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Sand (Feat. Kim Fowley And Roy Swedeen) – The West Is Best

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Neighbours at the edge of the Californian desert, legendary producer Fowley plays with ex-Misunderstood drummer Swedeen as two-thirds of The Bluebird Trio, alongside this splinter. Swedeen proves himself a multi-instrumental dynamo, tackling everything from cactus blues and roadhouse ramalama to outlaw country and beyond. Assorted friends pitch in (notably ex-Kaleidoscoper Chris Darrow on lap-steel), but Fowley's low snarl summons a stealthy menace on these songs inspired by Little Steven, Johnny Cash and, um, Wal-Mart.

Neighbours at the edge of the Californian desert, legendary producer Fowley plays with ex-Misunderstood drummer Swedeen as two-thirds of The Bluebird Trio, alongside this splinter. Swedeen proves himself a multi-instrumental dynamo, tackling everything from cactus blues and roadhouse ramalama to outlaw country and beyond. Assorted friends pitch in (notably ex-Kaleidoscoper Chris Darrow on lap-steel), but Fowley’s low snarl summons a stealthy menace on these songs inspired by Little Steven, Johnny Cash and, um, Wal-Mart.

Pitman – It Takes A Nation Of Tossers

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He is a coal miner who also happens to rap. He is a crossbreed of Alan Partridge, Eminem and Half Man Half Biscuit. His debut album is an impassioned cry of anguish at 21st-century Britain, from public transport ("Waiting") via twats ("Two Twats") to Blue ("What's The Point?"). He dreams of true lov...

He is a coal miner who also happens to rap. He is a crossbreed of Alan Partridge, Eminem and Half Man Half Biscuit. His debut album is an impassioned cry of anguish at 21st-century Britain, from public transport (“Waiting”) via twats (“Two Twats”) to Blue (“What’s The Point?”). He dreams of true love in the local Everything For

Mark Lanegan – Here Comes That Weird Chill

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A lengthy subtitle, Methamphetamine Blues, Extracts & Oddities, goes some way to explain this generous, eccentric EP. As a prelude to his sixth album proper, due next year, Here Comes That Weird Chill finds the fearsome Lanegan in an unusually playful mood. Involvement with Queens Of The Stone Age?and, more specifically, Josh Homme's ad hoc Desert Sessions?have clearly loosened Lanegan up. So the apocalyptic grunge-blues are leavened by clanking experiments, distorted jokes and a fairly faithful cover of Captain Beefheart's "Clear Spot". Aided by sundry Queens and their associates, Lanegan emerges as a more approachable character. Nevertheless, it's telling that the outstanding tracks?"Message To Mine" (a rousing moan reminiscent of his time fronting The Screaming Trees) and "Lexington Slow Down" (penitent piano gospel)?are exactly what we expect from this brooding figure on the rock periphery.

A lengthy subtitle, Methamphetamine Blues, Extracts & Oddities, goes some way to explain this generous, eccentric EP. As a prelude to his sixth album proper, due next year, Here Comes That Weird Chill finds the fearsome Lanegan in an unusually playful mood. Involvement with Queens Of The Stone Age?and, more specifically, Josh Homme’s ad hoc Desert Sessions?have clearly loosened Lanegan up. So the apocalyptic grunge-blues are leavened by clanking experiments, distorted jokes and a fairly faithful cover of Captain Beefheart’s “Clear Spot”. Aided by sundry Queens and their associates, Lanegan emerges as a more approachable character. Nevertheless, it’s telling that the outstanding tracks?”Message To Mine” (a rousing moan reminiscent of his time fronting The Screaming Trees) and “Lexington Slow Down” (penitent piano gospel)?are exactly what we expect from this brooding figure on the rock periphery.

