Aside from its legend as Australia’s answer to Bournemouth, and many excellent kebab joints, Melbourne also spews out classic Oz garage-rock types. Rocket Science hope devotees will dismiss all competition: band leader Roman Tucker and his Vox continental organ burn with the spirit of? Mark and their US ’60s ilk on “Being Followed”and hit some Seeds moments during”Open Air Channel”and “Tomorrow’s Soundtrack For Today’s Swinging Generation”. This is psyche punk with subtleties carved into the desk of the old school classroom. Worth a visit to the booth.

Singer/songwriter George Usher has been on the NY scene since the late ’70s, playing with everyone from Bongos leader Richard Barone to roots rockers Beat Rodeo. With all this activity, he didn’t get around to a proper solo recording career until the mid-’90s. Fire Garden, Usher’s third LP for Parasol, is as close as one can get to a textbook definition of “power pop”. It’s all there?Byrdsian guitar riffs, high vocal harmonies, the works. But Usher gives it all a modern cast, adding punch while maintaining the dewy-eyed, sun-dappled sweetness essential to great pop.

Had this sustained the astonishing power of its opening four songs we’d be looking at five stars. Single “Crazy In Love” is one of the year’s finest, a mischievous, sexy song with the best use of the Go-Go rhythm since “Slave To The Rhythm”. “Naughty Girl” revisits Donna Summer to good effect; “Baby Boy” sees Beyonc

Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle

High time a documentary paid tribute to the undervalued golden-era Motown house band?The Funk Brothers?who played on more (and better) hits than anyone else. The (surviving) old dudes remain innately fluid. The choice of guest vocalists here, however, as they trot through some of the greats, could’ve been better. Bootsy Collins babbling “Cool Jerk”, fine. Chaka Khan hollering “What’s Going On”, unsubtle but fine. But Ben Harper (twice?), and Joan Osborne (twice)? Once again, I’m afraid, The Funk Brothers are neglected by those who’ve built careers on their work.

Glamour, guts and surrealism. Nino Rota, who died in ’79, won Oscars for his haunting Godfather scores, but his greatest collaborations were with his compatriot Fellini. Films such as La Dolce Vita, 8

Free mini poster! More blockbusting belligerence from Kermit’s overweight and moody second cousin, or at least from the film with the most laughably dodgy CGI in cinematic history. Has nobody the courage to tell Ang Lee to stick to melodramas where drippy women in bonnets pine for Hugh Grant or Sigourney Weaver plays a ’70s swinger? Danny Elfman, colossal hack of multiplex scores, dresses this beast, with Natacha Atlas cameo-ing, while the finale, “Set Me Free”, is performed by Scott Weiland, Slash, Duff McKagan, Matt Sorum and Dave Kushner. We’re guessing Axl Rose was already committed to the next Muppets movie.

Bit’s

Veteran strings arranger Larry Gold (aka Don Cello?he mastered the instrument by the age of eight) has had a career that other artists dream of, from backing the likes of Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr in the ’60s to being a member of MFSB, Gamble and Huff’s The Sound Of Philadelphia house band, followed by a stint writing for Sesame Street. Since the mid-’90s, Gold’s undergone a renaissance, founding his own studio to reinvent that classic Philly sound for the likes of Justin Timberlake and J-Lo. This love letter to Philly soul features a host of guest vocalists including fellow veteran Bunny Sigler, and a nod back to Gold’s gold disc, McFadden And Whitehead’s “Ain’t No Stoppin’ Us Now”, revisited here with a rap by Black Thought. Gorgeous.

Essentially a stopgap import for the US and Japanese market, the bulk of this CD (two smouldering John Peel sessions) nets The VBs wailing and pounding their way through highlights from their 2001 debut Lack Of Communication before a studio audience. Bloody marvellous, as are the cheeky tasters for its imminent sequel, like the hypnotic fuzz-guitar vortex “Vacant As A Ghost” and the epic eight-minute “Jean Genie” soundalike “Take A Heart”.

