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PHOSPHORESCENT – HERE’S TO TALKING IT EASY

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PHOSPHORESCENT – HERE’S TO TALKING IT EASY

When Matthew Houck, the creative force behind Phosphorescent, released an album of Willie Nelson covers in February 2009, he can’t have guessed it would lead to him performing alongside his hero at Farm Aid later that same year. But the bracing, brassy sound of To Willy showed Houck to be a man with real love and understanding of country music and Nelson was quick to embrace a kindred spirit. Being acknowledged by one of his musical heroes has clearly given Houck real confidence: his new album, Here’s To Talking It Easy, is a bold record steeped in the golden, rich sounds of classic rock and country. Houck is a 30-year-old from Alabama, and has been recording as Phosphorescent since 2003. Here’s To Taking It Easy, his fifth album, duly reflects a sense of purpose in what he wants to achieve. The songs were recorded by Houck and band in three days, then he then took the tapes to his DIY studio in New York and tinkered, layered and dubbed for months until he successfully arrived at the classic 1970s rock sound he was aiming for. The result is an album that echoes mid-1970s Dylan, Gram Parsons and Neil Young, and it begins with a swagger on “It’s Hard To Be Humble (When You’re From Alabama)”, a song that lives up to its eye-catching title in a swirl of Rolling Thunder pedal-steel and horn. It’s an impressive statement of intent, with Houck announcing, “I ain’t came to stand here for none of this bullshit, man/I came here to play…” It’s great, but it was never obvious that Houck had this sort of album in him. His previous work, like 2005’s Aw Come, Aw Wry and 2007’s Pride, were engaging but introverted. Houck played and recorded all the instruments himself, and the results had more in common with classical music than country-rock, utilising atmospheric orchestration with slow, layered melodies and hymn-like singing. The recruitment of a band to record To Willy helped Houck cut loose. He toured with Bon Iver and Akron/Family. By the time Phosphorescent played Farm Aid in October 2009, it made perfect sense for them to share a bill with Nelson, Neil Young and Wilco. Houck says he sees albums as albums, not just collections of songs, and Here’s To Taking It Easy, duly is an artfully structured piece. So the vulnerable “The Mermaid Parade” is followed by brisk ode to defiance “I Don’t Care If There’s Cursing”, after which comes the semi-apologetic “Tell Me Baby (Have You Had Enough)”, although even here he seems to be issuing a challenge, daring his partner to walk away. Like Neil Young, whose “Doom Trilogy” era albums this much resembles, Houck has a crack in his singing voice that gives it natural sensitivity. With the plangent pedal steel much in evidence, the album could be melancholy, but Houck’s arrangements ensure the mood is rousing, uplifting, but also thoughtful. The album closes with probably its best track, “Los Angeles”, a slow-burning and evocative masterpiece that sounds like a distant cousin of Young’s “Vampire Blues”. Meandering but never directionless, the driving interplay between guitar and piano and indistinct vocals make the listener feel like a semi-conscious passenger on a midnight drive down Sunset, half-listening to somebody else’s conversation. The lyrics are evasive but the intent is unmistakable – “I ain’t come to Los Angeles just to die”, Houck sings. It’s the sort of defiant spirit that so impressed Willie Nelson. If there’s any justice, it should now impress many more people besides. PETER WATTS

When Matthew Houck, the creative force behind Phosphorescent, released an album of Willie Nelson covers in February 2009, he can’t have guessed it would lead to him performing alongside his hero at Farm Aid later that same year.

But the bracing, brassy sound of To Willy showed Houck to be a man with real love and understanding of country music and Nelson was quick to embrace a kindred spirit. Being acknowledged by one of his musical heroes has clearly given Houck real confidence: his new album, Here’s To Talking It Easy, is a bold record steeped in the golden, rich sounds of classic rock and country.

Houck is a 30-year-old from Alabama, and has been recording as Phosphorescent since 2003. Here’s To Taking It Easy, his fifth album, duly reflects a sense of purpose in what he wants to achieve. The songs were recorded by Houck and band in three days, then he then took the tapes to his DIY studio in New York and tinkered, layered and dubbed for months until he successfully arrived at the classic 1970s rock sound he was aiming for.

The result is an album that echoes mid-1970s Dylan, Gram Parsons and Neil Young, and it begins with a swagger on “It’s Hard To Be Humble (When You’re From Alabama)”, a song that lives up to its eye-catching title in a swirl of Rolling Thunder pedal-steel and horn. It’s an impressive statement of intent, with Houck announcing, “I ain’t came to stand here for none of this bullshit, man/I came here to play…”

It’s great, but it was never obvious that Houck had this sort of album in him. His previous work, like 2005’s Aw Come, Aw Wry and 2007’s Pride, were engaging but introverted. Houck played and recorded all the instruments himself, and the results had more in common with classical music than country-rock, utilising atmospheric orchestration with slow, layered melodies and hymn-like singing.

The recruitment of a band to record To Willy helped Houck cut loose. He toured with Bon Iver and Akron/Family. By the time Phosphorescent played Farm Aid in October 2009, it made perfect sense for them to share a bill with Nelson, Neil Young and Wilco.

Houck says he sees albums as albums, not just collections of songs, and Here’s To Taking It Easy, duly is an artfully structured piece. So the vulnerable “The Mermaid Parade” is followed by brisk ode to defiance “I Don’t Care If There’s Cursing”, after which comes the semi-apologetic “Tell Me Baby (Have You Had Enough)”, although even here he seems to be issuing a challenge, daring his partner to walk away.

Like Neil Young, whose “Doom Trilogy” era albums this much resembles, Houck has a crack in his singing voice that gives it natural sensitivity. With the plangent pedal steel much in evidence, the album could be melancholy, but Houck’s arrangements ensure the mood is rousing, uplifting, but

also thoughtful.

The album closes with probably its best track, “Los Angeles”, a slow-burning and evocative masterpiece that sounds like a distant cousin of Young’s “Vampire Blues”. Meandering but never directionless, the driving interplay between guitar and piano and indistinct vocals make the listener feel like a semi-conscious passenger on a midnight drive down Sunset, half-listening to somebody else’s conversation.

The lyrics are evasive but the intent is unmistakable – “I ain’t come to Los Angeles just to die”, Houck sings. It’s the sort of defiant spirit that so impressed Willie Nelson. If there’s any justice, it should now impress many more people besides.

