Top 100 Albums - #24: Mind How You Go (2006)

At number 24 is Mind How You Go, the debut solo album from Skye Edwards, ex-singer with Morcheeba.
Shirley Klarisse Yonavive Edwards, better known to the world as Skye, was born in London in 1974. After leaving school, she worked as a session singer before being recruited by The Godfrey Brothers (Ross and Paul). The resulting band would become Morcheeba, with this line-up producing four albums - the tentative and mysterious Who Can You Trust? (1996); the critically acclaimed, chilled-out Big Calm (1998, #54); the bright, poppy Fragments Of Freedom (2000); and the well-rounded, collected Charango (2002). On all four recordings Skye received plaudits for her voice, and in-between she appeared on the all-star re-recording of Lou Reed's 'Perfect Day' for Children in Need in 1997. After the release of the Parts Of The Process compilation in 2003, Skye was asked to leave Morcheeba because of increasing musical differences between the trio. She spent the next two years raising her first child and began to collaborate with producer Gary Clark.

We begin this little-known album with 'Love Show'. All at once, it isn't hard to spot the change in sound from the Morcheeba days. The riffs are lighter, the production more spacious, and the mood a lot more relaxed. Skye's voice has changed as well: all the dark, smoky feel present on Big Calm has gone, and instead she comes across as much happier, more innocent, more content. You could almost call it fluffy. Don't think, though, that all that made Morcheeba great has been lost - the deep bass and fake drums remain, making this track a very skillful, subltle opener. It's hardly the most substantial song ever made, but as a means of introducing this new Skye, there is little on which we can fault it.

'Stop Complaining' keeps the mood up and the tempo down. This time the piano provides the backing to Skye's new-found cheeriness. But unlike a lot of similar singers, her happiness does not come across as vacuous or fake. Skye has never needed a gimmick to sell records - her voice managed that quite well, and it's much the same here. If anyone else sang the chorus - You're here and I'm here/ So I stop complaining/ It could be raining/ And I see the answer's in your eyes - they would be booed off stage and dismissed as a three-a-penny no-hit wonder. But with Skye, you are carried on a warm wave of satisfaction which leaves you unwilling to criticise it.

'Solitary' presents a different side of Skye. Here she is more doubtful, more ponderous of her position. Indeed the lyrics could be reflective of her relationship with her former bandmates - You said the things you said/ And you twisted me up, for instance. Sticking with the lyrics, they do try to be too clever, too full of imagery to pass muster completely. But the chorus is enough to rescue it, ringing out serenely amid the unobtrusive percussion. This is at heart a chillout sound, and a pretty damn good one at that.

Since 'Solitary' and 'Calling' are exactly the same length (4:16 long) you could be forgiven for assuming that the latter is a carbon copy, and just skip over it. I would advise against this, however, since this is another very good song. Skye is pushing her voice harder on this one, melding it with the acoustic on the verses and then fighting feistily against the drums on the chorus. The drums, incidentally, do soundstrange, like the skins are being played with table tennis equipment (listen to the cross-stick snare on the verse to see what I mean).

So far, we have been soothed and we have been entertained, but there have only been hints of any distinctive direction. 'What's Wrong With Me' is the first track where we start to get an idea of where Skye is taking us. Suffice to say, it's a very pleasing direction. The looped, distorted opening is a wonderful pastiche of the dark, throbbing effects we saw on Who Can You Trust?, set against a lovely, yearning series of chords on electric guitar. Skye meanwhile sings as she did in her Morcheeba prime - with a seductive sweetness, which chills you completely and teases you at the same time. This is certainly evident in the way she gently breathes the chorus, and it is exactly what we expect from her. The percussion is kept simple, with quiet electronic drums and hardly any bass, which is just as well since the whole mood would have been runined by some Fender Precision noodling. This is 4-and-a-bit minutes of utterly serene, thoroughly beautiful and surprisingly catchy singer-songwriting. And the rarity of such a thing these days is more than enough to merit its place on the album.

Unfortunately, having laid out a template for success, Skye chooses to ignore it on the next track. 'No Other' tries too hard to be emotional and heartfelt, and as a result ends up as the exact opposite. There is not enough variation in the chords she has created to make the music all that compelling, and her ill-fated attempts at some Roy LaMontaigne-style howling of the higher notes just doesn't scan. 'Tell Me About Your Day' is better, introducing a silky oboe into the mix. Once again Skye is in the foreground of production; there are more drums this time around but they are squashed and pushed way, way back to give the singer more room. The fact that she doesn't really need it leads you to be surprised by how quiet she sounds. This in turn makes you listen more intently - and then the lyrics begin to bring a smile to your face.

'All The Promises', sadly, is more humdrum. As on the last track, Skye is quiet, but unlike before there is almost nothing to fill the gaps around her and drive the track forwards. There is acoustic, but for the most part it is ineffective. For the first 50 seconds, this comes across as a poor relation, or parody, of 'Over & Over'. And even when the drums do come in, on the chorus about a minute in, they are too tinny and restricted to add much life.

