To be honest, I more or less gave up on The Nectarine No 9 over the last few years of their career. Not sure why: maybe Davy Henderson’s personal interpretation of the obtuse became a bit much. Could be wrong here, because I certainly don’t know the albums well enough to pass real comment, but I suspect he strayed too far into the curmudgeonly. That’s not always a problem, of course, but I’d say Henderson has generally been at his best when a pop imperative has shined through the wilful knottiness. His first album fronting The Sexual Objects doesn’t quite find Henderson retracing his steps to the heyday of Win; where would he find the money to do that again, for a start? Nevertheless, “Cucumber” is just about the most accessible and enjoyable record I can remember him making since “A Sea With Three Stars” (maybe the sexual allusion provides a link between the two albums?). The press blurb mentions The Move and The Modern Lovers, and how “echoes of John Cale’s early solo work and Lou Reed’s 'Transformer' pervade the overall sound of the album.” Certainly I can pick up Lou Reed and Jonathan Richman, and I like how John Robinson’s review in the current Uncut talks about “A kind of post-glam, pre-punk delight in the electric guitar.” John talks plenty about Television and The Voidoids, but I keep thinking more about how so many Scottish bands – not all involving Henderson – have run with this sound: skinny, cocky, exuberant, blessed with a sort of unfunky funkiness. It’s a sequence which kicked off with The Fire Engines and their contemporaries, and which was last heard, maybe, in the underrated 1990s (on their first album, at least). One Scottish band seemingly untouched by this sound, at least overtly, have been Boards Of Canada. But the duo produced the first track on “Cucumber”, “Here Comes The Rubber Cops” which, background noise notwithstanding, doesn’t sound much different from the other tracks, produced by Russell Burn from The Fire Engines and John Disco, from Bis (Have BOC done any other production work besides remixes, by the way? I’m struggling to recall any). It is, though, one of the best songs on a neat album. Henderson is not one to resort to contemplative stocktaking in middle-age, so “Cucumber” points up his priapic interests more than ever. It’d be easy for all this to come across as a conceptual art project about the language of desire; or, perhaps, a portrait of a sleazy and desperate man of a certain age. But Henderson and his bandmates (most of whom have figured in at least some of his previous vehicles) are too gleeful and uninhibited for that: “Full Penetration”, especially, is a fantastic romp. “Queen City Of The 4th Dimension” is terrific, too, not least because it sounds like T.Rex, after a fashion. Meanwhile, “Come, come, all through the night,” begins “Midnight Boycow”, a song packed with the sort of pinched hooks – if not the lavish set-dressing – that graced the two Win albums, and prompted a lot of hacks to wring hands about “perfect” pop music which barely sells a copy. No-one’s going to make those claims about The Sexual Objects; not when corporate British indie-rock is barely selling, let alone the cantankerous original model. Henderson, though, seems to be one of those musicians who ploughs on regardless; evidently, he wants to keep it up forever.