Gonga

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Given that most of its practitioners ape Birmingham's lovely Black Sabbath, the stoner metal boom has had curiously little impact on British bands. Bristol's Gonga aim to change that, chiefly by looking like druids and specialising in the kind of neolithic bottom-end sludge-rock we've come to associate with Southern California in recent years. Criticising their debut album for sounding dated is a bit like condemning Stonehenge for having no central heating. Suffice to say, Gonga invokes the spirits of the ancients in suitably monumental fashion, and has enough hooks (check the surprisingly Nirvana-ish "Stratofortress") to raise it way above the fuzzy morass. Good, too, to see Geoff Barrow (chief of the Invada label) keeping busy during Portishead's indefinite hiatus.

Given that most of its practitioners ape Birmingham’s lovely Black Sabbath, the stoner metal boom has had curiously little impact on British bands. Bristol’s Gonga aim to change that, chiefly by looking like druids and specialising in the kind of neolithic bottom-end sludge-rock we’ve come to associate with Southern California in recent years. Criticising their debut album for sounding dated is a bit like condemning Stonehenge for having no central heating. Suffice to say, Gonga invokes the spirits of the ancients in suitably monumental fashion, and has enough hooks (check the surprisingly Nirvana-ish “Stratofortress”) to raise it way above the fuzzy morass. Good, too, to see Geoff Barrow (chief of the Invada label) keeping busy during Portishead’s indefinite hiatus.

E.S.T. – Seven Days Of Falling

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The popular Esbj...

The popular Esbj

Stylus Remixed By Experimental Audio Research – Exposition

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Taking a dozen or so songs extracted from Dafydd Morgan's much-lauded Pembrokeshire-influenced trilogy of albums, Sonic Boom has reworked them into a musique concr...

Taking a dozen or so songs extracted from Dafydd Morgan’s much-lauded Pembrokeshire-influenced trilogy of albums, Sonic Boom has reworked them into a musique concr

The Blind Boys Of Alabama – Go Tell It On The Mountain

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In Britain, Christmas records are strictly for the Val Doonican/Cliff Richard end of the market. Yet in America, where they call them "seasonal" albums, even the most credible artists seem moved to sing of those sleigh bells a-ring-a-ding-dinging. Hence gospel veterans the Blind Boys have recruited an impressive cast that includes Richard Thompson and Chrissie Hynde ("In The Bleak Midwinter"), Michael Franti ("The Little Drummer Boy"), George Clinton ("Away In A Manger") and Shelby Lynne ("The Christmas Song"). Unfortunately, though, a turkey is still a turkey, and the fact that Tom Waits has contributed to the trimmings only makes it more embarrassing. Bah, humbug.

In Britain, Christmas records are strictly for the Val Doonican/Cliff Richard end of the market. Yet in America, where they call them “seasonal” albums, even the most credible artists seem moved to sing of those sleigh bells a-ring-a-ding-dinging. Hence gospel veterans the Blind Boys have recruited an impressive cast that includes Richard Thompson and Chrissie Hynde (“In The Bleak Midwinter”), Michael Franti (“The Little Drummer Boy”), George Clinton (“Away In A Manger”) and Shelby Lynne (“The Christmas Song”). Unfortunately, though, a turkey is still a turkey, and the fact that Tom Waits has contributed to the trimmings only makes it more embarrassing. Bah, humbug.

The Lithium Project – Many Worlds Theory

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The Lithium Project comprise Jason Farrall and Ken Clarke, and theirs is the sort of jazz-tinged ambient trip hop that can too often congeal into the blandest sort of 21st-century avant-muzak. However, from the opening "Inflow" onward, it's clear that The Lithium Project are operating many fathoms below the norm?their looped and limpid riffs have a methodical way of lulling you into a sense of insecurity, of beguiling you away from the beaten mental track into unfamiliar terrain. Gently insidious stuff.

The Lithium Project comprise Jason Farrall and Ken Clarke, and theirs is the sort of jazz-tinged ambient trip hop that can too often congeal into the blandest sort of 21st-century avant-muzak. However, from the opening “Inflow” onward, it’s clear that The Lithium Project are operating many fathoms below the norm?their looped and limpid riffs have a methodical way of lulling you into a sense of insecurity, of beguiling you away from the beaten mental track into unfamiliar terrain. Gently insidious stuff.