Thank heavens, then, for 'Powerful'. The intro is a dream, with wonderful descant strings soaring through our ears while being counterpointed with the simple, lilting guitar part. Skye sings heavenly, still sounding fresh and interesting but utilising a lot of the old tricks she picked up from the earlier stages of her career. The opening lines, Then we both went home/ On separate trains are reminiscent of her performance on the Children in Need record, and she delivers the excellent chorus with the same upbeat teasing that made Fragments Of Freedom so enjoyable. This is a much better effort lyrically than a lot of stuff on here - one could even say that it makes 'What's Wrong With Me' seem lazy in comparison. It all just feels so tight, focussed and together, while maintaining a large amount of lustre. It's like a jazz song, elementally. It may have a time signature, but that does not serve as a self-imposed limit on where the piece can be taken, like it so often does in rock. This is magical.

The final two songs are quieter, more composed and less ethereal than 'Powerful', but they are still impressive in their own way. 'Say Amen' may have a more trip-hop intro, but the melody is closer to soul and is in no way sterile. For the first 2 minutes this has a sound collage feel to it, with the vocals carrying all the melody and little behind it for support. But at 2:16 a drum machine comes in, moving ahead of the tempo and hurrying the whole thing along. This creates an interesting feel which suits Skye's more urgent phrases. 'Jamaica Days', meanwhile, is a fitting eulogy to her Carribean heritage. It's the shortest track, at 2:16, but you do get Skye all to herself. There are no instruments, so there is nothing to distract you from the serenity and beauty of her voice - different, but still beautiful.

To the untrained ear, or non-Morcheeba fans, Mind How You Go can come across badly. With its largely ballad-esque content and soft, laid-back acoustic feel, many will simply disgard it, branding it alongside the efforts of Marc Cohn and Damien Rice - pleasant on the surface, but with little distinctive underneath. While that criticism may well be levelled at Messrs. Cohn and Rice, with Skye it is a different story. Morcheeba fans will obviously pick up on the motifs and techniques contained herein, but even if you come to this record a complete stranger to their sound then you will find something you like very easily. This album is like an Eddi Reader record, insofar as you get a lot of similar songs which chill you out, make you feel good and reveal different little touches to whoever is listening. But you also get a sweetness, a crisp, organic sweetness which Reader's material, along with many others, is lacking. Yes, this is not the deepest, most substantial record ever made, but it is a worthy start for solo Skye, providing hope that her second album will be even better.

4.00 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #30: Through The Windowpane (2006)

Multi-national indie rockers Guillemots make their only entry on the chart with their full-length debut, Through The Windowpane.
Fyfe Dangerfield began his musical career as the lead singer and songwriter for Senseless Prayer, a pop-rock band whose released a series of obscure EPs and received the support of John Peel. After the group folded in 1999, he began gigging in Birmingham as Fyfe Dangerfield & The Accident. After moving to London in 2002 to work as a music teacher, he recruited Brazilian-born MC Lord Magrão (guitar), Canadian-born Aristazabel Hawkes (double bass) and Londoner Greig Stewart (drums). The newly-formed Guillemots - who took their name from a seabird - released I Saw Such Things In My Sleep EP in September 2005, in a limited edition of 1000. Shortly after they went on tour, opening for Rufus Wainwright on his sell-out UK tour. Two other EPs followed quickly - Of The Night EP (2005) and the more successful From The Cliffs EP (2006), both released on Fantastic Plastic Records. As a result of these the band were included in the BBC Sound of 2006 survey, and clamour for a full-length record began to grow.¹

We kick off this charming slice of modern indie with 'Little Bear'. Anyone who was expecting frantic, highly strung riffs and shouty lyrics will get a big shock, because the first sounds drifting through the speakers are that of violins: violins which create a serene, Vaughan Williams intro. A successful preamble, it means that when Dangerfield does come in on piano, he stands no chance of sounding twee or self-absorbed. Like many indie singers, diction takes a back seat and so at first he is hard to fathom, but once you have negotiated through his brogue you are treated to a wonderful, heartfelt opener.

Having set the bar, the band smash through it with 'Made-Up Lovesong #43'. This song appears on both their previous EPs, so the difference in sound is not a huge surprise. But some features of 'Little Bear' remain, most of them contained in Dangerfield's delivery. His gently burbling organ serves as good juxtaposition for his yearning, passionate delivery. Stewart's drumming begins like squashed jazz before rapidly uncoiling after the first verse. This is not all that strong an effort from a lyrical point of view, but the vibes are good enough to disguise this.

With 'Trains To Brazil', however, there is no need for excuses. Here the drums are loud and funky, kicking up a solid and catchy rhythm over which Magrão can begin to work his magic. This is still Dangerfield's song though, through and through. On keys he provides a driven, 1970s-rock chord progression which again sits at an oddly good angle with his stricken melody. Vocally, he is more careful, reigning himself in from his looser moments; rather than mumble the lyrics, or shout them, he sings them. And he sings better than a lot of his contemporaries. The whole outfit are working together, playing off each other, and while the bass is somehow lost in the swirling mix, once you lock into it you realise how great it sounds.

'Redwings' opens like a Salvation Army band at Christmas, and turns into winter poetry. It may be a return to the tempo of 'Little Bear', but Dangerfield is clearer, in terms of diction and intent. The lyrics read like a poem rather than words to a song, which makes it all the more fitting that they are sung in a breathy, down-tone way. The smooth organ ebbs and flows in the background with the brass band, creating a soundscape within itself. It sounds a bit like 'The Nest That Sailed The Sky' (see my review of OVO (2000, #81)). There is no sharp Latin beat to kick things up here; even the ending is downbeat and beautiful.

