Reviews

A Derbyshire-bred, Manchester-based group formerly known as the Dakota Oak Trio. DOT loiter pleasantly at the dewy, bucolic end of post-rock. Fridge are, perhaps, their closest contemporaries. And just as Kieran "Four Tet" Hebden's solo output outshines his work with Fridge, there's a sense DOT's Dave Tyack and James "Pedro" Rutledge make much better records on their own. Plenty of ramshackle virtuosity, crafty folktronica hybrids and limp singing amongst these 10 tracks, but the earth remains resolutely unshattered.

Live follow-up to 2001's Last Man On Earth with all-star band

Six years and three albums later, FQ is still one big enigma

Eighty-three examples of Stephin Merritt's pop art from 99/2000

Well-presented, bonus-heavy reissues-if only Quo were worth it

Naturalistic take on bent policing Buenos Aires-style

A rather contrived sequel to 1999's Billy Crystal/Robert De Niro buddy comedy (Analyze This), Analyze That nonetheless has enough sporadic wit and infectious Hope/Crosby chemistry to justify its existence. Here De Niro's neurotic mobster is released from prison into the protective custody of Crystal's wisecracking shrink (don't ask). Cue some 'fish out of water' shenanigans, a Sopranos parody, and a grand heist finale.

The 1973 story of young fairground worker Jim (David Essex) making it as a pop star on the cusp of the '60s captures the very smell of small-time rock'n'roll dreaming. It ekes real pathos from the bloating of Jim's ego. Keith Moon's his drummer. In the sequel, Jim turns Lizard King, forgets his roots, shags around and gives manager Adam Faith headaches. Great.

Johnny Knoxville and his cohorts torture, humiliate and occasionally shave themselves and others in this big-screen outing for the cult TV show. Much of their wanton destruction and reckless self-endangerment you can take or leave, but the bowling ball in the bollocks induces a major wince, as does the bungee wedgie and the between-toe paper-cutting.

Raised in rural New Mexico, Dameon Lee—aka Lowlights—gravitated first towards power pop with Albuquerque combo Scared Of Chaka. In 1999, six albums later, he set about beating a more sepulchral trail of his own. Co-produced by Dustin (Rocketship) Reske, this painterly debut is a sad-slow delight. Nothing maudlin about it either. Lee's voice has an autumn-leaf warmth, carried on swirls of organ noise, understated pedal-steel and shadowed by the faint harmonies of Angela Brown.