PETER WATTS

TEENAGE FANCLUB – SHADOWS

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TEENAGE FANCLUB – SHADOWS

Around 20 years ago I travelled to King Tut’s in Glasgow to meet Teenage Fanclub. They were on the cusp. An American magazine had declared them “hot”; David Geffen’s cheque book was agape. But, sitting in the darkness of the Tut’s bar while a Warhol-impersonator shot Super-8 film, they gave the impression of being allergic to hype. And so it went on. Two decades of Teenage Fanclub have produced glorious records, topped by Bandwagonesque and Grand Prix, but with sporadic moments of melodic beauty throughout. They have drifted in and out of fashion, making an art out of being unassuming: a habit which risks making them look ordinary; which, surely, they are not. In the absence of self-promotion, a critical shorthand has developed. This suggests that, a) all Teenage Fanclub records sound the same, and b) the sound they share is the sound of Big Star. (Less refined critics would cite The Byrds. Your cool big brother might suggest the Raspberries. ) This analysis only works if you don’t listen to the records. Their last LP, 2005’s Man-Made, was gentle and introspective, with none of the riffing which had previously been the backbone of the Fanclub sound. Shadows was recorded between August 2008 and January 2009 in rural Norfolk, and the record is dense with the mists and mellow fruitfulness of late summer. But if first impressions are sunny and optimistic, the sweet melodies conceal a melancholy mood. It’s also – and this is a slightly shocking realisation – a fully mature work. These Boy Hairdressers are now men, deep in the late summer of their lives. As Raymond McGinley’s elegiac “The Fall” puts it: “When I light a fire underneath what I was/I won’t feel sad, only warmed by the loss.” Five years on from Man-Made, what else has changed? Well, no musical revolutions have taken place: the Fanclub haven’t gone grime, and their Quo-ish tendencies are still AWOL. In the continued absence of the boogie, the group – Norman Blake, Raymond McGinley and Gerard Love, plus drummer Francis Macdonald and steel guitar-player David McGowan – are left free to explore their sensitive sides with greater confidence. There’s a sense, too, that musical fashions have fallen back in time with the group’s sensibilities. A gentle folksiness infects some of the songs here, possibly due to the presence of Scots folk veteran John McCusker, who adds understated strings. Elsewhere, McGowan’s steel guitar brings a plangent edge to McGinley’s “Today Never Ends”, and the melancholy tug of Gerard Love’s “Sometimes I Don’t Need To Believe In Anything” is powered by an understated horn arrangement. It’s striking to recall that the Fanclub used to be mentioned in dispatches as a kind of melodic extension of grunge; now they betray an almost hippy sensibility. What you can’t ignore is the singing. The Fanclub have always done harmonies, but they’ve never sounded more confident. Comparisons with the Beach Boys used to seem fanciful, but there’s a lovely moment on the pastoral “Into The City” where the music drops away, leaving a beautifully overlapping harmony that is distinctly Californian. It’s unsporting to pick favourites, but Shadows contains some of Raymond McGinley’s best work. The steel guitar colours Love’s lovely “Sweet Days Waiting”, which celebrates the first light after a lost soul’s dark night, and is carried on a tune as weary and beautiful as anything on The Velvet Underground’s Loaded. But enough comparisons. Yes, Teenage Fanclub are classicists, and you might catch a flavour of Lou Reed here, or Alex Chilton there, but they’ve been doing this long enough to deserve some respect. Shadows is full of drowsy sweetness and mellow doubt: the sound of a great group ageing gracefully. ALASTAIR McKAY

Around 20 years ago I travelled to King Tut’s in Glasgow to meet Teenage Fanclub. They were on the cusp. An American magazine had declared them “hot”; David Geffen’s cheque book was agape. But, sitting in the darkness of the Tut’s bar while a Warhol-impersonator shot Super-8 film, they gave the impression of being allergic to hype.

And so it went on. Two decades of Teenage Fanclub have produced glorious records, topped by Bandwagonesque and Grand Prix, but with sporadic moments of melodic beauty throughout. They have drifted in and out of fashion, making an art out of being unassuming: a habit which risks making them look ordinary; which, surely, they are not.

In the absence of self-promotion, a critical shorthand has developed. This suggests that, a) all Teenage Fanclub records sound the same, and b) the sound they share is the sound of Big Star. (Less refined critics would cite The Byrds. Your cool big brother might suggest the Raspberries. ) This analysis only works if you don’t listen to the records. Their last LP, 2005’s Man-Made, was gentle and introspective, with none of the riffing which had previously been the backbone of the Fanclub sound.

Shadows was recorded between August 2008 and January 2009 in rural Norfolk, and the record is dense with the mists and mellow fruitfulness of late summer. But if first impressions are sunny and optimistic, the sweet melodies conceal a melancholy mood. It’s also – and this is a slightly shocking realisation – a fully mature work. These Boy Hairdressers are now men, deep in the late summer of their lives. As Raymond McGinley’s elegiac “The Fall” puts it: “When I light a fire underneath what I was/I won’t feel sad, only warmed by the loss.”

Five years on from Man-Made, what else has changed? Well, no musical revolutions have taken place: the Fanclub haven’t gone grime, and their Quo-ish tendencies are still AWOL. In the continued absence of the boogie, the group – Norman Blake, Raymond McGinley and Gerard Love, plus drummer Francis Macdonald and steel guitar-player David McGowan – are left free to explore their sensitive sides with greater confidence.

There’s a sense, too, that musical fashions have fallen back in time with the group’s sensibilities. A gentle folksiness infects some of the songs here, possibly due to the presence of Scots folk veteran John McCusker, who adds understated strings. Elsewhere, McGowan’s steel guitar brings a plangent edge to McGinley’s “Today Never Ends”, and the melancholy tug of Gerard Love’s “Sometimes I Don’t Need To Believe In Anything” is powered by an understated horn arrangement. It’s striking to recall that the Fanclub used to be mentioned in dispatches as a kind of melodic extension of grunge; now they betray an almost hippy sensibility.

What you can’t ignore is the singing. The Fanclub have always done harmonies, but they’ve never sounded more confident. Comparisons with the Beach Boys used to seem fanciful, but there’s a lovely moment on the pastoral “Into The City” where the music drops away, leaving a beautifully overlapping harmony that is distinctly Californian.

It’s unsporting to pick favourites, but Shadows contains some of Raymond McGinley’s best work. The steel guitar colours Love’s lovely “Sweet Days Waiting”, which celebrates the first light after a lost soul’s

dark night, and is carried on a tune as weary and beautiful as anything on The Velvet Underground’s Loaded.

But enough comparisons. Yes, Teenage Fanclub are classicists, and you might catch a flavour of Lou Reed here, or Alex Chilton there, but they’ve been doing this long enough to deserve some respect. Shadows is full of drowsy sweetness and mellow doubt: the sound of a great group ageing gracefully.

ALASTAIR McKAY

U2 – 360° AT THE ROSE BOWL

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U2 – 360° AT THE ROSE BOWL

A lot of people have seen this already. Aside from the 97,014 people present on the night, a hefty roll-up even by U2’s standards, 10 million more watched this October 2009 concert streamed on YouTube. For those wishing to watch it again, there seems like nearly that many purchasing options. This DVD comes as: a single disc, featuring just the concert; a two-disc deluxe/single-disc Blu-Ray version which contains the concert, a behind-the-scenes documentary, video clips and sundry bonuses; a two-DVD “super-deluxe” box set, the precise content of which is uncertain at time of writing, but is rumoured to include a tour programme, a poster, and limited-edition seven-inch single. The question, then, is whether U2’s 360º tour is worth revisiting. The answer is yes. 360º felt like a balance in live performance for which U2 had spent a long time searching, between the awesome technological dazzle of the Zoo TV and PopMart tours of the 1990s, and the more old-school Elevation and Vertigo tours that succeeded those. The centrepiece of the 360º set is a vast, alien-looking khaki claw, the sort of thing which (presumably) gathers up those legion Americans who insist that they have been interfered with by curious Martians: it is done justice by 27 high-def cameras, including at least one mounted on a helicopter. European viewers will see things they previously haven’t: 2009’s 360º shows on this side of the Atlantic opened in evening sunlight, occluding some of the set’s electronic pyrotechnics. By the time U2 reached California, it was autumn, and night had fallen when U2 took the stage (a moment we don’t quite see here – curiously, opening track “Breathe” is relegated to a bonus track on the posher formats). Most of the show’s set-pieces translate well to a small screen – the linking of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” to the protestors confronting the Iranian theocracy, the irresistibly optimistic address by Desmond Tutu that cues “One” (the dramatisation of “Walk On” by dozens of Amnesty International volunteers in Aung San Suu Kyi masks was possibly something you had to be there for). And the performances themselves find U2 in excellent fettle: channelling (and quoting) Frankie Goes To Hollywood on a belligerent disco version of “I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight”, out-Pixieing Pixies on “Vertigo”. Only the ill-chosen closer, the overlong and under-realised “Moment Of Surrender” prompts thoughts of the fast-forward switch. EXTRAS: Various, depending on which edition you buy. ANDREW MUELLER

A lot of people have seen this already.