The first time this fourpiece drop the ball is on 'Come Away With Me'. As on previous tracks we get the wierd bird noises and the sumptuous organ soundscape. But unlike before there is nothing rhythmically solid for Dangerfield to lock into; the double bass is too jazzy and loose, and the drums are almost totally out of the picture, appearing in sporodic show-off segments. As a mood piece, this may work, but as a song, it has the feeling of filler. The title track, though, is much more like it. The drums have settled down, been clipped back and made more dynamic. The bass is more playful at the end of lines as Aristazabel creates some lovely touches to lighten the mood. Overall, this is another bright, informal song from a band which never takes itself too seriously.

After this rather childlike number, 'If The World Ends' seems like an overambitious jump. It's like you've come out of a Bangles gig at the interval, and when you came back in they'd been replaced by The Blue Nile. But don't be fooled - everything that made the last six tracks good is still there, albeit with the volume turned down. Dangerfield sounds at home, crooning lyrics about love in a manner akin to Paul Buchanan. And once again, the beautiful organ accompanies him, taking us to the waters' edge where our two lovers are lying in each other's arms.

'We're Here' begins with the same spaced-out, coastal organ that graced the last piece. Only this time, the tempo has been kicked back up, and the mood has changed to one of youthful optimism, perfectly captured in the first verse:

The world is our carpet now
The world is our dance floor now
Remind me how to dance again
The world is our carpet now

It's a song of hope and new beginnings, wrapped up in the blinding language of love. Dangerfield delivers his lyrics with a happy abandon that we have not seen up to now; he is singing with a huge smile on his face, which is exactly what we end up with after this.

'Blue Would Still Be Blue' counters the 'upper' that was the previous track with a series of four-note piano riffs which are designed to completely and utterly chill you. Played on what sounds like an e-piano, the notes bounce through the mix like raindrops rippling the surface of a lake. The lyrics may be trying to be too clever, with lines like It's not raining cats, it's not raining dogs/ Pigs are not flying, or turning the cogs. But they retain a strange, almost ethereal beauty, due to Dangerfield's honest yearning into the mike.

'Annie, Let's Not Wait', meanwhile, is pure and simple pop. The guitars are jangly, the keyboards are kooky and off-the-wall, and Dangerfield is in happy-throwaway mode. It is only because of these inate and pleasing cheeriness that he can get away with the opening lines, I found something crying, it was my soul/ I fed it milk, so it wouldn't grow old. At heart, this is a cheerful, snappy, midsummer song, just on the right side of mainstream to avoid being instantly forgetable.

We have reached the final two tracks, and they are both distinctly odd. 'And If All...' is the shortest track on here, at only 1:19, and it reads a little like David Bowie's 'Eight Line Poem' (see my review of Hunky Dory (1971, #34). It segues out of the previous track and contains little in the way of interest or substance, reducing it to pure filler. 'São Paulo', on the other hand, is the longest track on the album, at a whopping 11:42. Beginning with waves and tinkling piano which are straight out of Quadrophenia (1973), it then morphs quickly into a Procol Harum-style piano piece backed by flugelhorn and tubular bells. The vast number of different sounds and tempo changes on show here almost make this a prog track, and mean that you need a wealth of patience to last the distance. But if you can, this piece is hugely rewarding, if a little overwhelming.

Through The Windowpane is an album of two halves. On the one hand, we have a selection of elegant, beautiful and avant-garde love songs, drawing inspiration from classical music and downbeat jazz. On the other hand, we have a series of bright, carefree and rich pop songs, still a little different to the indie humdrum, but not enough to make everyone notice. 'Trains To Brazil', the best track, is slap-bang in the middle, being both a great pop song and a remarkable piece of rock craftsmanship. On the follow-up, Red (2008), the band would gradually drift towards the pop end of the spectrum, but here there are still trying to figure out who they are. But despite this, the album never lurches from one style to another; it doesn't feel like a demo tape or a compilation. Much like Hunky Dory, its unity comes in the disparity and variety of the material on offer. The two very different kinds of songs are both played with the same unpredictable grace and hints of madness that the best bands have always had. Thus, even on its most mainstream moments, Through The Windowpane remains leftfield, unusual, and almost completely mad - making it a must-have who anyone interested in music.

3.92 out of 5

References
¹ 'Sound of 2006: The Top 10', BBC News: Entertainment (January 6 2006), http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/4514016.stm. Accessed on July 29 2008.

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 - #45: Silence Falls... (2006)

At number 45 is singer-songwriter Gethin Jones, with his first offering for WERL Records.Gethin Jones was born in 1986 and grew up in Carmarthen in Wales. His love of music began at a young age, and by the time he left high school he was well versed in guitar, piano, french horn and drums, as well as honing his skills as a singer. Heavily influenced by the likes of Damien Rice, Leonard Cohen and Antony & The Johnsons, he began writing his own music in 2001, and in 2004 he won a place at Warwick University to study Theatre and Performance Studies. While pursuing a successful career on the stage, especially in the hands of Music Theatre Warwick (MTW), he came to the attention of Warwick Exposure Record Label (WERL). In 2005 he began recording and playing sets in Leamington Spa.