This Month In Americana

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Less a farewell album than the musical celebration of a life, Wildwood Flower is as bright and bold as it is moving. Given the recent tragedy surrounding the first family of country (June died in May; husband Johnny in September; daughter Rosey Nix Adams poisoned by carbon monoxide in October), this is both autobiography and a chronicle of generational ebb and flow. Recorded between October 2002 and March 2003 in Mother Maybelle's Virginian childhood home in Mace Springs, June is joined by Cash, daughter Carlene, son John (who produces), AP and Sarah Carter siblings Joe and Janette, grandkids Laura and Tiffany and close friends Norman Blake and Marty Stuart. Most striking are the voices-June's splintered like ageing timber, Johnny's eroded by disease?but both possess a strength bonded by unconditional love. Their duet on "Will You Miss Me When I'm Gone" (one of seven AP Carter reworkings) is so intimate it almost feels voyeuristic listening in. "Temptation" is a playful take on their relationship, and a fitting companion piece to June's classic "Ring Of Fire", written for Johnny. Elsewhere, wartime radio snippets of the Carter Sisters and "Little Junie" appear like bursts of static. June's humour is never more sweetly evinced than on the intro to "Big Yellow Peaches", where she recalls being chased around the couch by Lee Marvin, a man who "liked to fight the Second World War all the time". Her own "Kneeling Drunkard's Prayer" and "Alcatraz" show a singular compositional flair, leavened by Blake's sunny acoustic picking and spare use of fiddle, mandolin and June's own trademark autoharp. Wildwood Flower is raw and achingly human.

Less a farewell album than the musical celebration of a life, Wildwood Flower is as bright and bold as it is moving. Given the recent tragedy surrounding the first family of country (June died in May; husband Johnny in September; daughter Rosey Nix Adams poisoned by carbon monoxide in October), this is both autobiography and a chronicle of generational ebb and flow.

Recorded between October 2002 and March 2003 in Mother Maybelle’s Virginian childhood home in Mace Springs, June is joined by Cash, daughter Carlene, son John (who produces), AP and Sarah Carter siblings Joe and Janette, grandkids Laura and Tiffany and close friends Norman Blake and Marty Stuart. Most striking are the voices-June’s splintered like ageing timber, Johnny’s eroded by disease?but both possess a strength bonded by unconditional love. Their duet on “Will You Miss Me When I’m Gone” (one of seven AP Carter reworkings) is so intimate it almost feels voyeuristic listening in. “Temptation” is a playful take on their relationship, and a fitting companion piece to June’s classic “Ring Of Fire”, written for Johnny. Elsewhere, wartime radio snippets of the Carter Sisters and “Little Junie” appear like bursts of static. June’s humour is never more sweetly evinced than on the intro to “Big Yellow Peaches”, where she recalls being chased around the couch by Lee Marvin, a man who “liked to fight the Second World War all the time”. Her own “Kneeling Drunkard’s Prayer” and “Alcatraz” show a singular compositional flair, leavened by Blake’s sunny acoustic picking and spare use of fiddle, mandolin and June’s own trademark autoharp. Wildwood Flower is raw and achingly human.

Josh Ritter – Golden Age Of Radio

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Released to acclaim in the US early last year, 26-year-old Ritter's debut earned him support slots with Dylan and the admiration of Joan Baez. Now available in the UK, this is softly rolling roots-folk with the warmth of John Prine and a twist of Richard Buckner. Townes Van Zandt and Nick Drake ("You've Got The Moon"; "Drive Away") are obvious touchstones, too, but ldaho-born Ritter's lugubrious stealth is rooted in his own earth, addressing the paradox between the allure of the road and the pull of tradition. A second album, Hello Starling, is already available across the Atlantic and will be released here next year.

Released to acclaim in the US early last year, 26-year-old Ritter’s debut earned him support slots with Dylan and the admiration of Joan Baez. Now available in the UK, this is softly rolling roots-folk with the warmth of John Prine and a twist of Richard Buckner. Townes Van Zandt and Nick Drake (“You’ve Got The Moon”; “Drive Away”) are obvious touchstones, too, but ldaho-born Ritter’s lugubrious stealth is rooted in his own earth, addressing the paradox between the allure of the road and the pull of tradition. A second album, Hello Starling, is already available across the Atlantic and will be released here next year.