Aside from the 97,014 people present on the night, a hefty roll-up even by U2’s standards, 10 million more watched this October 2009 concert streamed on YouTube.

For those wishing to watch it again, there seems like nearly that many purchasing options. This DVD comes as: a single disc, featuring just the concert; a two-disc deluxe/single-disc Blu-Ray version which contains the concert, a behind-the-scenes documentary, video clips and sundry bonuses; a two-DVD “super-deluxe” box set, the precise content of which is uncertain at time of writing, but is rumoured to include a tour programme, a poster, and limited-edition seven-inch single.

The question, then, is whether U2’s 360º tour is worth revisiting. The answer is yes. 360º felt like a balance in live performance for which U2 had spent a long time searching, between the awesome technological dazzle of the Zoo TV and PopMart tours of the 1990s, and the more old-school Elevation and Vertigo tours that succeeded those. The centrepiece of the 360º set is a vast, alien-looking khaki claw, the sort of thing which (presumably) gathers up those legion Americans who insist that they have been interfered with by curious Martians: it is done justice by 27 high-def cameras, including at least one mounted on a helicopter.

European viewers will see things they previously haven’t: 2009’s 360º shows on this side of the Atlantic opened in evening sunlight, occluding some of the set’s electronic pyrotechnics. By the time U2 reached California, it was autumn, and night had fallen when U2 took the stage (a moment we don’t quite see here – curiously, opening track “Breathe” is relegated to a bonus track on the posher formats).

Most of the show’s set-pieces translate well to a small screen – the linking of “Sunday Bloody Sunday” to the protestors confronting the Iranian theocracy, the irresistibly optimistic address by Desmond Tutu that cues “One” (the dramatisation of “Walk On” by dozens of Amnesty International volunteers in Aung San Suu Kyi masks was possibly something you had to be there for). And the performances themselves find U2 in excellent fettle: channelling (and quoting) Frankie Goes To Hollywood on a belligerent disco version of “I’ll Go Crazy If I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight”, out-Pixieing Pixies on “Vertigo”. Only the ill-chosen closer, the overlong and under-realised “Moment Of Surrender” prompts thoughts of the fast-forward switch.

EXTRAS: Various, depending on which edition you buy.

ANDREW MUELLER

LEBANON

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LEBANON
DIRECTED BY Samuel Maoz STARRING Reymond Amsalem, Ashraf Barhom The title is a brutal, brilliant irony. It implicitly suggests that Samuel Maoz’s film of Israel’s 1982 invasion of Lebanon is definitive, omniscient: a Levantine Battle Of Britain. But none who watch this will emerge any wiser ...

DIRECTED BY Samuel Maoz

STARRING Reymond Amsalem, Ashraf Barhom

The title is a brutal, brilliant irony.

It implicitly suggests that Samuel Maoz’s film of Israel’s 1982 invasion of Lebanon is definitive, omniscient: a Levantine Battle Of Britain.

But none who watch this will emerge any wiser about this war – which is as Maoz intends, as neither do his characters. Almost all of Lebanon takes place in the dark, sweaty cockpit of an Israeli tank: the four soldiers inside, like most soldiers, have little idea what they’re doing, or why.

All they can perceive of their war is what they can see through their gunsight, and what comes in through the hatch: a dead comrade, a Syrian prisoner, a Lebanese ally. Maoz knows his material. He fought for Israel in the campaign and his evocations of the confusion and claustrophobia of conflict are grimly plausible.

Boldy for an anti-war film, Lebanon invites – and wins – sympathy for those doing the killing, acknowledging that they do it largely to avoid being killed themselves.

Andrew Mueller

Get Uncut Every Month On Your Computer!

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Get Uncut Every Month On Your Computer!

If you’ve just got your hands on a new iPad, you can read Uncut every month on it by subscribing to our online edition. Uncut is easy to read – in its entirety! – on your computer. A 12 month subscription costs only £19.99. Individual issues are priced at £2.99. Sign up by following this link: Get Uncut on your iPad, laptop or home computer Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

If you’ve just got your hands on a new iPad, you can read Uncut every month on it by subscribing to our online edition.

Uncut is easy to read – in its entirety! – on your computer. A 12 month subscription costs only £19.99. Individual issues are priced at £2.99.

Sign up by following this link: Get Uncut on your iPad, laptop or home computer

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

Rangda: London Barden’s Boudoir, May 27, 2010

John Mulvey
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To Dalston, and Barden’s Boudoir, where Sir Richard Bishop is brandishing a magic stick, with a feather on the end of it, that has been balanced precariously on Ben Chasny’s amp for the duration of Rangda’s show. As ever with Bishop, it’s hard to tell whether he’s drawing on or satirising a world of arcane knowledge. Powerful forces are undoubtedly at work here, but maybe that’s just down to the kinetic virtuosity of Bishop, Chasny and Chris Corsano. Rangda, if you’ve not picked up on the vibes, are a kind of underground jamming supergroup, a power trio of the ages. For anyone who’s previously enjoyed Bishop’s solo work, The Sun City Girls, Six Organs Of Admittance, Comets On Fire, Sunburned Hand Of The Man, Flower/Corsano Duo, Dream Aktion Unit or any of the multiple other projects that Corsano, especially, has been involved with, the premise of Rangda is more or less a chinstroker wet dream. And so it turns out. The possibility that these three hugely intuitive musicians might just improvise for an hour immediately goes out of the window when they begin with one of the lashing full-tilt tracks from “False Flag” – “Waldorf Hysteria”, maybe? – played with the pinpoint accuracy of hardcore, but with some free and intense play from all three. Lightning Bolt seems a vague reference point, with such a conflation of fire music and punk, though you could probably also touch on some Sun City Girls and a grasp of classic rock that’s not entirely consumed by the conflagration. That comes through more and more as the set goes on. At first it’s Bishop who takes the lead, with the intricate surf guitar lines of “Bull Lore” and Chasny, almost deferential, with his back to the audience, assuming the shredding posture in front of the kit that he practised for so long in Comets On Fire. But by the mighty, clanging cacophony of “Fist Family”, it’s the blurred physical spectacle of Corsano that grabs the attention, dropping cymbals onto his skins, unostentatiously spinning drumsticks between his fingers, relentlessly active but somehow retaining an air of calm. For all his improvisational violence, he seems heroically far from losing control. Chasny’s playing tends to thicker, grungier runs, compared with the needling tones of Bishop (the latter closes with a hailstorm of splintered notes that are as close to Derek Bailey as anything). But things move too fast to risk many generalisations, and Rangda’s crowning glory is, as on “False Flag”, the shapeshifting 15 minutes of “Plain Of Jars”; a harmonious tussle that has much of the gravity, technicality and chiming grandeur of “Marquee Moon”. They’re in Bristol tonight, and beyond for the next week or so, and I’d say it’s nigh-on unmissable. Please make an effort. Get Uncut on your iPad, laptop or home computer

To Dalston, and Barden’s Boudoir, where Sir Richard Bishop is brandishing a magic stick, with a feather on the end of it, that has been balanced precariously on Ben Chasny’s amp for the duration of Rangda’s show. As ever with Bishop, it’s hard to tell whether he’s drawing on or satirising a world of arcane knowledge. Powerful forces are undoubtedly at work here, but maybe that’s just down to the kinetic virtuosity of Bishop, Chasny and Chris Corsano.

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Whatever happened to Francis Ford Coppola?

