So I arrived at work this morning with the plan to write about the pretty fine new Wu-Tang Clan album. I’ve been momentarily distracted, though, by the discovery that Def Jam are streaming the entire new Ghostface Killah album on their website. In recent years, I think the Ghost has been the most consistently interesting and exciting rapper in America, and it’s been fascinating to see how his career has evolved from being one of the Wu’s most unpredictable footsoldiers, a spluttering maverick with a penchant for richly overloaded imagery and detuned sing-songs, to the Clan’s most bankable solo star. I’m about halfway through “The Big Doe Rehab” now, and there’s some great things here in his usual languid, played-out soul style, with a new smattering of Fania-style breaks (a track called “Walk Alone” has been the stand-out thus far), if maybe not quite as extraordinary as last year’s “Fish Scale”; if you haven’t bought a hip-hop album in the last five years and are feeling a vague urge, that’s the one to go for. Obviously, I’ll write about this more when I’ve digested properly. But for the time being, I’ve a much stronger handle on the Wu-Tang reunion album, “8 Diagrams”. Ghostface is not on this too much, and neither is his closest ally Raekwon, and there are various rumours flying around about the pair falling out with the Wu’s de facto leader, RZA. RZA is accused of diluting the Wu sound on “8 Diagrams”, employing sweetened sung choruses and hiring guitarists (notably John Frusciante and George Harrison’s son Dhani) to play on Ghost’s showcase, “The Heart Gently Weeps”. To my woolly ears, though, there doesn’t sound much like a sell-out here: much of the music is still murky, cinematic and minimal, a low backdrop for the traditional martial arts samples, and for the overlapping verses of the Wu members. As they dodge round each other, often seeming to gently barge their predecessor off the mic, I’m reminded that the Wu in full flight remains – internecine bickers notwithstanding- one of the most straightforwardly thrilling sounds in modern music. As it is, “8 Diagrams” is far better than anyone could have realistically expected, a brutal and fluent re-iteration of the Clan’s supremacy. Clearly, it’s the RZA’s project: he produces and raps on it more than he has in years, and more obedient Clan members like GZA (his cousin, if I remember right), the lisping Method Man and the stentorian U-God (one of the Clan’s most undervalued members, but on fire here) get most of the leads. “Rushing Elephants” is superb, from the title down, one of those furious marches into battle at which the clan excel, and the way it dovetails into the slashing menace of “Unpredictable” – some screaming guitar on here, too - is exhilarating. But I also love the loopy “Wolves”, featuring a full-blooded refrain from George Clinton and “Windmill”, with its faintly deranged Cotton Club ambience. I guess plenty of focus will be on “Life Changes”, where everyone except Ghostface queues up to do homage to their fallen brother Ol’ Dirty Bastard. But ironically, Ghostface is the one Clan member who is most effective at a kind of unorthodox sentimentality, and in his absence, his brethren seem a bit mawkish. All told, though, it’s a better record than their last group effort, 2001’s erratic “Iron Flag”, maybe even 2000’s “The W”. Better than “The Big Doe Rehab”? I’ll get back to you on that. . .

I guess it’s still fairly early in the morning, but I’m struggling right now to think of many players around at the moment who are as slippery and compelling as Will Oldham. He’s had, by his standards, a relatively quiet year. But the other day, a new mini-album turned up unexpectedly, a few days after it had actually arrived in the shops. Like a big American urban star or Radiohead, clearly Oldham has abandoned the niceties of advance releases for hacks. Which is fair enough, if a bit frustrating. Anyway, the mentions of American R&B and Radiohead are vaguely apposite. “Ask Forgiveness” is a covers album, and amongst the songs he tackles are R Kelly’s “The World’s Greatest” and the old Bjork/Thom Yorke duet from “Dancer In The Dark”, “I’ve Seen It All”. The latter is a parched, mildly unnerving backwoods meditation, with Meg Baird providing the harmonies. Baird and her team-mate from Espers, Greg Weeks, provide the musical backdrops on the whole album, since Oldham’s restless musical perambulations seem to have taken him into their camp in Philadelphia. It’s interesting, though, that they predominantly play his game: the vibes remain more Appalachian than lustrous folk-psych, even though Espers are adept at providing the softer reveries which Oldham operates in more comfortably these days (last year’s gorgeous “The Letting Go” being a case in point). Anyway, R Kelly. It’s one of Oldham’s great gifts that he can seem at once unfathomably contrary, yet can carry off his quixotic decisions with such quiet integrity that you rapidly forget their strangeness. “The World’s Greatest” is not done ironically, or self-consciously: rather, it sees Oldham finding the song’s still, engaging heart and claiming it as his own. Tonally, he treats it no differently to more notionally “tasteful” selections: Mickey Newbury’s “I Came To Hear The Music”; Phil Ochs’ “My Life”; Merle Haggard’s “The Way I Am”. To long-term Oldham watchers, none of this will come as a surprise. I just remembered the first Palace Brothers gig in London some 15-odd years ago I guess, where he did a Whitney Houston song, maybe “I Will Always Love You”, beautifully. There’s also the covers set with Tortoise from last year, “The Brave And The Bold”, though a better analogue for this in Oldham’s labyrinthine catalogue would be 2000’s “More Revery” (thanks to the fastidious Royal Stable site for reminding me what that one was called). “Ask Forgiveness” is a terrific record all round, and its highlight is probably a sepulchral version of Danzig’s “Am I Demon?”, which endows doom with a plausibly human dread in a series of nuanced gestures. There’s a new song by Oldham I should mention, too, buried amidst all this excellence. It’s called “I’m Loving The Street” (though you won’t find that out from the sleeve, which doesn’t trouble itself with anything so useful as song titles) and is, inscrutably, one of the jauntiest Oldham songs I can remember. But typically, Oldham makes this and every other unexpected twist in his brilliant career seem coherent and vividly logical. Where next, I wonder?