Two years ago The Coral’s eponymous first album introduced a group teeming with energy and a blaze of musical influences. The album was nominated for the Mercury Music Prize and roundly trumpeted as the arrival of the “best new band in Britain”.

Possibly premature, but at the very least The Coral’s ornate blend of Russian balalaikas, sea shanties, soul-smoked boogies, psychedelic intrigues and garage-rock blues was a refreshing sign that a band partly inspired by Oasis weren’t wholly bound by dadrock clich

After one great album with The La’s and four albums of diminishing returns with Cast, the solo album is surely John Power’s final card. But a bunch of derivative non-tunes full of flat acoustic guitars and banal clich

This most unusual non-stop exotic shindig is well described by vocalist/all-round muso Paul The Girl (who is indeed a she) as “a rock cabaret folk pop sex horror movie”. Sonically low-key but high on adrenaline, Paul and company also weave some slick jazz timing into an ensemble that makes useful space for saxophone, brass and things that go bump in the night. Paul’s songs and vocal delivery are somewhat in the same field as PJ Harvey, with a whiff of Captain Beefheart. This kind of affair can be hit and miss, but the arrangements and careful pitching of ingredients ensures an intriguing, unpredictable ride. Quietly invigorating.

Understandably, Hayley Willis decided to drop the Christian name for her full-length debut. Gender is incidental to the emotional impact of her blues-drenched, country-toned soul, which nips all preconceptions about a record store assistant turned recording artist in the bud. Come Get Some reflects empathy with Carole King and Joni Mitchell and a love of Etta James and Aretha Franklin, but although a nuggety, old-school feel dominates, it’s filtered through an awareness of contemporary British soul and hip hop. Willis’ gorgeously gritty wail, which carries her from breezy scat to impassioned hollering, may well be the best new voice to have surfaced here in years.

Last year’s debut from BRMC could not have divided the Uncut troops more. Our reviewer gave it two stars and found them far too similar to The Jesus & Mary Chain to merit serious attention. Others among us felt that the whole reason we got into this in the first place was crystallised in the shock-and-awe call to arms of “Whatever Happened To My Rock’n’Roll (Punk Song)”?”I fell in love with a sweet sensation/I gave my heart to a simple chord.” So in the issue following our dismissive review, we ran a feature in which we called them “visceral, narcotic, sultry, utterly addictive”, and put “White Palms” on our covermount CD (Take 58). Never let it be said Uncut is not a broad church.

The trio’s follow-up-recorded not in their native California but London because of British drummer Nick Jago’s visa problems?is unlikely to heal the office schism. But it’s a far more diverse offering which should at least lay to rest some of the Psychocandy comparisons. That said, they’re still at their best when they stick to the titanic scuzz-rock of their debut. “Six Barrel Shotgun” is this album’s answer to “Whatever Happened…”, and the nearest they get to the Reid Brothers. “Stop” is another winner, all fuzzy pop hooks that sound like Oasis’ third album should have done if they hadn’t got so fucked up on ego and cocaine. The simple chord that drives “We’re All In Love” was blatantly borrowed from Keef, while “Generation” noisily takes you back to the days when rock’n’roll was the place where all the weirdos and outsiders hung out to find validation. You feel Peter Hayes is telling the truth when he sings, “I don’t feel at home in this generation.” He’s not in rock’n’roll as a career option. It’s the only thing he knows how to do because he’s totally fucking useless at life, the universe and everything else.

Elsewhere, The Velvet Underground cast their shadow over “Shade Of Blue” and the Bush-baiting “US Government” will upset or gratify all the right people. Less successful is the acoustic “And I’m Aching”, which suggests that an unplugged BRMC album would not be a good move. They run out of steam completely towards the end with the narcoleptic “Suddenly” and the tuneless “Rise Or Fall”. But there’s still plenty here to justify giving up your heart to that simple chord all over again.

