offerings of Dury's career. Again, it is a song about his own disability, but in a manner which manages to send himself up through more clever wordplay. The song concludes with an inspired parody of the end of Spartacus - one by one different voices, both male and female, shout 'I'm Spasticus!'. Though this again goes on too long, it's a worthy effort and deserves its place here.

The closers, 'My Old Man' and' Lullaby For Francies' are more introspective and subdued. This means that, even though they deal with subjects close to Dury's heart, they are not suited to his style. 'My Old Man', about his Cockney father, features prominent bass work and catchy sax riffs, but Dury is vocally a bit tired-sounding. It is too slow even for this kind of subject, and as a result is one of the weakest tracks. 'Lullaby For Francies' begins better, with great drum work from Charley Charles, but this sounds too much like UB40 in the guitar work to be counted as a Dury classic. And so the album ends on a whimper - a faded-out wimper.

Reasons To Be Cheerful is not the most cohesive of albums. This is not just because this is a greatest hits, but also because both Dury and the Blockheads were single-oriented, focussing their energies on writing individual anthems and pop songs rather than trying to draw out themes across multiple records or - heaven forbid - create a concept album about late-1970s life. That said, this does not have the feel of a CD made up of a selection of hits packed in by record executives without any care for the order. This does rumble along rather nicely: though no sleeve detail is provided of the history of these records, you get the impression of something of fairly major historical importance. Many of the songs don't really deserve to be on here, and in any case this would be too long even if all Dury's work was of 'Clever Bastards' quality. Nevertheless, this is a great record to have on shuffle, and for those just discovering Dury, it's an ideal starting point.

3.72 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #92: 'hours...' (1999)

Bowie's second entry marks the dawn of what can loosely be called the 'neo-classical era' in Bowie lore. 'hours...' finds himself coming to terms with old age and his multiple identities which shaped his albums and with them the face of music.

The 1990s had been a tough time for Bowie. Although his first foray into mainstream dance-pop, Let's Dance (1983), had received positive reviews and produced a No. 1 hit, its follow-ups, Tonight (1984) and Never Let Me Down (1987), had been slated, all-but-bringing Bowie's career to a grinding halt. In response, he formed Tin Machine, a band whose first album set the tone for what would become guitar-oriented grunge; but with Bowie feeling creatively stifled the band only produced one more (inconsequential) album before disbanding in 1993. Bowie spent the next six years jumping from genre to genre, but rather than setting the trends as he had done in the past, he was now ironically impersonating them to regain popularity. But from the hip-hop soul touches on the now-rare Black Tie White Noise (1993) to the industrial Outside (1995) to the drum-and-bass techno of Earthling (1997), his efforts received mixed-to-negative reviews and all sold poorly.

'hours...' sees Bowie settling down and realising that his golden-age work could not be topped. We begin with 'Thursday's Child', a song which encapsulates Bowie's feelings completely. In the first verse he addresses his chameleonic past with humour - All of my life I've tried so hard/ Doing my best with what I had/ Nothing much happened all the same - and considerable irony - Something about me stood apart/ A whisper of hope that seemed to fail/ Maybe I'm born right out of my time/ Breaking my life in two. We are beingh introduced to a Bowie which, although he still 'has far to go', is increasingly comfortable about his path and his legacy. It is often said that Bowie's multiple changes in personality and identity were down not to a desire to be pioneering but rather fundamental insecurities - in either case it would appear that these are now being laid to rest.

'Something In The Air' and 'Survive' both continue this theme of coping with the past and growing old. On the first track, we are treated to some interesting guitar effects which sit brooding in the background under the verses, only to rear their sinister heads in the chorus. Bowie's voice is electronically distorted which gives the feeling of anguish and distress, adding to the theme of desperation and despair that doubtlessly dogged him throughout his 1990s turmoil. 'Survive' switches tone, being a more relaxed, acoustic number (initially). Here Bowie sings in reassurance that this is not the end; while he may no longer be in his prime or the most pioneering musician around, he will stay around if only for those that love him. Though one feels that the distorted, elongated guitars don't really add anything, this is a very assured number and a good listen.