'The Keyholder's Lullaby' is a fitting opener, introducing us to the style of Jones without being so comprehensive as to exhuast all imagination. There is a melancholy feel to the guitar, and the minor chords enhance Gethin's yearning voice. The lyrics might seem like your standard singer-songwriter fare, but of course that's not the most important thing; in this genre it is how authentic the delivery is which matters. And Jones has honesty in spades; there is not a whiff of cynicism or laziness in his voice as he crests the high notes with all the nerve of Ray La Montaigne.

Unfortunately, the next offering is a bit of a step backward. 'Empty' is quicker, not just in its tempo, but that it feels rushed. The big problem with this is that his voice is lost in the mix. Whether that is due to his delivery or the production is a matter to be disputed elsewhere (being a student record its production will be pretty basic - Jaffa Minute? EP (2005, #60) was a very good exception). The result, however, is that this loses a lot of emotional substance and cannot stand up to its predecessor.

'Puppet's Verse' returns us to the introspective, soul-searching sort of song which exemplifies Jones. Unlike 'The Keyholder's Lullaby', this brings out his Christian faith, with lyrics which smack of confusion and alienation:

Am I in control,
Or just a puppet for jaded souls?
Can I choose,
Or is this just a sport for God?

As for the instrumentation, the acoustic is bolder and fuller. If you listen carefully enough in the second verse, you will hear the gentle pickings of a non-descript electric guitar, which brings a sense of character to the piece. This is what Gethin does best, making music that is sensitive and from the heart without coming across as self-obsessed or just another angst-ridden student (if you still need proof, check out 'Regina' on the outtakes album The Silence Sessions (2007)).

'Missing You' brings together the romantic and spiritual strands of the previous songs, synthesising them into something relatively bright and jaunty. It is difficult to tell whether he sings about God or about his former girlfriend, Sophie Thomas, who plays violin on two tracks and to whom the album is dedicated. You hear one line which has a directly spiritual connotation, followed by an openly romantic one. The most interesting thing about this track, though, has to be the 'horn' part, which fits perfectly into the mix.

The title track abandons the guitar temporarily and replaces it with piano. When you hear the first few bars of Jones' voice over the keys, you are slightly perturbed, you think that he is singing out of key. In fact, this is a cunning device which sustains your interest as the guitar comes in and the song winds on to the chorus. This is yet another very good song from Jones, not least because it demonstrates his vocal range. It's not as good, however, as 'Wheels'. This is a punchy 3-minute single, complete with catchy riff and splendid, if subtle, harmonies. The riff tumbles out of his guitar as if he is caressing it, being well-complimented by his vocal performance, the best on the album because it is both emotive and restrained. This is the one track on here that you could honestly play over and over - it's that good.

The album closes with a twist. 'I Will Be' is a heartfelt, lullaby-tempo tune in the same vein as 'Puppet's Verse'; it almost has the same chord progression. It's richer, though, and more optimistic, like Rice's 'Cannonball'. This may have the same irritating thud of limited percussion as 'The Keyholder's Lullaby', but the violin more than makes up for it; it sounds so rich and warm against Gethin's lowest registers. But that is not the end. The hidden track, 'It's Me' (which begins at 5:10), returns to the outright minor chords, setting a funereal scene. Jones delivers the lyrics with all the creepiness of an octogenarian blues singer, and it's a very pleasing song, not least because it's quite a departure.

Many casual listeners and critics alike will brush this album aside as the dawdlings of yet another singer-songwriter, bored with essays and eager to share their self-annihilating misery with their peers. But for all its foibles, Silence Falls... does not fall under that banner. Even if acoustic folk rock isn't your weapon of choice, listening to this you do get a sense of the honesty that has gone into it. This doesn't feel like a random collection of banal and scattered poetry set to a three-chord blues; instead it feels like a journey of discovery. It manages to be introspective and personal without alienating three-quarters of the audience and boring whoever is left. And for that - being an acoustic record which doesn't cause death by boredom - this deserves a place on any chart.

3.86 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #59: Campfire Punkrock EP (2006)

Folk musician Frank Turner has his first and last entry in the shape of his solo debut, Campfire Punkrock EP.Born Francis Turner in Bahrain, Turner was educated at Eton and entered the music business in 2001 as the vocalist for hardcore punk band Million Dead. The group, which included Turner's old friend Ben Dawson on drums, lasted four years and released two albums. But after the loss of guitarist Dean Cameron in late 2004, the band's fortunes and finances dwindled, and they parted ways at the end of a tour in September 2005. Capitalising upon well-received solo gigs in 2004 - intended to expose Million Dead rather than undermine them - Turner began a full-time solo career and relocated to Oxford to compose material for an EP.

Campfire Punkrock is the result. It opens with 'Nashville Tennessee', a bright track with a country-ish tinge to it. Turner is not the best singer, but he makes up for this in some very sharp lyrics and a "punk rock sense of honesty." This does sound very much like how country and western would have sounded if it had been invented in Britain. It has a folkish sensibility, combined with some nice blues-sounding chords in the middle. It's a very decent opening which establishs the tone and style of both the EP and Turner's oeuvre.

