A bit early in 2008, I think, to start talking about Albums Of The Year and such. But over the past week, I must admit I’ve been completely knocked out by the new Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks album. It’s called “Real Emotional Trash”, and it’s out in March on Domino in the UK. Malkmus, I guess, now has some kind of senior guru status in the indie/college rock world, with Pavement being spiritual godfathers of so much of the erudite, skewed music that seems to be selling bucketloads in the States these days. It is, I’m sure, the source of infinite wry amusement to Malkmus – if not to some of his ex-bandmates – that Pavement never got within light years of the Billboard charts, while their descendants like Modest Mouse and The Shins can effortlessly fetch up in the Top Five. Maybe the fact that history will see Pavement as one of the best and most important bands of the past 20 years is satisfying enough. It certainly hasn’t knocked Malkmus off his current musical trajectory. “Real Emotional Trash” is his fourth post-Pavement album, though it feels like a follow-up to the second one, “Pig Lib”, which also explicitly featured The Jicks as backing band, rather than 2005’s solo and slightly disappointing “Face The Truth”. One of the nice things about these records, beyond their general excellence, is the sense is that Malkmus is on a similar musical path of discovery to many of us; that while skinny collegiate lo-fi might be lucrative these days, it’s not half as interesting as heavy, intricate jams. Like “Pig Lib”, “Real Emotional Trash” features elaborate, sometimes charmingly proggish folk-rock melodies, still maintaining those quizzical, ambulatory vocal lines which were so winning in Pavement, filled out with some incredibly fluent, expressive playing. I’m sure Malkmus’ encyclopaedic and arcane tastes would throw up much more interesting and specific reference points than those I can manage this morning, but I’m variously reminded of Richard Thompson, Television, The Grateful Dead – wiry, silvery guitarists who head for cosmic extremes in a way which is at once precise and zigzagging. “Hopscotch Willy” is playing now, and it’s just incredible; a hairy, intuitive groove that keeps rolling through new vistas and valleys, powered by the equally gifted Jicks. The newest Jicks recruit is the wonderful Janet Weiss, from Sleater-Kinney and Quasi, and it’s clear that she’s by some distance the best drummer Malkmus has ever employed. There’s a theory that this is how he always wanted to sound, but that Pavement never had the musical chops to keep up with his ideas (particularly in the drummer’s seat). They made up for this, of course, with great songs, immense charm and, at their best, a sense that five men were accidentally and entertainingly heading in the same direction by accident. Listening to the title track, or the earthy spacerock of “Elmo Delmo” here, it’s plain that virtuosity hasn’t eradicated the maverick sense of fun that’s integral to Malkmus’ appeal. He’s a lot warmer than some withering, cerebral stereotypes might suggest, too; “Out Of Reaches”, in particular, is as pretty and tender a song as he’s ever written (you’ll have to forgive me, but I haven’t been listening close enough to parse the lyrics. I’ll get there in a month or so, maybe). We’re onto that title track now, the early ebbing, chiming stages of it. By the end of its ten minutes, we’ll have wandered brilliantly through multiple sections, including one galloping bit around six minutes in which, it occurred to me over the weekend, is very roughly like “Heroes And Villains” as re-imagined by Status Quo. I realise that might not be the most appetising comparison I’ve ever made, but, honestly, it works. I have a press release in front of me, and its scanty info reveals that “Real Emotional Trash” “was recorded in Montana by TJ Doherty, whose credits include Wilco and Sonic Youth”. That makes sense, since those two bands strike me as being Malkmus and The Jicks’ vague peers these days; ambitious, expansive, relaxed, propelled by a fantastic understanding between bandmembers that can move mighty songs into big, free, even more satisfactory pieces of music. But the Status Quo bit has just started. You’ll have to excuse me. . .