64 Dolour Question

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The four albums that Johnny Cash recorded with Rick Rubin (1994's American Recordings, 1996's Unchained, 2000's Solitary Man, 2002's The Man Comes Around) saw the essential core of Cash's muse excavated to create music of dark vitality and purging beauty. Flawless they were not. But, considering the fact that Cash was seriously considering full retirement from the recording studio in the early '90s, his quartet of American Recordings amounted to something like a miraculously unexpected final act. Now for the epilogue. A sumptuous five-CD box set, complete with burglar-stunning clothbound book, offering up no less than 79 songs including 64 of the never-before-heard variety. Which brings us to the first quibble of the morning. Entitled "Best Of Cash On America", CD5 presents 15 tracks plucked from the four previous Rubin-produced albums. Assuming anyone willing to part with hard-earned for this box will already be familiar with these songs, their inclusion here is somewhat mystifying. Then there's the selection itself. The underwhelming "Bird On A Wire" and the marginally mawkish "We'll Meet Again" hardly rank among the most unmissable of Cash's later work. Then there's no "Before My Time", "The Beast In Me" or "Oh Bury Me Not". With Cash's last album proper, American V, lined up for a 2004 release, it might have been more expedient to have sat tight, seen to the final mixing, and included that here. Now for the rest. CD1, "Who's Gonna Cry", is Cash stripped to the last clean-picked bone. Eighteen songs of skeletal guitar and voice as solemn as a slate gravestone, so unrelentingly mournful that I challenge anyone to take them in a single sitting. At their very best (the sepulchred regret of "Long Black Veil", the lilting loveliness of "Dark As A Dungeon", a wonderfully spartan "Down By The Train"), you feel like you're right there, at Cash's feet, as he mines ripe beauty from the loam of tender fear and resolute resignedness. On the bulk of these opening tracks, however, he sounds so perilously frail, his voice so shambolically unsteady, that you feel like an unwanted intruder as the great man strains in vain to find the right note. CD2 is equally hit-and-miss. Backfired collaborations with Tom Petty and Carl Perkins, and creaking cover versions of Dolly Parton's "I'm A Drifter" and Chuck Berry's "Brown-Eyed Handsome Man". These are redeemed by a profoundly eerie take on Neil Young's "Pocahontas", an uplifting duet with wife June on "As Long As", and the understated drift of "Drive On". The sterling gold is to be found on CDs 3 and 4. The third, "Redemption Songs", offers us the much-talked-about collaboration with Joe Strummer on Marley's "Redemption Song", teams Cash with Fiona Apple on a torched version of Cat Stevens' "Father And Son", and finds Nick Cave in mirthful form on the cornball country of "Cindy". Then there's Cash's radical reworkings of "Wichita Lineman" and "Gentle On My Mind", a rumbling storm of self-regret. Leaving only the 15 spirituals on "My Mother's Hymn Book"?the most compelling volume of all. You don't need to have faith in God to be moved by Cash singing "Never Grow Old" or "If We Never Meet Again This Side Of Heaven". Only faith in Cash's ability to convey godlike grace with the slightest turn and twist of his life-worn vocal, his genius for making every line ring resonant with the truth of ages.

The four albums that Johnny Cash recorded with Rick Rubin (1994’s American Recordings, 1996’s Unchained, 2000’s Solitary Man, 2002’s The Man Comes Around) saw the essential core of Cash’s muse excavated to create music of dark vitality and purging beauty. Flawless they were not. But, considering the fact that Cash was seriously considering full retirement from the recording studio in the early ’90s, his quartet of American Recordings amounted to something like a miraculously unexpected final act.