Having marked himself out as being at the more intelligent end of the singer-songwriter scale, Turner now gets political with 'Thatcher Fucked The Kids'. Here the lyrics are barbed, expletive and, most importantly of all, right on the button. This song is truly Dylan-esque in that it sums up the predicament of a new generation, coping with the turmoils of 2006. You only have to look at the first few lines of the bridge to realise his lyrical brilliance:

A generation raised on the welfare state
Enjoyed all of its benefits and did just great
But as soon as they were settled as the richest of the rich
They kicked away the ladder,
Told the rest of us that life's a bitch

Sadly, however, that's where the praise temporarily grinds to a halt. 'This Town Ain't Big Enough For The One Of Me' is a run-of-the-mill stripped-back indie punk number, reminiscent of early Green Day synthesised awkwardly with The Undertones. Turner shouts the lyrics over the flatlined melody, in a effort to disguise their relative shallowness. The structure of the chorus is pinched straight from The Buzzcocks' 'Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't Have' and it's just generally unoriginal.

But the great thing about Turner, as it turns out, is that he learns from his mistakes. 'Casanova Lament' may be the shortest track at only 2:14, but it still manages to tell a story and cram a lot in without seeming top-heavy or slushy. If it were done by anyone else, this kind of gentle strummer sounds like the theme song for a perfume advert. Turner, on the other hand, makes this a honest love song of regret through his delivery, first and foremost, but through his precise playing too.

The EP closes with 'I Really Don't Care What You Did On Your Gap Year', whose title sounds like either a disillusioned student anthem or a Panic! At The Disco offcut. Like 'Casanova Lament', this is a romantic number, with all the brutal honesty of the morning after a one-night stand. Again, it's down-tempo, guitar heavy and honestly delivered, but this is only to be expected since Turner is still finding his sound. If the entire record had consistently of regurgitations of this, it might not have fared so well. As it is, it's pretty damn good.

As folk records go, Campfire Punkrock veers closer to the political barbs of Bob Dylan than the glossy nostalgia of Show Of Hands or the heart-wrenching spirituality of Martyn Joseph (see my review of Deep Blue (2005), #94). There are traces of Turner's punk-tinged upbringing both in its brutal honesty and blunt delivery, and it is where these two come to height at the same time that the record is truly great. The downside to the EP are the genre-hopping slip-ups along the way - very few of the experiments, especially the middle track, reward the listener's patience. In the final analysis, however, this is a wonderfully piquant record which should reward its creator with the success he deserves.

3.80 out of 5

Top 100 Albums - #79: Ringleader Of The Tormentors (2006)

Morrissey's only effort to make the chart is his most recent release. Ringleader Of The Tormentors was designed to consolidate Morrissey's solo comeback after the success of You Are The Quarry (2004). Following the success of Vauxhall And I (1994), Morrissey had declared that he would never top it, being at the very peak of his powers and contemplating retirement.¹ Unfortunately for him, the next few years seemed to fulfill those badly chosen words. His next two albums, the proggish Southpaw Grammar (1995) and the Smiths-ish Maladjusted (1997) both received mixed-to-negative reviews. As Britpop swept across 1990s Britain, the likes of Blur and Oasis denounced Morrissey as a moaning has-been, and he limped off to Los Angeles into what seemed like retirement. In 2004, with Britpop dead and buried, he stormed back with You Are The Quarry, restoring his reputation as a doom-mongering wordsmith and setting things up nicely for a full-flung comeback.

Or so you'd think. Because listening to the opening track, 'I Will See You In Far-Off Places', does not fill you with much hope or make you believe that the hype is deserved. The pre-vocal section is too chaotic to add anything to the song, and Mozza's clunky delivery makes this an almost impossible listen. It's repetitive, formulaic and lyrically incredibly awkward, even by his standards. It is the same story for 'Dear God, Please Help Me'. The use of acoustic guitar and organ is a very interesting and wise choice, but again Mozza is the fly in the ointment. Lines likes There are explosive kegs/ Between my legs sound like a lyricist's cry for help, being so jerky and unsubtle as they are. It's not that Morrissey can't sing - it's just that his voice leaves no room for the casual listener.

The single 'You Have Killed Me' shares the same flaws, and makes things worse by becoming the most vacuous drivel he has produced in years. The verses are meaningless tat and the chorus is almost laughable, with lines like Yes, I walk around, somehow/ But you have killed me, you have killed me. Morrissey has squandered everything available - including a fair strings session provided by producer Tony Visconti - to produce a tacky, meandering pub-pop song - for this, he has every reason to be ashamed.

Thankfully, things improve a little with 'The Youngest Was The Most Loved'. Even that statement comes as a relief in itself. Opening with traffic noises, all fears of more drab 3-minute pop are quashed with this dark parable of a protected child who turns into a killer. With strong bass at the start, and a good ironic refrain - There is no such thing in life as normal - this is a much stronger piece which, at the very least, doesn't grate your nerves. And to do this with both a children's choir and pointless falsetto at the end is quite a coup.

'In The Future When All's Well' starts very boldly, as if to say that this form will continue. It doesn't. This is a return to the inane self-parodying pop of the first three tracks. This is too bright and repetitive to pass muster as a real Mozza masterpiece, to use the word extremely loosely. There are lyrical hooks, but they are of such a banal and stupefying nature that they dig into your side instead of earworming their way into your memory.

Finally, after all this torment, we come to 'The Father Who Must Be Killed'. This is a murder ballad of Nick Cave quality. It pulls no punches while, like all good murder ballads, making you side with the killer, in this case a child killing its stepfather. The lyrics are graphic to say the least:

So the step-child ran with the knife to his
Sleeping frame and slams it in his arms,
His legs his face his neck, and says:
"There's a law against me now."