Michael Bonner
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Many years back -- the last century, in fact -- when we were putting UNCUT together, Allan and I drew up a list of canonical film makers whose work would become central to the magazine’s editorial remit. Our A list included Scorsese, Tarantino, Peckinpah, Coppola, Stone, Hill, Hawks, Ford, Eastwood, and so on. In the intervening years, the list has pretty much stayed the same. With, arguably, one exception: Francis Ford Coppola. In a way, Coppola has almost fallen off the critical radar. There were, of course, a number of major setbacks both professional and personal during the Eighties, plus a diverting interest in vintnery. All the same, it was admittedly difficult to get excited about the studio projects he undertook to get his finances back in shape during the Nineties – Jack and The Rainmaker. There was also the emergence of Sofia Coppola as a filmmaker, whose movies – particularly Lost In Translation – excited us in a way her father’s hadn’t for decades. The arrival of Coppola’s new film, Tetro, raises an eyebrow, then, and inevitably makes you wonder whether it’ll encourage critical reappraisal anytime soon. Hearteningly, it’s Coppola’s first original screenplay since 1974’s The Conversation – a family drama with autobiographical touches that the director says is a return to his UCLA/Zoetrope roots. Basically, it’s the story of an Italian American family, their squabbles, fallings out and attempted reconciliations. 17-year-old Bennie (Alden Ehreneich) arrives in Buenos Aires in search of his reclusive brother Tetro (Vincent Gallo), who he’s not seen for more than a decade, since Tetro walked out on his family following a row with their overbearing father, (Klaus Maria Brandauer). There are some loose echoes of the Corleone dynasty here for sure (but without many guns), though most pertinently, Coppola’s own family dynamic seems to be a key inspiration, especially the reportedly difficult relationship between his father and uncle. But Coppola has never been a particularly personal filmmaker, at least not in the same way Scorsese is. As with many Seventies’ movie brats, Coppola’s “personal” approach to filmmaking meant expressing his own almost religious devotion to cinema through his films. So Tetro feels more concerned with Coppola’s own connection with movies than anything else. This is, I think, particularly true in the film’s style. It’s shot mostly in black and white, using static camera set-ups that give the film a stately, rather elegant feel and remind you of classic movies from the ‘40s and ‘50s. Striking flashes of saturated colour riff on Powell and Pressburger. In interviews, Coppola has also cited Elia Kazan’s On The Waterfront as an inspiration, as well as Eugene O’Neill and Tennessee Williams. I’m entirely heartened by Coppola’s return to filmmaking, and his decision to step away from the mainstream to focus on more personal projects (I’m reminded of a Scorsese quote that seems incredibly apt here: “I’m not a Hollywood director. I’m an in-spite-of Hollywood director.”) All the same, I can’t help wondering where Tetro is going to fit in the grand scheme of things. In the production notes for Tetro, Coppola bemoans the “sameness” of contemporary cinema – “the lack of adventure and the overwhelming succession of remakes and sequels – from old films, comic books, even television programs. Or in publishing, it seemed that there weren’t new novels, only new ‘best sellers’.” It’s a rather curmudgeonly position to adopt, even if there’s some truth in it, and it certainly makes you wonder how he views The Godfather (itself based on a pulpy ‘best seller’) and its two sequels. By returning to his film student roots, Coppola has adopted a defensive position with Tetro. Unlike Scorsese (again) who's overcome his own misfires and currently enjoys a period of tremendous critical and commercial success in the mainstream, Coppola's decision to cede himself from Hollywood could go either way. We could see him gradually disappear from sight with each passing movie, or it could mark the start of an exciting new creative undertaking for him. I would like to hope it's the latter. Tetro opens in the UK on June 25. You can see the trailer here.

Many years back — the last century, in fact — when we were putting UNCUT together, Allan and I drew up a list of canonical film makers whose work would become central to the magazine’s editorial remit. Our A list included Scorsese, Tarantino, Peckinpah, Coppola, Stone, Hill, Hawks, Ford, Eastwood, and so on.

In the intervening years, the list has pretty much stayed the same. With, arguably, one exception: Francis Ford Coppola.

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Kurt Vile: “Square Shells”

John Mulvey
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One of my highlights at Club Uncut last year was an epic show by Philadelphia’s Kurt Vile, which spiralled off into some phenomenally unstructured solo reveries, during which Vile seemed to be carving an unusual and comparatively original new space for folkish singer-songwriters. That sense is compounded with this terrific new EP, “Square Shells”, wherein Vile – presumably temporarily – parks a lot of the garage ramalam that came to the surface on last year’s “Childish Prodigy”, instead growing the ideas implicit in songs like “Heart Attack”. At times, they sound shapeless, unanchored, wilfully deconstructed, but there’s still a motor and determination running through Vile’s songs, and a certain attitude which leads him, on “I Wanted Everything”, to proclaim, “I wanted everything… but I think that I only got most of it.” “Square Shells” opens straightforwardly enough with “Ocean City”, a strolling acoustic trinket that seems kin to various dazed indie-rock troubadours from the early ‘90s – Evan Dando, maybe? – albeit with a touch of Vile’s trademark blues and some zapped lo-fi synth interference at the death. “Invisibility: Nonexistent” is the killer, though: seven and a half minutes of dreamy motorik jangles, wavering frequencies and not-quite-malfunctioning drum machine that reminds me somehow of a folk song being rendered out of “Another Green World”. Or, perhaps, of a fragmented update of the experiments Lou Barlow was trying out as Folk Implosion nearly half a lifetime ago. Whatever, it’s one of the most beguiling things I’ve heard in quite a while. By the instrumentals “Losing Momentum (For Jim Jarmusch)” and “The Finder”, Vile’s heading straight into a kind of sketchy ambient territory, and if “I Wanted Everything” features some gorgeous fingerpicking and an insidious little tune, it still feels hazy, out of focus, more or less blasted. Like some of the material at that Club Uncut show, “I Know I Got Religion” sounds as if it’s being made up as it unspools, yet Vile still makes it compelling, due maybe to some charisma or an innate musical compass that survives even the most ambulatory detours. Finally, “Hey, Now I’m Movin”, which again has something of Lindsey Buckingham to it, albeit a Lindsey Buckingham whose obsessive perfectionism has been replaced with, at the very least, a good impression of slacker laissez-faire. Next up, there’s a new album due in the autumn which, since it’s been produced by John Agnello, will presumably focus on Vile’s sturdier rock predilections. No bad thing; let’s just hope that this increasingly fascinating artist doesn’t totally break up the jamming and mellow sides of his music…

One of my highlights at Club Uncut last year was an epic show by Philadelphia’s Kurt Vile, which spiralled off into some phenomenally unstructured solo reveries, during which Vile seemed to be carving an unusual and comparatively original new space for folkish singer-songwriters.

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Paul Weller reunites with Jam bandmate Bruce Foxton

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Paul Weller reunites with Jam bandmate Bruce Foxton
Paul Weller and his Jam bandmate Bruce Foxton played together for the first time since 1982 last night (May 25), during his Royal Albert Hall gig. Weller, who was two days into his five-night residency at the venue, said the pairing was "history in the making" as he welcomed his old bandmate onto t...

Paul Weller and his Jam bandmate Bruce Foxton played together for the first time since 1982 last night (May 25), during his Royal Albert Hall gig.

Weller, who was two days into his five-night residency at the venue, said the pairing was “history in the making” as he welcomed his old bandmate onto the stage.

Augmented by Weller‘s backing band, the duo kicked off their three-song reunion by launching into a vitriolic version of Weller solo song ‘Fast Car/Slow Traffic’. The recorded version of the track also features Foxton on bass.

“Well, it’s been a while hasn’t it?” said Foxton afterwards. “Twenty-eight years, I think. Thank you for the wonderful reception!”

The bassist then remained onstage to run though Jam classics ‘The Eton Rifles’ and ‘The Butterfly Collector’, before exiting to a huge ovation from the audience and a hug from Weller.