Now for the epilogue. A sumptuous five-CD box set, complete with burglar-stunning clothbound book, offering up no less than 79 songs including 64 of the never-before-heard variety. Which brings us to the first quibble of the morning. Entitled “Best Of Cash On America”, CD5 presents 15 tracks plucked from the four previous Rubin-produced albums. Assuming anyone willing to part with hard-earned for this box will already be familiar with these songs, their inclusion here is somewhat mystifying. Then there’s the selection itself. The underwhelming “Bird On A Wire” and the marginally mawkish “We’ll Meet Again” hardly rank among the most unmissable of Cash’s later work. Then there’s no “Before My Time”, “The Beast In Me” or “Oh Bury Me Not”. With Cash’s last album proper, American V, lined up for a 2004 release, it might have been more expedient to have sat tight, seen to the final mixing, and included that here.

Now for the rest. CD1, “Who’s Gonna Cry”, is Cash stripped to the last clean-picked bone. Eighteen songs of skeletal guitar and voice as solemn as a slate gravestone, so unrelentingly mournful that I challenge anyone to take them in a single sitting. At their very best (the sepulchred regret of “Long Black Veil”, the lilting loveliness of “Dark As A Dungeon”, a wonderfully spartan “Down By The Train”), you feel like you’re right there, at Cash’s feet, as he mines ripe beauty from the loam of tender fear and resolute resignedness. On the bulk of these opening tracks, however, he sounds so perilously frail, his voice so shambolically unsteady, that you feel like an unwanted intruder as the great man strains in vain to find the right note.

CD2 is equally hit-and-miss. Backfired collaborations with Tom Petty and Carl Perkins, and creaking cover versions of Dolly Parton’s “I’m A Drifter” and Chuck Berry’s “Brown-Eyed Handsome Man”. These are redeemed by a profoundly eerie take on Neil Young’s “Pocahontas”, an uplifting duet with wife June on “As Long As”, and the understated drift of “Drive On”.

The sterling gold is to be found on CDs 3 and 4. The third, “Redemption Songs”, offers us the much-talked-about collaboration with Joe Strummer on Marley’s “Redemption Song”, teams Cash with Fiona Apple on a torched version of Cat Stevens’ “Father And Son”, and finds Nick Cave in mirthful form on the cornball country of “Cindy”. Then there’s Cash’s radical reworkings of “Wichita Lineman” and “Gentle On My Mind”, a rumbling storm of self-regret.

Leaving only the 15 spirituals on “My Mother’s Hymn Book”?the most compelling volume of all. You don’t need to have faith in God to be moved by Cash singing “Never Grow Old” or “If We Never Meet Again This Side Of Heaven”. Only faith in Cash’s ability to convey godlike grace with the slightest turn and twist of his life-worn vocal, his genius for making every line ring resonant with the truth of ages.

Jason Walker & The Last Drinks – Ashes & Wine

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Ex-Golden Rough mainman Walker is backed by a full band of buddies on his second solo album, Ashes & Wine, and sounds like someone snug in his own skin. Here he draws on his carpetbag of honky-tonk tricks ("Helpless Guy"), Stonesy strut ("Dissatisfaction"; "Letdown") and the rough-diamond rattle of early Son Volt ("Please Save Your Tears"). Walker's voice is equal parts whiskey and gravel?classic rawk and bottom-of-the-glass country-blues -somewhere between Jagger and Steve Earle. Expressive, literate and ballsy stuff.

Ex-Golden Rough mainman Walker is backed by a full band of buddies on his second solo album, Ashes & Wine, and sounds like someone snug in his own skin. Here he draws on his carpetbag of honky-tonk tricks (“Helpless Guy”), Stonesy strut (“Dissatisfaction”; “Letdown”) and the rough-diamond rattle of early Son Volt (“Please Save Your Tears”). Walker’s voice is equal parts whiskey and gravel?classic rawk and bottom-of-the-glass country-blues -somewhere between Jagger and Steve Earle. Expressive, literate and ballsy stuff.

Piano Magic – The Troubled Sleep Of Piano Magic

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Up to this point, Piano Magic have been a kind of This Mortal Coil manque, augmenting their line-up with a series of guest vocalists that has included Hefner's Darren Hayman and The Czars' John Grant. On The Troubled Sleep..., however, the lion's share of vocals come from band ideologue Glen Johnson, creating a suite exquisitely uniform in tone, a series of waves that break in cool, mesmeric sequence. The ghosts of Joy Division (particularly "The End Of A Dark, Tired Year"), Durutti Column (the beautiful chimes of "Saint Marie"), even The Cure and early New Order haunt this lovely, unsettling record whose stealthy, witching-hour atmospherics are ultimately utterly overwhelming.