Through listening to this enticing track, whetting your appetite for the second half, you can't help wishing the rest of the album had been more like this. At the very least, a lot of the features of this track could have been grafted onto the other tracks. But before you can speak your mind, the rain begins to fall as we enter 'Life Is A Pigsty'. The previous track may have been great, but this is fantastic. This, and this alone, is the great track on the album, the yardstick against which modern Mozza should be measured. The production is superb, the use of piano is sensitive and the rain completes the mood without seeming like an offcut from a forgotten prog record. Like the bass line, the message is simple yet brilliant - that modern life is shit, and there is no escape. Sure, it would be too hasty to compare this to something like 'Gloomy Sunday', but this is as close to utter despair that Morrissey has come since the days of Hatful Of Hollow (1984).

It is a great shame then that, having delivered two of his finest tracks in one go, Mozza goes and ruins things on 'I'll Never Be Anybody's Hero'. This is not quite is inane as some of the songs, but it still feels like he's treading water, extending choruses to string out a dead message and avoid producing only half an album. There are more laughable lyrics, like I am a ghost/ And as far as I know/ I haven't even died, which well make you scoff or else fain pity. It's the same story with 'On The Streets I Ran'. In it Morrissey claimed that he has Turned sickness into popular song - more terrible self-parody. You sense that the sessions musicians - especially Gary Day on bass - are straining to desperately bring out the best in the music, and yet they are losing the battle to Morrissey's mindless mediocrity.

The last truly fabulous song on the album is 'To Me You Are A Work Of Art'. As on 'Life Is A Pigsty', the production is rich and layered, and yet this is more upbeat, making it a double coup. The chorus is impressive enough, at least by contemporary standards:

To me you are
A work of art
And I would give you my heart
That's if I had one

There are some wonderful guitar and bass vibes coming on here on tops of the electronica washes which are reminiscent of 'Unhappy Birthday' on Strangeways Here We Come (1987). It was the continuation of this sound which made Morrissey's first solo record, Viva Hate (1988), so successful, and by revisiting it he achieves the same result. It's a greatly underrated song, at least in the context of the album.

The closing two songs are both better fare in general from Mozza. 'I Just Want To See The Boy Happy' features great guitar and drum combinations from Boz Boorer and Dan Chamberlain respectively. It's an urgent plea which Morrissey manages to pass of without seeming either cloyed or a victim of his own signature sound. The latter is more grandiose, as with an orchestra backing him Mozza launched into a number which is both self-promoting and self-deprecating at the same time. There is little tinkering made to the formula which Mozza has by now consolidated (and then satirised), but this is fair enough in quality for even the devoted listener to overlook this.

Ringleader Of The Tormentors will try the patience of many a listener. Whether you come to this a Smiths and Mozza fan to the point of mental illness, or discover this by accident, you will need to come with plenty of patience and perseverance if you want to reach the good stuff. This, it turns out, is the sort of album which you skip through after the initial listen, and in any case the good tracks are only good as occassional listeners. All of this would seem to undermine the argument for its inclusion on the chart. But there are some good points to it. Visconti's production is as flawless as ever, as you would expect from one of the best in the business. And while the lyrics are the weakness of this album in many places, musically this is a reasonable effort. But while that is enough to redeem itself enough to justify its positioning, Morrissey should take these criticisms - which have been made elsewhere - on board whenever he chooses to complete his comeback.

3.75 out of 5

References

¹ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vauxhall_and_I. Accessed on July 31 2007.

Top 100 Albums - #86: The Essential Collection (2006)

At number 86 is the latest attempt to chronicle the 40-year career of German electro-prog superstars Tangerine Dream.

It is extremely difficult to reduce a career spanning four decades into the space of a paragraph. It becomes even more difficult when this band is not as acclaimed, as famous or as popular as some of its contemporaries. Tangerine Dream were founded in 1967 by guitarist Edgar Froese, an art student at Berlin University after the disbanding of the R&B group The Ones. Inspired by the surrealist movements - Froese was taught art by Salvador Dalì himself - he formed Tangerine Dream with drummer Klaus Schulze and organist Conrad Schnitzler. They released Electronic Meditation in 1970, beginning a career which produced over 100 albums and involved constant personnel changes, on a scale rivalled by only Fleetwood Mac and Jethro Tull, with Froese being the only constant member. From the outset their music was marked by a fascination with technology and long, winding instrumental pieces which only rarely featured vocals. They have become widely regarded as unknown pioneers, inspiring the genres of Krautrock and New Age which dominated the 1970s and early-1980s.

This album begins with a live track, 'Poland', taken from the 1984 album of the same name. This may seem an odd place to begin, but in fact, with a brief reading of history, it's actually quite apt. Tangerine Dream were one of the first Western groups to become popular behind the Iron Curtain; the use of instrumentals meant that their music was not censored by the communist authorities. The actual song, to get to the point of this review, unfolds very nicely. It is very difficult to identify many of the instruments involved, and there is a good reason for that. Froese was renowned for custom-making instruments for indivudual albums, and jimmying up the latest technology to radically change its sound. As such you can't really put your finger on much here, save acknowledging the presence of multiple synthesisers and a subtle drummer. The best part comes in the final third when things quieten down, becoming sparse and brooding.