Following on from Friday’s blog, another round-up today of some records that’ve taken me an embarrassingly long time to write up. First out of the traps today, the self-titled album from International Hello. As far as I know, this is technically the band’s debut, on Holy Mountain, though at least some of them have a past life as Monoshock, a North Californian psych band whose freeform ‘90s jams were very much the precursor of bands like Comets On Fire. “International Hello” pretty much gets going where 1995’s “Walk To The Fire” left off, mixing up ranty and intense outbursts of avant-MC5 ramalam with strung-out passages of soupy, churning, freaked-out dirge. I imagine they’ve probably listened to quite a few Hawkwind albums over the years but, even at their most horizontal, there’s something very visceral and punkish about International Hello; if your favourite Comets album is “Field Recordings From The Sun”, especially, maybe check this out. Another San Franciscan band who operate in Monoshock’s slipstream is Wooden Shijps, and an Australian duo, the Fabulous Diamonds, have certain dronepsych affinities with them; perhaps even more so with Ripley’s other band, Moon Duo. I must confess that Fabulous Diamonds’ first album didn’t register on my radar, but “Fabulous Diamonds II”, on Siltbreeze, is a gem: dulled, humming organ-led psych with a persistence reminiscent of The Silver Apples. Something very mantric about this one, too, in spite of the blunt functionality of its presentation (a typical song title is “12 Mins 15 Secs”), with a lot of phasing and tumbling tribal drums. Also, Nisa Venerosa’s sparing vocals have the sing-song potency of some post-punk incantations: kindred contemporary voices might be Rings or Effi Briest, but Fabulous Diamonds’ music is generally a lot more interesting. Finally, an EP from a very well-connected Englishman in New York. Highlife is the project of a guy called Sleepy Doug Shaw, who seems to have played alongside Mira Billotte in White Magic, and who’s accompanied on “Best Bless” by Billotte, Tim Koh from Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti and Jesse Lee, drummer in another band Shaw has played with, Gang Gang Dance. With such personnel on board, drawing comparisons between Highlife, Animal Collective and The Dirty Projectors might present Shaw as quite the scenester. But “Best Bless” has a loose, ecstatic life of its own, building up African loops (a Mahmoud Ahmed sample on the opening “War Fair”, for example) into some gorgeous songs: the first El Guincho album and Panda Bear’s “Person Pitch” are probably apt reference points, though Highlife’s songs feel more organic and handmade. Belatedly, I think “F Kenya Rip” might just be one of my favourite songs of the year. Please hunt it down and let me know how it works for you…

For the past week or so, my inbox and mailbag have been assailed by labels and PR companies hyping their Tips For 2011, in readiness no doubt for the Brit Newcomer award and the BBC New Artists Poll. Annual frenzies, really, in which a lot of journalists diligently try and help out the music industry by anointing Clare Maguire or whoever as the next Ellie Goulding, and the odd sullen arrested adolescent like me effectively spoils their ballot paper by voting for the likes of Sun Araw. To be honest, I’m pretty fed up with the whole game already this year, and don’t really see the point in getting involved: much better for us, I think, to let these things emerge in their own time, and to appreciate them in our own time. To that end, today I’m starting an end-of-year series called Slow Previewing; as with the Slow Food Movement, an acknowledgement that some good things need to be given a while before they can be appreciated. Basically, I have a long list of records that, for whatever reason, I’ve failed to blog about this year: many, like the Avi Buffalo one, that revealed their strengths after more than usual plays. In a similar sort of vein to Avi Buffalo, then, I can belatedly recommend “Pauper’s Field” by Dylan LeBlanc. On the surface, “Pauper’s Field” is pretty trad Americana, made by a preternaturally mature Muscle Shoals brat. LeBlanc, though, writes lovely tunes and delivers them in an unfussy, not too ostentatiously horny-handed way. I’ve played and enjoyed this one a lot, and have pitched LeBlanc a bit reductively as more or less a Townes Van Zandt for Fleet Foxes (a compliment, incidentally). Next up, “The Voidist” by Imaad Wasif. Wasif is, if memory serves, an LA scenester who’s figured in lineups of Lou Barlow’s Folk Implosion and The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, as well as putting out a few solo things that have failed to make much of an impression on me. “The Voidist”, though, feels stronger: though it features Dale Crover from The Melvins and one of the Red Sparowes, it’s very much a romantic, old-fashioned rock record, with a distinct whiff of Jeff Buckley. It also reminds me a little of “Prayer Of Death” by Entrance, in the way it somehow amps up freak-folk to Zeppelinish proportions. Finally, “Chamber Music” by Ballaké Sissoko & Vincent Segal. I’ve listened to a lot of kora music this year, and while this isn’t quite a match for the Ali & Toumani session, say, it’s still very nice: a conservatoire gentrification of Malian tradition – albeit recorded in Mali – that pits Sissoko’s kora up against the cello of French musician Vincent Segal. Segal mentions the influence of Nick Drake in the notes, and that’s what this one reminds me of most, actually; a series of unlikely but beautiful extrapolations of “River Man”. More of these soon, but in the meantime, feel free to tell me about your slow pleasures of 2010. No rush, obviously…