Up to this point, Piano Magic have been a kind of This Mortal Coil manque, augmenting their line-up with a series of guest vocalists that has included Hefner’s Darren Hayman and The Czars’ John Grant. On The Troubled Sleep…, however, the lion’s share of vocals come from band ideologue Glen Johnson, creating a suite exquisitely uniform in tone, a series of waves that break in cool, mesmeric sequence. The ghosts of Joy Division (particularly “The End Of A Dark, Tired Year”), Durutti Column (the beautiful chimes of “Saint Marie”), even The Cure and early New Order haunt this lovely, unsettling record whose stealthy, witching-hour atmospherics are ultimately utterly overwhelming.

Victor Gama – Pangeia Instrumentos

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An anomaly, this, from Rephlex, the Aphex Twin's home for fiendish abstract electronica. Gama is a Portuguese-Angolan musician whose interest in traditional African music has led him to build updated versions of ancient instruments. And these are what he plays on Pangeia Instrumentos?all-acoustic devices that also function as sculptures and political tools; one is a kind of thumb-piano made from a symbolically recycled Angolan soldier's helmet. On paper, it looks like portentous conceptual art. But Gama's music is terrific, full of complex patterns and mysterious resonances that are as reminiscent of Balinese gamelan and Philip Glass as the Angolan sounds which originally inspired him. Beautiful, intriguing and, at the very least, an unusually stimulating chill-out album for avant-ravers.

An anomaly, this, from Rephlex, the Aphex Twin’s home for fiendish abstract electronica. Gama is a Portuguese-Angolan musician whose interest in traditional African music has led him to build updated versions of ancient instruments. And these are what he plays on Pangeia Instrumentos?all-acoustic devices that also function as sculptures and political tools; one is a kind of thumb-piano made from a symbolically recycled Angolan soldier’s helmet.

On paper, it looks like portentous conceptual art. But Gama’s music is terrific, full of complex patterns and mysterious resonances that are as reminiscent of Balinese gamelan and Philip Glass as the Angolan sounds which originally inspired him. Beautiful, intriguing and, at the very least, an unusually stimulating chill-out album for avant-ravers.

June Tabor – An Echo Of Hooves

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Some artists are fated to be damned by their very consistency. Since Airs & Graces, her first solo album back in '76, Tabor has stood apart as the finest female interpreter of traditional and contemporary song in England. Perhaps some of her past experiments with modern jazz and standards seem ill advised but here, returning to traditional song for a collection of epic and dramatic ballads, it's a welcome homecoming worthy of the fattest of calves. Quintessential English balladry, whether sparsely arranged or richly textured, it's Tabor's dark voice, chilling and emotional, that brings these tragic, vengeful tales to life. Her "Sir Patrick Spens" makes the familiar Fairport version sound positively gleeful.

Some artists are fated to be damned by their very consistency. Since Airs & Graces, her first solo album back in ’76, Tabor has stood apart as the finest female interpreter of traditional and contemporary song in England. Perhaps some of her past experiments with modern jazz and standards seem ill advised but here, returning to traditional song for a collection of epic and dramatic ballads, it’s a welcome homecoming worthy of the fattest of calves. Quintessential English balladry, whether sparsely arranged or richly textured, it’s Tabor’s dark voice, chilling and emotional, that brings these tragic, vengeful tales to life. Her “Sir Patrick Spens” makes the familiar Fairport version sound positively gleeful.

Growing – The Sky’s Run Into The Sea

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In recent years, a number of groups have attempted to explore the immersive, ambient properties of heavy metal. Godflesh and Scorn discovered parallels between metal and dub, while Earth forged a warped psychedelic ambience out of feedback and amp abuse. Olympia, Washington's Growing are another band thundering on the fringes of this experimental tradition. Songs begin as isolationist drift before bursting into riffs so heavy they're practically static. These slowly unfolding harmonic drones may often recall the scorched-earth Neil Young of Arc-Weld and Dead Man, but Growing are charting a wide-open Americana entirely their own.