After a good start, we remain in the 1980s with 'Bois De Boulogne'. Taken from Le Parc (1985), it begins like a catchy French electro tune, before morphing into a gloriously mysterious piece. Unlike its predecessor - which clocked in at an almighty 22:25 - this is only 5:07, and it's a lot better for it. Like Mike Oldfield at around the same time, Tangerine Dream were succumbing to the electro-pop culture of the 1980s and producing shorter, punchier songs that before - for an example of Oldfield, compare the sprawlingly indifferent Hergest Ridge (1974) with the semi-pop Crises (1983). There is impressive keyboard work from Chris Franke, one of the more consistent members in the flux. Though it sounds like a keyboard on violins setting, real violins would have ruined it.

'Song Of The Whale: Part I - From Dawn...' is, even at this early stage, superior to everything else on the album. The previous two (excellent) pieces wrestled with the technology in different ways - 'Poland' stretched things out to create a veritable soundscape with multiple movements, 'Bois De Boulogne' compressed their experiments down into something which could, with lyrics, have passed as a continental pop song. This song, from Underwater Sunlight (1986) is the perfect harmony of the two. It features an insanely catchy 8-note riff on what is too thudding to be a keyboard, but two synthesised to be something like a tubular bell. The flaw is that the song's great white-out ending seems to come too soon before the end, but this is made up for and then some by Froese's work on both acoustic and electric guitar, which sing out over the hubbub of electronic gadgets.

'Livemiles II', as the title suggests, is the second and last live track, taken from Livemiles (1988). This returns to the drawn-out ultra-prog of 'Poland', built around the stable mid-80s lineup of Froese, Franke and Paul Haslinger. But this is more melodic, and attractive, than 'Poland'; while that track relies on darkly sinister noise effects to set the tone, the classical background of Haslinger brought structure and finesse to the Dream. This feels meticulous, prepared and cleverly orchestrated - odd for a live performance, let alone one which incorporated light shows. In the middle third, we get the first taste of bass guitar, albeit a heavy processed one. Its presence it much appreciated, adding a different dimension to the three-piece.

The next two tracks, taken from Tyger (1987), also feature bass guitar, although in this case it is hidden under and muted by extensive keyboards and 'noise'. '21st Century Common Man' is split into two parts, in the same way that 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond' was done - making it a much more accessible product. 'Part I' is obtrusive and sinister, with unrelenting and repetitive keyboards and brooding bass lines which demand close inspection to the point of obsession. The ending, however, is very different. With all the effects temporarily removed, we are treated to swirling keyboards giving us what sounds like an electro outtake of 'Barber's Adagio for Strings'. 'Part II' sees bass and hi-hat working together to produce a more likeable and accessible rock track - I can hardly bring myself to describe Tangerine Dream as 'toe-tappers', but this is the closest that they have come. This song doesn't develop as greatly as the rest, but still - so far, so very good.

Now the bad news. Without a second's hesititation, the clock is turned back to Electronic Meditation and the appropriately titled 'Genesis'. But rather than being the burst of creative energy you might expect from a 5-minute track, it's a loose and haunting jam featuring whooping banshee cries and cymbal crashes a-plenty. It's disorganised, directionless and utterly fails to grip your attention after the initial curiosity has waned. In fact, both the next two tracks, also from the 1970s, fail in the same way and on the same grounds. Both are over 15 minutes long, and both are boring artifacts of experimentation which now feels distinctly antiquarian. The title track of Alpha Centauri (1971) feels like a barren landscape outside a broken-down radio station, with what sounds like a badly-played flute in the background amid the feedback. It is utterly directionless and takes up too much room; then again, 'Zeit' - again, a title track, from 1972 - doesn't fare much better. It retreads old ground, bringing you back to where 'Alpha Centauri' began, like your in a desert, going round in circles as you follow the tracks left by your own footprints.

With all this in mind, one would expect 'Atem', from 1973, to be much the same. In fact, from the opening two minutes alone it becomes a surprise improvement - because there are drums in this one, not just white noise and other now-trashy effects. There are proper synthesisers here, probably incorporated the famous Mellotron as well, which is always a good thing. There is also a good repetitious phrase of four notes, which while not exactly infectious at least gives the listener something to grapple with and hold on to as the song meanders to its conclusion. The late John Peel made Atem his Album of the Year in 1973.¹ While, considering what other, better records came out in 1973, this might appear stupid, in hindsight he may have been onto something.

'White Clouds' is a good choice to finish with, with its great drumming from Franke (he was originally a drummer before switching to synthesisers after the end of their psychedelic phase in the mid-70s. Taken from the album Green Desert (1986), it is a return to 80s form in disguise, since the material was actually recorded in 1973. The Mellotron is writ large, played beautifully and catchily by Froese, and the whole thing feels like both classic TD and a development of the kind of groove that Procol Harum pioneered on A Salty Dog (1969). Add some tropical noises and you have a classic.