Weller played a greatest hits set to the sell-out crowd, including cuts from his latest album ‘Wake Up The Nation’ alongside older classics including ‘Start!’, ‘The Changingman’ and ‘Strange Town’. The singer – who was celebrating his 52nd birthday – responded jokily when the crowd sang him ‘Happy Birthday’, saying, “The only thing I want right now is a cigarette.”

Paul Weller played:

‘Push It Along’

‘7 & 3 Is The Striker’s Name’

‘Sea Spray’

‘Into Tomorrow’

‘Aim High’

‘Andromeda’

‘Moonshine’

‘Up The Dosage’

‘Strange Town’

‘Wake Up The Nation’

‘Trees’

‘Empty Ring’

‘One Bright Star’

‘Shout To The Top’

‘Start!’

‘Fast Car/Slow Traffic’

‘The Eton Rifles’

‘The Butterfly Collector’

‘All On A Misty Morning’

‘Light Nights’

‘Brand New Start’

‘Echoes Round The Sun’

‘Art School’

‘The Changingman’

‘Come On/Let’s Go’

Weller is continuing his residency at the Royal Albert Hall this week, and is set to stream tomorrow (May 27) night’s gig live. See Paulweller.theconcertchannel.eu for details.

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

Gorillaz confirmed to replace U2 as Glastonbury headliners

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Gorillaz confirmed to replace U2 as Glastonbury headliners
Gorillaz are to replace U2 at this year's Glastonbury on June 25, following yesterday's (May 25) news that the Irish band have pulled out because of Bono's back injury. The news was confirmed on Glastonburyfestivals.co.uk, with organiser Michael Eavis saying: "This is going to be Gorilllaz' only U...

Gorillaz are to replace U2 at this year’s Glastonbury on June 25, following yesterday’s (May 25) news that the Irish band have pulled out because of Bono‘s back injury.

The news was confirmed on Glastonburyfestivals.co.uk, with organiser Michael Eavis saying:

“This is going to be Gorilllaz‘ only UK festival appearance, and it’ll be a massive audio visual spectacle which will really ignite the Pyramid on the Friday night, with Muse, then Stevie Wonder to follow.

“I’m very excited about Gorillaz‘ show coming here because they’re so open to guests and collaborations. The alchemy of Friday’s show is going to be astonishing: a perfect, contemporary way to kick off the 40th anniversary celebrations.

Eavis added: “I am so grateful for the enthusiasm of the media and the whole of the music industry for their willingness and eagerness to support us in what could have been a crisis.”

Gorillaz‘ cartoon member Murdoc Niccals also spoke to the booking, likening the band to “some great big horrible warship pulling in to the Bay of Glastonbury to save the day”.

Niccals also hinted that Gorillaz are likely to bring a host of special guests with them for their performance.

“It was us or The Beatles and they split up years ago. The previous soldiers got pulled from duty last minute so it’s up to my Plastic Beach naval cavalry to sail in and sort the battlefield out. I can assure you though, I’m bringing extra troops. Loads of them. Glastonbury will be ours…cutlasses drawn, trumpets ready. We’re coming in…”

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

The 21st Uncut Playlist Of 2010

John Mulvey
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A good week for new arrivals, actually, though there is one record here that, somewhat unexpectedly, I never want to hear again. Hopefully you’ve got your hands on the new issue and the “Transition Transmission” CD; pretty nice one, I think. Have another look, too, at Monday’s Neil Young thread, where Mark’s kindly posted some more info on the shows. Again, sounds amazing. And give Michael's "Wah Wah Coyboys" mix a go: hammered that one in the sun at the weekend. 1 Various Artists – Milky Disco 3: To The Stars (Lo) 2 Various Artists – Wah Wah Cowboys (http://hissgoldenmessenger.blogspot.com/2009/12/doing-old-year-rag.html) 3 Gruff Rhys Vs Tony Da Gatorra – The Terror Of Cosmic Loneliness (Turnstile) 4 Twin Sister – Color Your Life (Infinite Best) 5 Sun Kil Moon – Admiral Fell Promises (Caldo Verde) 6 Various Artists – Transition Transmission (Uncut) 7 Mount Carmel – Mount Carmel (Siltbreeze) 8 The Habibiyya – If Man But Knew (Island) 9 Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti – Before Today (4AD) 10 Carlton Melton/Empty Shapes – Split LP (Mid-To-Late) 11 Kurt Vile – Square Shells EP (Matador) 12 Dylan Le Blanc – Paupers Field (Rough Trade) 13 Darker My Love –Alive As You Are (Dangerbird) 14 Ty Segall – Melted (Goner) 15 Richard Youngs – Beyond The Valley Of Ultrahits (Jagjaguwar) 16 Various Artists – Soma Coma Vol 4 (Soma)

A good week for new arrivals, actually, though there is one record here that, somewhat unexpectedly, I never want to hear again. Hopefully you’ve got your hands on the new issue and the “Transition Transmission” CD; pretty nice one, I think.

Continue

Barack Obama to hold Paul McCartney tribute gig featuring Stevie Wonder, Jack White

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Barack Obama to hold Paul McCartney tribute gig featuring Stevie Wonder, Jack White

US President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama are set to host a Paul McCartney tribute gig at the White House in Washington DC on June 2. Stevie Wonder, The White Stripes' Jack White, Faith Hill, Foo Fighters' Dave Grohl, Emmylou Harris and Elvis Costello will be among the performers at the show, which will take place in the East Room of the building, reports Associated Press. McCartney himself is due to receive the third Gershwin Prize For Popular Song from the president at the gig. The Library Of Congress Gershwin Prize For Popular Song is a lifetime contribution prize given to musicians, and in the past has been awarded to Paul Simon and Stevie Wonder. The show will be broadcast at 8pm (EDT) on PBS TV stations across the US. Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

US President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama are set to host a Paul McCartney tribute gig at the White House in Washington DC on June 2.

Stevie Wonder, The White Stripes‘ Jack White, Faith Hill, Foo Fighters‘ Dave Grohl, Emmylou Harris and Elvis Costello will be among the performers at the show, which will take place in the East Room of the building, reports Associated Press.

McCartney himself is due to receive the third Gershwin Prize For Popular Song from the president at the gig.

The Library Of Congress Gershwin Prize For Popular Song is a lifetime contribution prize given to musicians, and in the past has been awarded to Paul Simon and Stevie Wonder.

The show will be broadcast at 8pm (EDT) on PBS TV stations across the US.

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

Liam Gallagher names post-Oasis band Beady Eye

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Liam Gallagher names post-Oasis band Beady Eye
Liam Gallagher has named his new band Beady Eye, it has been confirmed. The ex-Oasis frontman is joined by his former bandmates Gem Archer, Andy Bell and Chris Sharrock. They are currently recording their debut album with producer Steve Lillywhite, whose previous clients include Peter Gabriel, The ...

Liam Gallagher has named his new band Beady Eye, it has been confirmed.

The ex-Oasis frontman is joined by his former bandmates Gem Archer, Andy Bell and Chris Sharrock. They are currently recording their debut album with producer Steve Lillywhite, whose previous clients include Peter Gabriel, The Rolling Stones, U2.

Oasis split in August last year when Noel Gallagher quit the band after a bust-up with brother Liam in Paris.

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

U2 pull out of Glastonbury and postpone 16 US shows

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U2 pull out of Glastonbury and postpone 16 US shows
U2 have pulled out of their Glastonbury headline slot, and 16 US shows following singer Bono's recent back injury and surgery. The Irish band posted a message on U2.COM saying that they have postponed shows up to and including their New Jersey New Meadowlands Stadium gig, which had been set for Jul...