In recent years, a number of groups have attempted to explore the immersive, ambient properties of heavy metal. Godflesh and Scorn discovered parallels between metal and dub, while Earth forged a warped psychedelic ambience out of feedback and amp abuse. Olympia, Washington’s Growing are another band thundering on the fringes of this experimental tradition. Songs begin as isolationist drift before bursting into riffs so heavy they’re practically static. These slowly unfolding harmonic drones may often recall the scorched-earth Neil Young of Arc-Weld and Dead Man, but Growing are charting a wide-open Americana entirely their own.

Diverse – One A.M.

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Underground hip hop has manoeuvred itself into a dead-end these past few months, chiefly thanks to the ubiquity of the overly-quirky Anticon collective. Chicago's Diverse, though, offer a timely antidote, with a flow as direct and battle-hardened as that of his mainstream rivals, and the imagination to hire a couple of outstanding producers. Prefuse 73 and RJD2 are best known for their leftfield instrumentals (the former choppy and micro-detailed; the latter rockier), but here they dice beats and juggle guitar loops without ever smothering the performance of Diverse. Cannibal Ox's Vast Aire and the undervalued Jean Grae (daughter of South African jazz pianist Dollar Brand) donate a few verses, and other producers include Tortoise's Jeff Parker. Still, this is Diverse's triumph, a rapper notable for his connections, but never over-shadowed by them.

Underground hip hop has manoeuvred itself into a dead-end these past few months, chiefly thanks to the ubiquity of the overly-quirky Anticon collective. Chicago’s Diverse, though, offer a timely antidote, with a flow as direct and battle-hardened as that of his mainstream rivals, and the imagination to hire a couple of outstanding producers. Prefuse 73 and RJD2 are best known for their leftfield instrumentals (the former choppy and micro-detailed; the latter rockier), but here they dice beats and juggle guitar loops without ever smothering the performance of Diverse. Cannibal Ox’s Vast Aire and the undervalued Jean Grae (daughter of South African jazz pianist Dollar Brand) donate a few verses, and other producers include Tortoise’s Jeff Parker. Still, this is Diverse’s triumph, a rapper notable for his connections, but never over-shadowed by them.

This Month In Soundtracks

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There's something novel about this concept: the soundtrack of a book. While the realistic word for it is probably "cross-marketing", the hapless dreamers among us can ponder: are we supposed to listen to the relevant song while reading Hornby's chapter on it? Even if we don't possess posh headphones like the pretty model on the sleeve (entirely inappropriate unless the album is also a bottle of conditioner), are we to aim for a music-literature 'synergy' experience? I've just tried skimming Little Dorrit while headbanging to lggy and, frankly, it doesn't work. So let's just assume this is?as the author's sleevenotes suggest?"a compilation tape. Listen to these songs, enjoy them, spread the word, and keep them to yourself, all at the same time. I don't think that's too much to ask for." While there are nice songs here, and dreary ones, it'd be hard to keep them secret?many are eulogised by Uncut every month, and sometimes you expect Jools Holland to waddle in from camera left to post-ironically holler, "Wasn't that marvellous?" On the plus side, this may introduce the likes of Paul Westerberg, Mark Mulcahy and The Bible to the biggest audience they've ever enjoyed. There's no doubting The Nickster's sincerity. Let's face it, you'd have to be sincere to have Jackson Browne and Richard and Linda Thompson in there. The aroma of worthy middle-aged blokedom is slightly offset by the stark Ani DiFranco and The Avalanches' "Frontier Psychiatrist". The pinnacles are obvious, but pinnacles nonetheless?Springsteen's "Thunder Road", The Velvelettes' "Needle In A Haystack", even Rod rumbling through Dylan's "Mama, You Been On My Mind". There are up-to-muster contributions from Rufus Wainwright, Ben Folds Five and Teenage Fanclub, and the best's saved for last with Patti Smith's immortal "Pissing In A River". Which, in context, serves as an act of noble subversion. Faithful to its own highs.

