Reviews

First released in CD form in 1992, Fragments Of A Rainy Season marked a crucial, pivotal point in the life and career of our greatest living Welshman. After years of alcohol and drug addiction had turned his life into a full-blown shambles, Cale swapped whiskey and cocaine for regular games of squash and full-time commitment to parenthood in the early '90s. Far from blunting his creative edge, sobriety and responsibility appeared to free him up to take greater risks in the studio, and brought the kind of focus that enabled him to hone his live act down to something like perfection.

CD debut for lost '60s soul giant

Grammy-nominated at five (for 1973's "Daddy What If" duèt with famous country dad Bobby Bare), Junior took the Nashville blood and jacked it up with a punk speedball and heaps of seedy Memphis Soul. His second YCSL release is a dark narcotic delight, the beat-up voice straddling the grainbelt between Jeff Tweedy and Ryan Adams, and flipping the bird with all the wry sarcasm of Red Star Belgrade's Bill Curry. And the back-up's top drawer—Will Oldham, plus Lambchoppers Paul Burch, Paul Niehaus and producer Mark Nevers.

While many of St Etienne's 'concepts' have left me cold, this one resonates, perhaps because I've just read the enchanting coffee-table tome Classic Cafes by Adrian Maddox and Phil Nicholls. Bob Stanley's sleevenotes similarly eulogise the faded majesty and allure of "caffs"—"'It's for lorry drivers,' said my mum." As these temples to a bygone age disappear, they exude the melancholy of half-recalled Donovan songs. In homage to these hallowed halls of grease are kitsch gems from The Kinks, Chairmen Of The Board, The Moments and The Sapphires.

Debut of lean, libidinous mechanico-funk from London DJ duo

Ill-chosen selection that ignores her best work

Unmistakably French web of desire and revenge

Moody, often magical Icelandic drama

Stylish Hong Kong gangster flick that doesn't quite realise its potential

This unintentionally funny French heist movie is mired by its late-'70s aesthetic. Francis Huster is the swaggering hero, all but popping out of super-tight beige slacks and ruefully mouthing lines that mention "the poetry of the cash balance". The earnest political radicalism seems dated and risible now, but the direction is competent and the bank heist itself is good fun.