'If I'm Dreaming My Life' is more drawn-out and a great deal less compelling. As on all his albums, Bowie has by habit taken a great series of songs (in this case the first three) and thrown in a wierder track to throw the audience - and on 'hours...' as with the rest, it doesn't always pay off. Bowie's voice is a bit drawly, the drums are flat and lifeless, and the lyrics are quite forgetable. As part of the album this fits nicely, but if it attempted to stand alone it wouldn't work.

Focus and quality both return in 'Seven'. The opening is reminicent of a Lightning Seeds song - most likely 'Punch And Judy' off Jollification (1994). This, like all the tracks, is introspective, but is the only track thus far to equal the heartfelt appeal of 'Thursday's Child'. The lyrics speak of death - I got seven days to live my life/ Or seven ways to die - but these could also be about luck and of course his various incarnations (though I think there were way more than seven). 'What's Really Happening?' attempts to sustain this quality with Berlin-era guitar work at the start to set a dark tone, but Bowie's voice is too high-pitched and the harmonies too out-of-kiltre to support this rather humdrum work, whose lyrics are the weakest on the album.

'The Pretty Things Are Going To Hell' is a great rocker which even non-Bowie fans will enjoy. At last, drums achieve some form of prominence thanks to great combell work and a catchy under-rhythm. The guitar effects here are again dark and the lyrics sharply despondent - You're still breathing but you don't know why/ Life's a bit and sometimes you die - referencing Les Misérables of all places. This sounds like a synthesis of lite metal and hard rock - and it works. It really, really works.

'New Angels Of Promise' is the last track on the album to fall short of expectations. There are two reasons for this. First of all, the opening is bad, sounding like a flautist's rip-off of 'Misty Mountain Hop' (itself an awful song). And second, Bowie's lyrics are both uncaptivating and are delivered in his most grating, irritating voice. On a song designed to expose the agonies of his soul, a nasal sneer - interlaced with rubbish crooning - is usually uncalled for.

Thankfully, the closers both restore faith in Bowie's abilities and the message of the album. 'Brilliant Adventure' is a marvellously well-constructed 2-minute instrumental which restores the tone to one of brooding, unpredictable introspection. So often the use of repeating riffs sounds formulaic and tired - here it is the perfect way to add tension to the piece, which in itself acts as the perfect lead-in to 'The Dreamers'. This song could be best described as 'the grower' - the more you listen to it, the more you like it. Its opening is dark, industrial and has a Berlin-era feel in the use of synthesisers. Bowie has adjusted his voice to suit the mood perfectly - here he is stricken, anxious and despondent. The catchy guitars make up for the completely absence of a discernable bass line, and though the drums are again underused, this does not matter because lyrically this is one of the strongest efforts on the album. The chorus seems to sum up Bowie's attitude towards himself - So it goes/ Just a searcher/ A lonely soul/ The last of the dreamers. He may well be right.

Bowie's neo-classical period is characterised by him taking the best parts of his back catalogue and using them as a mould for his new records. If this is true, then 'hours...' is a perfect example. It is a great effort to synthesise the lyrical whimsy of Hunky Dory (1971) with the atmospheric textures of Low (1977), with the introspection and contemporary themes overlayed, producing an album that is both contemporarily interesting and that his ageing fanbase can enjoy. This may seem cynical, but Bowie devotees may spot this in the music at least. The efforts don't always work - in many places the lyrics are a little flat, and throughout the rhythm section is underused. But while this is not one of Bowie's great works by any standard, it serves as a useful time capsule on his career as it was at the end of the 20th century. If nothing else, it would begin the much-deserved rehabilitation of his long and variegated career.

3.70 out of 5