There’s something novel about this concept: the soundtrack of a book. While the realistic word for it is probably “cross-marketing”, the hapless dreamers among us can ponder: are we supposed to listen to the relevant song while reading Hornby’s chapter on it? Even if we don’t possess posh headphones like the pretty model on the sleeve (entirely inappropriate unless the album is also a bottle of conditioner), are we to aim for a music-literature ‘synergy’ experience? I’ve just tried skimming Little Dorrit while headbanging to lggy and, frankly, it doesn’t work. So let’s just assume this is?as the author’s sleevenotes suggest?”a compilation tape. Listen to these songs, enjoy them, spread the word, and keep them to yourself, all at the same time. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.” While there are nice songs here, and dreary ones, it’d be hard to keep them secret?many are eulogised by Uncut every month, and sometimes you expect Jools Holland to waddle in from camera left to post-ironically holler, “Wasn’t that marvellous?” On the plus side, this may introduce the likes of Paul Westerberg, Mark Mulcahy and The Bible to the biggest audience they’ve ever enjoyed.

There’s no doubting The Nickster’s sincerity. Let’s face it, you’d have to be sincere to have Jackson Browne and Richard and Linda Thompson in there. The aroma of worthy middle-aged blokedom is slightly offset by the stark Ani DiFranco and The Avalanches’ “Frontier Psychiatrist”. The pinnacles are obvious, but pinnacles nonetheless?Springsteen’s “Thunder Road”, The Velvelettes’ “Needle In A Haystack”, even Rod rumbling through Dylan’s “Mama, You Been On My Mind”. There are up-to-muster contributions from Rufus Wainwright, Ben Folds Five and Teenage Fanclub, and the best’s saved for last with Patti Smith’s immortal “Pissing In A River”. Which, in context, serves as an act of noble subversion.

Faithful to its own highs.

Sodastream – A Minor Revival

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Often tagged as "the Australian Belle & Sebastian", Sodastream are a less demonstrably poppy proposition. They're actually less interesting when they essay perky than when wallowing in the warm melancholy of "Chorus Line", subtly shaded with double bass and steel guitar. Singer Karl Smith lets rip on "Constant Ships", as if touching the raw nerve of profound grief. Music whose lack of sophistication is both vice and virtue.

Often tagged as “the Australian Belle & Sebastian”, Sodastream are a less demonstrably poppy proposition. They’re actually less interesting when they essay perky than when wallowing in the warm melancholy of “Chorus Line”, subtly shaded with double bass and steel guitar. Singer Karl Smith lets rip on “Constant Ships”, as if touching the raw nerve of profound grief. Music whose lack of sophistication is both vice and virtue.

Minotaur Shock – Rinse

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As befits a man whose debut album appeared to be about birdwatching, David "Minotaur Shock" Edwards is not one to rush things. Two years after Chiff-Chaffs & Willow Warblers, Rinse is more an act of prevarication than a follow-up, collecting Edwards' early EPs in one handy bundle. Essentially, he operates in the same area as Four Tet?prettified electronica augmented by vague guitars, melancholy pianos and music boxes, the odd sheep. There's that same impulse to create something rustic out of circuitry, though Edwards is, if anything, more whimsical:the outstanding "Motoring Britain" takes Neu! on a detour of B-roads in a Hillman Minx.

As befits a man whose debut album appeared to be about birdwatching, David “Minotaur Shock” Edwards is not one to rush things. Two years after Chiff-Chaffs & Willow Warblers, Rinse is more an act of prevarication than a follow-up, collecting Edwards’ early EPs in one handy bundle. Essentially, he operates in the same area as Four Tet?prettified electronica augmented by vague guitars, melancholy pianos and music boxes, the odd sheep. There’s that same impulse to create something rustic out of circuitry, though Edwards is, if anything, more whimsical:the outstanding “Motoring Britain” takes Neu! on a detour of B-roads in a Hillman Minx.