Tangerine Dream are always a difficult band to talk about, because (a) they're incredibly difficult to sum up; (b) few people outside of the prog cult know about them; and (c) they tend to be grouped with - dare I say it - Yes as the 'bad guys' of prog, too caught up in the pretensions of doing long, meaningless pieces to pay attention to the purpose of the music. Making a compilation of them is therefore near-impossible to get right. This manages it well enough, not by selecting the best stuff, but by showing you why TD are so difficult to deal with. Clocking in at nearly 2-and-a-half hours, this is DEFINITELY not one to listen to all the way through. It shows how the Dream so often got it spot on with shorter pieces, but in the early days especially wasted their time in aimless meanderings through the cupboard of 70s technology. Fans of more accessible progressive artists like Pink Floyd will find this hard, and it would be an indie fan's worst nightmare. But, in the final analysis, it's a good record to have and dip into occassionally, if only to prove how idiosyncratic they really are.

3.73 out of 5

References

¹ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tangerine_Dream. Accessed on July 24 2007.

Top 100 Albums - #96: Super Colossal (2006)

Joe Satriani's most recent effort is his lowest entry on the chart, with Super Colossal coming in at number 96.

For the American instrumental guitarist, best known for albums like Surfing With The Alien (1987) and Flying In A Blue Dream (1989), the early part of the 21st century had been a quiet one. With the popular tide turning against 'the shredders', and guitar rock in general with the implosion of grunge in the mid-1990s, artists like Satriani were being forced back to the drawing board. Satriani's later, more experimental efforts - like Strange Beautiful Music (2002), which also appears on the chart - received mixed reviews, as did his own efforts with guitar supergroup G3. After the G3 concerts in 2003 and 2005, an anthology or two, and the well-received Is There Love In Space? (2004), 'Satch' was ready to re-establish himself at the forefront of experimental guitar.

The title track of Super Colossal kicks things off very nicely. The simple drums not only keep things together while Satriani bends and flails around, but it has the sort of hooks that characterised his career in the 1980s, albeit in a more subtle, layered way. 'Just Like Lightnin'' continues this, with the rhythm part this time provides the hooks. It's brighter, less in your face and catchingly repetitive, all the qualities which marked his peak. Using what sounds like a Wah-Wah pedal in the middle, Satriani moves things up the scale of emotion just a touch, and it ends crisply.

Having set you up, however, we are then treated to the suprising and uneven sound of (the ironically-named) 'It's So Good'. This number has a very off-putting, almost Martian beginning, and throughout it cannot make up its mind over whether it's a summery, feelgood number or a space rock headbanger. This trend of unsuccessful experiments continues on both 'Redshift Riders' and 'Ten Words'. The former starts soft before mutating into that most unique of things, a soft metal song. There is some awful effects put on at about 1:24 which will cause many to shudder. The latter starts better, like a piece by The Verve, but it stays like most songs The Verve wrote - they're very light, airy and don't have a lot of point to them (the exception being 'Bitter-Sweet Symphony, but that masterpiece was written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, and not the talentless Richard Ashcroft).

'A Cool New Way' gets us nicely back on track, with an intro which not only features good high-note plucking from 'Satch', but also - for the first time on the album - bass work that is prominent enough to take things up a gear. Although, like its predecessor, this is relatively relaxed in tempo, this is not a bad thing when the sound of the guitar is at its most graceful and soulful yet. There is also a rather attractive, one-note returning riff which pops up at the right moment. Add some Nick Mason-esque drumming and you have a very promising little number. 'One Robot's Dream', however, sees both Satriani and its bassist lose focus temporarily, as well as one fatal error - using keyboards, or what sounds like them. The whole thing is too slow to justify its (awful) opening, goes on way too long, and it sounds like Satriani is warming up or else just having a lazy bit of fun.

The second half of the album is a great deal more consistent - all the songs from hereoin in are four-star numbers. 'The Meaning Of Love' is a good one to start with, its delayed and distorted guitar setting an appropriately romantic tone; this then builds with restrained guitar and drum work to create a beautiful piece in the right setting. 'Made Of Tears' has a very catchy and attractive intro, which acts as the perfect foil for the drums and later the guitar, which this time has a bluesy, almost rockabilly edge to things, though some jazz creeps in a little later on.

'Theme For A Strange World', probably the best track on the album, combines metal-esque drums with slurry guitars, yet manages to keep everything in control, producing a great anthem. I have often said that the best Satriani songs ae those that put lyrics into your head, even if the song's don't need them - and this is a textbook example. 'Movin' On' does what it says on the tin, abandoning metal for a more Bruce Springsteen, 80s US pop rock style. Without stealing too much from The Boss, it pays tribute to his style (discussed in my review of The Rising, #99). 'A Love Eternal', with its distinctive, romantic chord progressions, is faintly reminiscent of 'You Saved My Life' off Strange Beautiful Music, but if anything this is better, more focussed and more emotive.

The closer, 'Crowd Chant', appears to have been designed specifically for the stage. A question-and-answer shredding session between guitarist and crowd, it feels a little out of place, and the interpolation of Gabriel Fauré's 'Pavane' at the end is a little weird, but be that as it may, it's intensely enjoyable and you will find it difficult not to join.

Super Colossal, with the exception of a couple of tracks, never really lives up to its name. You come away frustrated: you preferred the second half for its consistency, yet acknowledge that without the first half to get you there it would still be a flawed record. It's a good effort by Satriani for displaying his many skills, and is testament to his reputation as one of the best in the business. But the guitarist nicknamed 'The Genius' should for his next effort choose wisely with his effects and genres instead of throwing everything around in a blender in a desperate bid to appear relevant.

3.69 out of 5