Strange telephone call a couple of hours ago, from someone called Bobbie who was looking for some coverage of her band. It turned out, amazingly, to be Bobbie Watson from Comus, of all people, who have reformed for a gig in March. It'd be logical if this was one of those heritage reunion events at the Festival Hall. But I guess Comus' reputation as the most arcane and perverse of the original acid-folk bands endures, since this show is on a boat cruising from Stockholm to Helsinki. This, it seems, is the 21st Anniversary Schizoid Boat, something which purports to be a prog festival headlined by Comus and Swedish metallers Opeth, who have a history of dabbling in esoteric folk (I remember Linda Perhacs directing me to a cover version of one of her songs a few years back). Anyway, the details for the boat trip are at the link above, and it seems all but one (Lindsay Cooper) of the original Comus line-up are, so to speak, on board. There's some talk of a live DVD being filmed though, more promisingly (especially for those of us who get seasick in the bath, let alone on a cruise round Scandinavia in March), Bobbie reckons there might be more gigs to come if this one goes well. The curator of this year's Meltdown will, I suspect, be watching carefully. Meanwhile, after the Michael Rother binge of the past month, Phil has directed me towards a terrific Kraftwerk bootleg that you can download from http://duesseldorfhbf.blogspot.com/2007/07/kraftwerk-1971-live-at-radio-bremen.html . "Live On Radio Bremen" allegedly dates from 1971, and seems to feature a line-up featuring Florian Schneider alongside Rother and his future-Neu! henchman, Klaus Dinger, but no Ralf Hutter, who was apparently on a six-month hiatus. I suppose there are similarities with that "Beat Club" bootleg of the Kraftwerk/Neu! group, but bits of "Radio Bremen" resemble a heavy stoner rethink of the first two Kraftwerk LPs - the opening "Heavy Metal Kids" has an unlikely processional stomp to it that reminds me, oddly, of the Flower Traveling Band. Dinger's measured propulsion is immediately recognisable, but Rother's guitar is dirtier, harsher, and pretty much wilder than we're used to. Best thing here is Track Three, a fantastic version of "Ruckzuck" from the first Kraftwerk album: Schneider's flute and the intense, broken rhythms are recognisable, but again there's a hairiness, a closer affinity to orthodox heavy psych, which moves this brief incarnation of Kraftwerk even further away from the hygienised synth automata of legend. It sounds filthy, and great - even if you know the band's stuff pre-"Autobahn", you'll still be in for a shock.

Watching TV over the Christmas and New Year period, chances are you might have caught Johnny Depp in a number of films. I'm pretty sure I spotted all three Pirates Of The Caribbean movies spread out across various terrestrial and satellite channels, plus the overlooked Secret Window and -- a personal favourite -- Finding Neverland, a very moving take on the relationship between author JM Barrie and the children who inspired him to write Peter Pan. In a way, these films are emblematic of the Depp's dualistic approach to his movies. In Pirates, he's performing; in Window and Neverland, he's acting. Sweeney Todd, his sixth collaboration with director Tim Burton, falls into the former camp. You have to forgive me, I should say, if I'm fairly broad in my assessment here -- I saw it way before Christmas, but have been under the cosh of one of these embargos that forbids me from writing about it, under pain of death, until now. It's a big, brash turn, full of swagger and brio, well suited to Burton's extravagant Gothic melodrama from Stephen Sondheim's musical. Depp's Sweeney is a serial killing barber whose victims are turned into pies by his accomplice Mrs Lovett (Helena Bonham Carter). Necks are slit, large quantities of blood slosh across the screen and a number of jolly songs are sung along the way, often in chirpy Cockernee accents. It's a faintly ludicrous proposition -- but, admittedly, no more so than the idea of a lonely inventor building himself a son but dying before he could complete him, leaving a pair of giant shears where his arms should be. In fact, Burton pretty much lets himself go here, the whole thing having a rather gleefully demented feel to it. It's not quite Herschell Gordon Lewis or Lucio Fulci, but it's pretty grisly stuff all the same; thick arterial blood flying in crimson arcs, human flesh baked into pies, that kind of thing. Depp, shrewd as ever, manages to draw pathos out of the Grand Guignol. Deathly pale with panda bear rings round his eyes, Depp's Sweeney is a walking ghost, his life leeched from him by the death of his wife and lost daughter. He's more of a melancholic figure than some zealous, hellbent lunatic out for revenge, despite his early declamation that "They all deserve to die!" There are, I have to admit, too many songs for me (yes, I do know it's a musical), but Burton and Depp are clearly having great fun here -- in the new issue of UNCUT, Burton explains how he and Depp are "in the same zone from the beginning." Sweeney might not be Depp's greatest character for Burton (that would be Edward Scissorhands or Ed Wood), but the exuberance and grim humour of this spectacle make cohesively for one of their strongest collaborations. To close allow me this random aside. I see that Depp's scheduled to play American gangster John Dillinger for Michael Mann soon. As a huge fan of both Depp, Mann and John Milius' brilliant version of the Dillinger story (due, largely, to a fantastic performance from Warren Oates), I am extremely excited. Anyway... Sweeney Todd opens in the UK on January 25.