U2 have pulled out of their Glastonbury headline slot, and 16 US shows following singer Bono‘s recent back injury and surgery.

The Irish band posted a message on U2.COM saying that they have postponed shows up to and including their New Jersey New Meadowlands Stadium gig, which had been set for July 19.

Meanwhile, Glastonbury festival organiser Michael Eavis confirmed that the band would also not be playing Glastonbury on June 25.

Writing on Glastonburyfestivals.co.uk, Eavis said:

“It was obvious from our telephone conversation that U2 are hugely disappointed. Clearly, they were looking forward to playing the Pyramid Stage as much as we were looking forward to watching them. At this point, we have no comment to make about possible replacements for U2‘s Friday night slot. Instead, we would simply like to send Bono our very best wishes for a full and speedy recovery.”

Bono himself also expressed his regret at pulling the festival appearance, declaring: “I’m heartbroken. We really wanted to be there to do something really special – we even wrote a song especially for the festival.”

The singer received surgery on May 21 after being injured in Munich while rehearsing for the forthcoming tour.

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

Diskjokke, Beyond Berkeley Guitar, Carlton Melton, Empty Shapes

John Mulvey
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Apologies that blogs were a bit thin on the ground last week: as I maybe mentioned, I got pretty caught up in collating your Great Lost Albums into a Top 50 to run in the issue out at the end of June. A surfeit of great stuff there, and I’ll post some of your suggestions that didn’t make the 50 here in a couple of weeks or so. I thought today it might be useful to have a bit of a round-up of stuff that’s been sitting on my desk for a while. Beginning with the new album from Joachim Dyrdahl, aka Diskjokke, whose “Staying In” went down very well a couple of years back (the prediction that I’d end up playing it a lot more than Hercules & Love Affair and Kelley Polar turned out to be true, too). “En Fid Tid” is more of the same, ostensibly: bright and zinging, borderline Kosmische disco with very clear affinities to the whole Lindström/Prins Thomas axis. Not entirely sure it’s quite as good as “Staying In”, but this is all good value, and the Balearic epiphanies of “Rosenrød” worked especially well this morning, walking through Clerkenwell. In a similar vein, a sparkling comp from Lo Recordings called “Milky Disco 3 (To The Stars)” is worth getting hold of; particularly nice use of Oneohtrix Point Never as closing comedown. “Beyond Berkeley Guitar”, meanwhile, is the latest survey of guitar soli from the ever-rewarding Tompkins Square label. This one, as the name implies, is a sequel to the “Berkeley Guitar” comp of a few years back, rounding up the current batch of Bay Area American primitives. This one’s a consistently strong and lovely set of concentrated virtuosity, the seven players recorded with a crispness and clarity that eschews rowdiness in favour of a meditative spiritual purity. Hard to pick out a highlight from the Fahey/Basho-worshipping artists featured, though maybe Sean Smith – who also curated and produced “Beyond Berkeley Guitar” – just shades it. Special mention, too, though, to Lucas Boilon and to Ava Mendoza, the latter standing out with an electric, jazzy skip with overtones of Django Reinhardt. Finally, I believe the Carlton Melton album I mentioned a while back, “Pass It On”, is now properly available on CD. They also, however, have a new split vinyl album on Mid-To-Late with Empty Shapes, a new name to me. Carlton Melton’s two tracks focus in on the super-grungy blues chugs, to the point of virtual tranceout, again recorded in their Northern Californian geodesic dome. I’ve now discovered at least some of them used to be in the Sub Pop band, Zen Guerilla, which makes sense. On the flip, Empty Shapes sound very nearly as promising, favouring a dense and lashing kind of spacerock – complete with the odd blast of “Funhouse” sax – that continues the current happy trend for American psych bands who sound like Loop. Works for me, as you might imagine.

Apologies that blogs were a bit thin on the ground last week: as I maybe mentioned, I got pretty caught up in collating your Great Lost Albums into a Top 50 to run in the issue out at the end of June. A surfeit of great stuff there, and I’ll post some of your suggestions that didn’t make the 50 here in a couple of weeks or so.

Continue

Adam Ant receiving treatment under the Mental Health Act

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Adam Ant receiving treatment under the Mental Health Act
Adam Ant has been sectioned under the Mental Health Act, according to reports. The singer, who has a history of mental illness, is currently receiving treatment in the Chelsea & Westminster Hospital in London, reports The Music Fix. In a statement, he asked fans to "please send me postcards a...

Adam Ant has been sectioned under the Mental Health Act, according to reports.

The singer, who has a history of mental illness, is currently receiving treatment in the Chelsea & Westminster Hospital in London, reports The Music Fix.

In a statement, he asked fans to “please send me postcards at the Chelsea & Westminster hospital, Fulham Road.”

He added: “I am having a well earned rest at Her Majesty’s Pleasure and am painting and continuing being an art student. I have a great view and am considering gigs later in the year.”

Adam Ant was previously sectioned in 2003.

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

Paul Weller to stream Royal Albert Hall gig live over the internet

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Paul Weller to stream Royal Albert Hall gig live over the internet
Paul Weller is to stream his forthcoming gig at London's Royal Albert Hall this Thursday (May 27) live over the internet. The gig is Weller's fourth out of a five-night run at the historic venue, and will be broadcast live from 8:45pm (BST). Weller's performance will be repeated several times over ...

Paul Weller is to stream his forthcoming gig at London‘s Royal Albert Hall this Thursday (May 27) live over the internet.

The gig is Weller‘s fourth out of a five-night run at the historic venue, and will be broadcast live from 8:45pm (BST). Weller‘s performance will be repeated several times over the following days.

Tickets for the stream can be bought from Paulweller.theconcertchannel.eu for the gig, although fans can also watch 15 minutes worth of free footage on the site too.

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

The Rolling Stones deny Charlie Watts is quitting the band

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The Rolling Stones deny Charlie Watts is quitting the band
The Rolling Stones have issued a denial that Charlie Watts is leaving the band, after his future was called into doubt by reports in the Australian media. It is the second time in around eight months that drummer's membership of the band has been called into question by Australian sources. This t...

The Rolling Stones have issued a denial that Charlie Watts is leaving the band, after his future was called into doubt by reports in the Australian media.

It is the second time in around eight months that drummer’s membership of the band has been called into question by Australian sources.

This time, the claim was reported by the Healrdsun.com.au, who said sources in the band’s camp suggested to them that Watts will be replaced by “US drummer Steve Jordan” on forthcoming tour dates.

However, The Rolling Stones have today (May 24) issued a statement denying the latest claims.

“Contrary to a fabricated and ill informed report that appeared yesterday on a small music website in Australia, we would like to make it clear that drummer Charlie Watts has not left The Rolling Stones,” a spokesperson explained.

“Charlie is currently being interviewed by the media promoting their latest project – the release of the album ‘Exile on Main Street’ and the forthcoming film Stones In Exile, released on DVD next month.’’

The spokesperson added that Watts will be with his bandmates today “celebrating with the rest of the Stones… as the [url=http://www.nme.com/news/the-rolling-stones/51190]’Exile’ album is Number One in the UK charts[/url]”.

The Rolling Stones‘ re-release of ‘Exile On Mainstreet’ topped the UK Albums chart yesterday (May 23).

Latest music and film news on Uncut.co.uk.