Like his mate Damon Albarn, on whose Honest Jon’s label The Hour Of Two Lights appears, Terry Hall has been bitten by the world music bug. But whereas the Blur lead singer travelled to Africa for his inspiration, the former Specials singer has turned his attention to eastern Europe and the Middle East on a fantastic record of banging global grooves, with beats supplied by the British-Asian DJ/producer, Mushtaq.

Albarn himself turns up on a delirious track, “Ten Eleven”, while elsewhere Hall’s own distinctive vocals are joined by a troupe of Polish gypsy refugees from London and even a blind Algerian rapper. If you think about it, it’s a perfectly logical progression for Hall from the early multiculturalism of The Specials.

Fittingly enough for a band who, for many, embody musical occultism, this is Jane’s Addiction’s first studio album in 13 years. When they imploded in ’91, fans liked to believe that frontman Perry Farrell broke up the band?just as they’d cracked the mainstream with their landmark third opus Ritual De Lo Habitual?to preserve Jane’s iconic status. No one wanted to concede that the otherworldly aspects of Jane’s music were an elegant foil to the real-life drug habits that zapped the band’s energies and brought a premature close to the creative partnership between Farrell and guitarist Dave Navarro.

Since then, the pair have flexed their individual talents with vigour. Farrell reinvented himself as Porno For Pyros firestarter and Lollapalooza lynchpin, while Navarro spent four years in the ranks of the Chili Peppers. Two years ago the pair unconsciously mirrored each other with similarly ill-conceived solo albums (Farrell’s Song Yet To Be Sung and Navarro’s Trust No One). But the legacy of their one-time partnership proved too great to ignore, and Jane’s Addiction reconvened. They’ve rarely fallen from fashion, though now even the likes of Fred Durst cite them as an influence.

Farrell’s contrary, radical, fighting spirit comes to fruition on Strays. From the first blistering bars of “True Nature”, Jane’s Addiction display an all-cylinders-firing ferocity. Bob Ezrin?the legend behind Alice Cooper’s School’s Out, Lou Reed’s Berlin and Pink Floyd’s The Wall?is producer, but doesn’t self-parody by encouraging the baroque complexities (such as “3 Days”) that graced previous albums. In their place is a solid, melodic, alt.rock sound that puts the band in the ballpark with the Chili Peppers and Audioslave. They don’t always get it right: the rap-metal bounce of “Superhero” is a little too radio-friendly for comfort. But when they do, the results are mind-blowing. The exceptional “Wrong Girl” confirms that Farrell’s reptilian rasp is as skin-crawling as ever, while the single, “Just Because”, sees Navarro’s siren-aping guitar sound spin off the plastic. It’s a fresh yet classic sound that’ll please hardcore fans and newcomers alike.

Nothing too shocking, then, but their old magic surges through: you won’t be disappointed.

Merchant’s first release since ending her 18-year relationship with Elektra succeeds admirably in capturing the common humanity in folk songs through the ages. The band includes members of pioneering alt.folkies The Horseflies and songs range from the familiar (title track) to the obscure (beautiful 18th-century hymn “Weeping Pilgrim”). Merchant’s rich, expressive voice is imbued with all the awe, dread and authority the material requires, while the subtle arrangements prove that, treated right, these timeless treasures are still capable of revealing previously uncharted mysteries.

The Clientele manage to surpass their hotly tipped 2000 debut by refining their wispy sound to a pure, delicate pop breeze as evocative of bucolic summer afternoons as anything in the Brian Wilson catalogue. The languorous, breathy feel here has antecedents in everything from the Left Banke to Belle & Sebastian, but The Violet Hour transcends twee and ’60s pop influences in songs that work on an almost subliminal level. It’s hard to think of a quieter recording?at times you can almost hear the amps buzzing?but this is surely one of the most magical pop albums of 2003.