This week has mostly been about Steve Coogan. The Trip – his BBC series with Rob Brydon – has prompted much discussion here in the Uncut office. As has the return of Coogan’s most famous creation, Alan Partridge – who as I’m sure you know by now is back in a series of short episodes released online. Partridge’s return comes three weeks after the launch of Harry Hill’s Little Internet Show, via AOL. It’s interesting that Hill and Coogan have opted to explore the internet’s potential as a medium for comedy. Partridge’s return has been facilitated by Foster’s lager, who are rumoured to be keen to bring other much-loved characters back from TV limbo. Hill’s arrival on the web – despite having a deal with ITV to develop new shows – appears to be an attempt to reconnect with his comedy roots. As he told The Guardian in October, "I am producer, editor, director and star, which is how I used to do things.” Coogan and Hill’s high-profile efforts are just the latest in a small, but significant drift of comedians into a digital environment. David Mitchell’s Soapbox, for instance, has run online since 2009, while Will Ferrell launched comedy website Funny Or Die in 2008 featuring a mix of original and user generated content. Last year, former music writer and Irvine Welsh collaborator Dean Cavanagh masterminded Svengali, an online comedy set in the music business that attracted cameos from Martin Freeman, Dave Berry, Carl Barat and Alan McGee. Uncut’s own David Quantick – who’s also written for The Day Today, Brass Eye, Harry Hill and his own Radio 4 show, One – co-wrote Junkies, an internet sitcom about heroin addicts that starred Peter Baynham, Sally Phillips and Peter Serfinowicz back in 2000. David says, “Internet comedy is the future - free from commissioning editors, idiot broadcasters and focus groups, people can be as inept and amateurish as they like, only not on BBC3.” Presumably, David’s views are shared across the board by most of the creators I’ve mentioned elsewhere in this blog. It reflects badly, too, on the commissioning process at the BBC’s digital channels – which should have been a great potential breeding ground for new talent. But for every Nighty Night or Gavin & Stacey, there’s been the horrors of Tittybangbang, Phoo Action or Two Pints Of Lager. Given this fairly parlous track record, perhaps it’s no doubt that comedians are seeking to develop their projects elsewhere. But equally, creative outlets for comedians on television have become extremely limited. Curious, considering the high volume of comedy-based panel shows out there. But all the Mock The Weeks, 8 Out Of 10 Cats and their ilk have really done is nurture a particularly bland variety of stand-up comic. Still, let me put my own soapbox away and get back to Partridge. Which, incidentally, is very good. As with each subsequent series of Partridge on television, part of the fun has been in seeing how far he’s fallen this time round: from his Knowing Me, Knowing You chat show to Radio Norwich and now, North Norfolk Digital, where he presents a show, Mid Morning Matters, and still behaves like the Alan we all know and love. “North Norfolk Digital,” he announces in typically pompous tones. “’Sustaining and maintaining our core listenership in an increasing fragmented marketplace.’ Just realised I read that from an internal memo…” [youtube]ucrpgmJxx0E[/youtube] The set-up is low-budget – two cameras placed in the radio studio. In the first episode, he’s joined by Sidekick Simon (Edinburgh winner Tim Key, who also wrote and performed a lovely little Radio 4 show called All Bar Luke). In a typically excruciating send-up of the kind of inane air-filling banter beloved of many radio DJs and their on-air accomplices, subjects under discussion include Anthea Turner – “the Ford Escort Cabriolet of middle-aged women” – what they had for brunch and which one condiment they’d take to a desert island. Partridge also interviews one Jim Jones – “just to clear something up, you’re not the Jim Jones who led a mass suicide in the Jonestown massacre by feeding his followers poison broth?” Jones, it transpires, runs a campaign that encourages young kids to take up cycling. “You’ve been cleared to work with children, haven’t you?” Partridge asks. “That’s all official? You’re on the register? The good one? Sorry to have to broach that subject. It’s an awful business, but we’ve had some cracking phone-ins about it.” Brilliant stuff, and I look forward to the rest of the series.