THE NATIONAL – HIGH VIOLET

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THE NATIONAL – HIGH VIOLET

There is something anomalous, anachronistic, even quaint, about the career trajectory negotiated by Brooklyn quintet The National. Twenty or thirty years ago, it wouldn’t have been that unusual. Rock group form, garner a modest following, acquire a respectable critical reputation, release a succession of increasingly accomplished and confident albums, finally penetrate the consciousness of that much-desired demographic of people who only buy two albums a year, and are hailed overnight successes about a decade after their first rehearsal. It’s REM from “Radio Free Europe” to Document, and it doesn’t happen much, any more: record companies trying to survive until the end of next month tend not to make long-term investments, so you get one chance, now, maybe a chance and a half if you’re lucky. The National, a decade and some change and five albums into their career, have been very, very lucky – but then, as Matt Berninger and the brothers Dessner and Devendorf remind frequently on this (in every sense of the word) ambitious record, the good fortune is merited. There is no doubt at all that The National believe that High Violet – their fifth album, and their first recorded in their own studio – represents their shot at the title. The National’s previous albums, especially 2007’s Boxer, have hardly lacked for widescreen soundscapes, multi-spired sonic cathedrals, and so forth – diffident, reticent indie rockers tend not to have their songs appropriated by presidential candidates, as Boxer cut “Fake Empire” was by Barack Obama. Even in this context, however, High Violet represents a substantial jettisoning of whatever vestiges of self-consciousness might still have been preventing The National from daring to imagine themselves as platinum-selling arena headliners: this is emphatically not an LP conceived to flatter the vanities of a cult following. The opening track, “Terrible Love”, starts out as a scuffed-up, Mary Chainish take on the Velvets’ “Heroin”, but by the end of its four-and-a-half minute run time it has escalated into a monumental symphony embellished by thunderous drums and choirs of backing vocals. Though its evocation of the hypnotic furies of Joy Division remind of where The National are coming from, its suggestion of U2’s No Line On The Horizon is an unmissable signpost to where The National think they’re going. It’s a fraught business, entangling with the epic. Get it right, and you’ve acquired the means to create a genuinely thrilling euphoria, the opportunity to redraw the wider culture on your own terms, and a license to print money. At the peak moments of High Violet, The National are magnificent. The transatlantic lament “England” (“You must be somewhere in London,” croons Berninger, “You must be loving your life in the rain”) broods amid gloomy strings before erupting into the sort of ecstatic coda surely written in anticipation of being illuminated by the light of thousands of mobile phones waving to the beat. “Conversation 16” is as elegantly melancholy and mournfully melodic as any ballad by The Blue Nile, and promises the richly appealing prospect of large crowds of people singing along to the refrain “I was afraid/I’d eat your brains”. “Afraid Of Everyone” is the sort of allusive state-of-the-union address which REM regularly delivered in their commercial pomp in the late ’80s and early ’90s: to an ominously martial backbeat and a musical backdrop of angelic, half-sighed backing vocals, Berninger stumbles in his “shiny new star-spangled tennis shoes” through an America torn by the gravitational tug of opposed cultural poles (or, as Berninger has it, between “the young blue body and the old red body”). He gracefully avoids the amateur’s error of proposing a remedy: “I don’t have the drugs to sort it out,” is as good a response as any. High Violet is, then, very much the sort of LP likely to prompt a certain degree of resentful harumphing from the sort of people who derive righteous satisfaction from liking a band before everybody else does. It won’t be much consolation to this tendency – nothing ever is – but for all the album’s rather thrilling jousting with hubris, quite a lot of High Violet is still very recognisably the work of people who play in jeans and sneakers (as opposed to the capes and embroidered robes that feel more appropriate to the grander moments). Possibly ironically, however, it’s precisely these tracks that hobble High Violet short of giddying greatness: measured against the towering peaks of the record, they feel meagre. “Little Faith” aspires to the gloomy grandeur of The Cure circa Disintegration, but buries its hesitant melody beneath an oppressive arrangement. “Anyone’s Ghost” is a daubed-by-numbers exercise in gothic pop: it might have been the fourth single off any given Psychedelic Furs album. And the first single off this LP, “Bloodbuzz Ohio”, feels a copout: a potentially colossal rock anthem – never necessarily a bad thing – thrown away on a lyric which seems vexingly determined to be about nothing at all (Berninger is occasionally wrongfooted by the slenderness of the line that separates the oblique from the opaque). High Violet is going to be huge, which is no problem whatsoever: it happens to far worse records all the time. But it isn’t all it could be, and nor are the band who made it, at least not yet. The National are still contemplating their potential like it’s a glowering sarcophagus retrieved from an allegedly cursed tomb, their excitement tempered with superstitious trepidation. They need to get used to the idea that they’re on the verge of doing what every band worth hearing dreams of doing – ie, mattering – and that they might well deserve to. Andrew Mueller

There is something anomalous, anachronistic, even quaint, about the career trajectory negotiated by Brooklyn quintet The National.

Twenty or thirty years ago, it wouldn’t have been that unusual. Rock group form, garner a modest following, acquire a respectable critical reputation, release a succession of increasingly accomplished and confident albums, finally penetrate the consciousness of that much-desired demographic of people who only buy two albums a year, and are hailed overnight successes about a decade after their first rehearsal.

It’s REM from “Radio Free Europe” to Document, and it doesn’t happen much, any more: record companies trying to survive until the end of next month tend not to make long-term investments, so you get one chance, now, maybe a chance and a half if you’re lucky. The National, a decade and some change and five albums into their career, have been very, very lucky – but then, as Matt Berninger and the brothers Dessner and Devendorf remind frequently on this (in every sense of the word) ambitious record, the good fortune is merited.

There is no doubt at all that The National believe that High Violet – their fifth album, and their first recorded in their own studio – represents their shot at the title. The National’s previous albums, especially 2007’s Boxer, have hardly lacked for widescreen soundscapes, multi-spired sonic cathedrals, and so forth – diffident, reticent indie rockers tend not to have their songs appropriated by presidential candidates, as Boxer cut “Fake Empire” was by Barack Obama.

Even in this context, however, High Violet represents a substantial jettisoning of whatever vestiges of self-consciousness might still have been preventing The National from daring to imagine themselves as platinum-selling arena headliners: this is emphatically not an LP conceived to flatter the vanities of a cult following. The opening track, “Terrible Love”, starts out as a scuffed-up, Mary Chainish take on the Velvets’ “Heroin”, but by the end of its four-and-a-half minute run time it has escalated into a monumental symphony embellished by thunderous drums and choirs of backing vocals. Though its evocation of the hypnotic furies of Joy Division remind of where The National are coming from, its suggestion of U2’s No Line On The Horizon is an unmissable signpost to where The National think they’re going.

It’s a fraught business, entangling with the epic. Get it right, and you’ve acquired the means to create a genuinely thrilling euphoria, the opportunity to redraw the wider culture on your own terms, and a license to print money.

At the peak moments of High Violet, The National are magnificent. The transatlantic lament “England” (“You must be somewhere in London,” croons Berninger, “You must be loving your life in the rain”) broods amid gloomy strings before erupting into the sort of ecstatic coda surely written in anticipation of being illuminated by the light of thousands of mobile phones waving to the beat. “Conversation 16” is as elegantly melancholy and mournfully melodic as any ballad by The Blue Nile, and promises the richly appealing prospect of large crowds of people singing along to the refrain “I was afraid/I’d eat your brains”. “Afraid Of Everyone” is the sort of allusive state-of-the-union address which REM regularly delivered in their commercial pomp in the late ’80s and early ’90s: to an ominously martial backbeat and a musical backdrop of angelic, half-sighed backing vocals, Berninger stumbles in his “shiny new star-spangled tennis shoes” through an America torn by the gravitational tug of opposed cultural poles (or, as Berninger has it, between “the young blue body and the old red body”). He gracefully avoids the amateur’s error of proposing a remedy: “I don’t have the drugs to sort it out,” is as good a response as any.

High Violet is, then, very much the sort of LP likely to prompt a certain degree of resentful harumphing from the sort of people who derive righteous satisfaction from liking a band before everybody else does. It won’t be much consolation to this tendency – nothing ever is – but for all the album’s rather thrilling jousting with hubris, quite a lot of High Violet is still very recognisably the work of people who play in jeans and sneakers (as opposed to the capes and embroidered robes that feel more appropriate to the grander moments).

Possibly ironically, however, it’s precisely these tracks that hobble High Violet short of giddying greatness: measured against the towering peaks of the record, they feel meagre. “Little Faith” aspires to the gloomy grandeur of The Cure circa Disintegration, but buries its hesitant melody beneath an oppressive arrangement. “Anyone’s Ghost” is a daubed-by-numbers exercise in gothic pop: it might have been the fourth single off any given Psychedelic Furs album. And the first single off this LP, “Bloodbuzz Ohio”, feels a copout: a potentially colossal rock anthem – never necessarily a bad thing – thrown away on a lyric which seems vexingly determined to be about nothing at all (Berninger is occasionally wrongfooted by the slenderness of the line that separates the oblique from the opaque).

High Violet is going to be huge, which is no problem whatsoever: it happens to far worse records all the time. But it isn’t all it could be, and nor are the band who made it, at least not yet. The National are still contemplating their potential like it’s a glowering sarcophagus retrieved from an allegedly cursed tomb, their excitement tempered with superstitious trepidation. They need to get used to the idea that they’re on the verge of doing what every band worth hearing dreams of doing – ie, mattering – and that they might well deserve to.

Andrew Mueller

THE HOLD STEADY – HEAVEN IS WHENEVER

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THE HOLD STEADY – HEAVEN IS WHENEVER

You’ll have caught the gist of The Hold Steady by now. Over their previous four albums the adopted Brooklynites have honed their one big idea to the edge of greatness: soulful, unfussy bar-room rock shackled to Craig Finn’s hyper-literate tales of lost souls. These are songs populated with easy girls and aimless guys who are everyone’s second choice, battling defeat and despair with cheap drugs, casual sex, booze and God. Occasionally they’re rewarded with a glimpse of something affirming; more often they’re left to pick up the pieces and stagger on. The band’s focus was forensic, burrowing into the detail of ordinary lives until you could see bone. Album by album they created an epic narrative with a cumulative force that went beyond the merely cinematic, closer in spirit to a rolling TV saga – The Wire, say. But every story must reach its conclusion. 2008’s Stay Positive was a companion piece to its predecessor, Boys And Girls In America, and it felt like the end of the line for Finn’s cast of misfits. Perhaps because he’s pushing 40, perhaps because success alters everything, or perhaps because he sensed he was writing himself into a corner, on Heaven Is Whenever Finn has changed tack. The stories here are built to a smaller scale, edging towards something more hopeful, more personal. On the superb “Soft In The Center” he plays it straight as the sympathetic mentor to a younger man, imparting hard-won relationship advice over a soaring chorus. “We Can Get Together” tracks an affair through precious musical memories, taking its romantic cues from Todd Rundgren’s Utopia. “They sang, ‘Love Is The Answer’, and I think they’re probably right,” Finn all but purrs, above a swooning coda of sweet harmonies and cascading piano. Finn may not have found The Answer, but it does sound suspiciously like he has found love. When he sings “struggle feels wonderful most days” on the vast, beautiful closer “A Slight Discomfort” it has all the force of a manifesto: Heaven Is Whenever is about how a lifetime of bad breaks makes the fleeting moments of euphoria taste all the sweeter. The musical focus, too, is tighter. Recorded in bite-sized bursts with long-time collaborator Dean Baltulonis, the 10 tracks have a sharpness and sense of space that the sometimes cluttered Stay Positive lacked. The recent departure of keyboardist Franz Nicolay means piano and keys are now added to taste rather than smeared liberally. Tad Kubler’s guitar moves centre stage, slipping from the thunderous rhythm of “The Smidge” to the lilting, Smithsy arpeggios of “We Can Be Together”. He’s devastating on “The Sweet Part Of The City”, unleashing a rolling avalanche of slide and acoustic picking which sounds like the Stones’ “No Expectations” on turbo boost. These aren’t necessarily seismic shifts. Finn still ticks off the desperados “passing round the thermos” and throws around references to Saint Theresa like a man tossing his last few dollars on the bar. “Our Whole Lives” could have slipped onto any of their other albums, yet another tale of religion and hedonism butting heads (“Father I’ve sinned and I want to do it all again”) set to some long-lost Born To Run outtake. But it’s the natural, assured way in which Heaven Is Whenever moves between building on past glories and breaking fresh ground that’s so impressive. The Hold Steady are writing a new chapter that promises to be just as compelling as their last. Graeme Thomson

You’ll have caught the gist of The Hold Steady by now. Over their previous four albums the adopted Brooklynites have honed their one big idea to the edge of greatness: soulful, unfussy bar-room rock shackled to Craig Finn’s hyper-literate tales of lost souls.

These are songs populated with easy girls and aimless guys who are everyone’s second choice, battling defeat and despair with cheap drugs, casual sex, booze and God. Occasionally they’re rewarded with a glimpse of something affirming; more often they’re left to pick up the pieces and stagger on. The band’s focus was forensic, burrowing into the detail of ordinary lives until you could see bone. Album by album they created an epic narrative with a cumulative force that went beyond the merely cinematic, closer in spirit to a rolling TV saga – The Wire, say.

But every story must reach its conclusion. 2008’s Stay Positive was a companion piece to its predecessor, Boys And Girls In America, and it felt like the end of the line for Finn’s cast of misfits. Perhaps because he’s pushing 40, perhaps because success alters everything, or perhaps because he sensed he was writing himself into a corner, on Heaven Is Whenever Finn has changed tack. The stories here are built to a smaller scale, edging towards something more hopeful, more personal.

On the superb “Soft In The Center” he plays it straight as the sympathetic mentor to a younger man, imparting hard-won relationship advice over a soaring chorus. “We Can Get Together” tracks an affair through precious musical memories, taking its romantic cues from Todd Rundgren’s Utopia. “They sang, ‘Love Is The Answer’, and I think they’re probably right,” Finn all but purrs, above a swooning coda of sweet harmonies and cascading piano.

Finn may not have found The Answer, but it does sound suspiciously like he has found love. When he sings “struggle feels wonderful most days” on the vast, beautiful closer “A Slight Discomfort” it has all the force of a manifesto: Heaven Is Whenever is about how a lifetime of bad breaks makes the fleeting moments of euphoria taste all the sweeter.

The musical focus, too, is tighter. Recorded in bite-sized bursts with long-time collaborator Dean Baltulonis, the 10 tracks have a sharpness and sense of space that the sometimes cluttered Stay Positive lacked. The recent departure of keyboardist Franz Nicolay means piano and keys are now added to taste rather than smeared liberally. Tad Kubler’s guitar moves centre stage, slipping from the thunderous rhythm of “The Smidge” to the lilting, Smithsy arpeggios of “We Can Be Together”. He’s devastating on “The Sweet Part Of The City”, unleashing a rolling avalanche of slide and acoustic picking which sounds like the Stones’ “No Expectations” on turbo boost.

These aren’t necessarily seismic shifts. Finn still ticks off the desperados “passing round the thermos” and throws around references to Saint Theresa like a man tossing his last few dollars on the bar. “Our Whole Lives” could have slipped onto any of their other albums, yet another tale of religion and hedonism butting heads (“Father I’ve sinned and I want to do it all again”) set to some long-lost Born To Run outtake. But it’s the natural, assured way in which Heaven Is Whenever moves between building on past glories and breaking fresh ground that’s so impressive. The Hold Steady are writing a new chapter that promises to be just as compelling as their last.

Graeme Thomson

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