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?

There is a man in a flat cap standing in the middle of the stage, looking pensively at some large twigs while his bandmates work up ten minutes of bleary musique concrete. Eventually he picks up a bass and the six of them lumber into a passage of magisterial, martial psych. It mutates into waterlogged beatnik blues, then a kind of splenetic krautpunk. One of the guitarists, incidentally, now has a cardboard box on his head. There’s a mannequin’s head on top of the box. After a while, he conscientiously ties a scarf round its neck. This, of course, is Sunburned Hand Of The Man, beginning an exceptional Sunday night of psychedelic music at the Scala. I wish it hadn’t been at the Scala, mind, since these three bands – notably terrific as they are – are nowhere near big enough to fill this place, and consequently the crackling energy which they generate gets a bit lost in here. Not that this seems to concern the bands overly much. Sunburned are on driven, extremely focused form tonight. Unlike the recent “Fire Escape” album, the heavy-booted funk is generally left on the shelf, in favour of an unusually rocking set. It’s probably because I’ve been playing their records so much of late, but parts of it remind me rather of the Flower Travelling Band; that ceremonial, intricate sort of blues-rock, blessed with a patterned formality that’s very different from their characteristic wacked-out improv. The pagan performance art is still there, though, and the set ends with the ritual waving of some branches draped in lights. Damon And Naomi, up next, are a gentler pleasure; sometimes, in fact, their sketchy little songs can veer a little too close to indie tweeness for my taste. At their best, though, they conjure up an ineffably fragile brand of psych, beautifully augmented by Bhob Rainey on textural soprano sax and the very great Japanese guitarist Michio Kurihara, whose work – notably with Ghost – I’ve banged on about plenty in the past. Kurihara is an incredibly discreet virtuoso, and he hovers at the back of the stage adding phased, impressionistic depth to Damon And Naomi’s filigree compositions. It’s significant, though, that the strongest piece they play is only half theirs: “Araca Azul/The Earth Is Blue” is part-cover of a fine old Caetano Veloso song, part nuanced response to it. No such delicacies from Howlin Rain, finally making their British debut after we’ve droned on about them in Uncut for the best part of two years. If you’ve managed to avoid all my hype thus far, they’re the latest project of Santa Cruz’ Ethan Miller, now taking precedence since he wound up the activities of Comets On Fire at this same venue a few months back. For anyone put off by the tempestuous psych roar of Comets, Howlin Rain might be a more accessible proposition; the cacophonous Echoplex which underpinned most Comets music has been parked, and in its place the Southern rock classicism which first surfaced on Comets’ mighty “Avatar” is now way in focus. Miller is now flanked by a guitarist who dutifully locks into twin harmony leads (unlike the raging genius of old foil Ben Chasny, who’s crazy in the front row here, incidentally), and by a keyboardist who looks, appositely, a bit like Keith Godchaux. I’ve been sat on their wonderful second album, “Magnificent Fiend”, for months now, and the latest rumour is that they’ve been signed by Rick Rubin, who may think he’s got his hands on the new Black Crowes. He hasn’t: perhaps mercifully, Miller is much too wayward and ragged a performer to choogle quite so slickly. He’s a compelling frontman, though, bawling his way around his own serpentine melodies, constantly leading his band on spluttering new trajectories, punctuating everything with ecstatic, eruptive solos. Anyway, Howlin Rain played a load of great songs whose titles I still don’t know, though in the unlikely event “Magnificent Fiend” ever actually gets released, Tracks Two and Three were great, and I was mildly gutted that they didn’t play the Allmans/gospel/Yes rave-up about God and thunder and stuff that is Track Four. Great night, still. Anyone else make it down?

It must have been an unusually quiet day, because we are not usually out and about when we should be working, nose to grindstone, shackled to the pleasurable daily graft of putting together Uncut. Anyway, the young American singer-songwriter Josh Ritter, whose first two albums – The Golden Age Of Radio and Hello Starling - I had by then become somewhat besotted with, was playing an afternoon showcase at the Social to coincide with the release of his terrific new album, The Animal Years, and I dragged Michael along with me to see him. The Social was barely full, maybe a couple of dozen people milling around, drinks in hand, with Josh and his guitar on the small stage. He was instantly mesmerising, in the manner, a few years earlier, I had always found Ryan Adams to be. They had much in common – a talent for literate, evocative songwriting, an apparent mastery of whatever musical style they found most appropriate for any given song, buckets of easy charm, a winning way with anecdotal on-stage conversation, a great deal of humour, voices that rung with handsome confidence. The one big difference between them, of course, is that Josh is Ryan without the attendant traumas, tantrums, self-destructive stroppiness, narcotic dependencies, tendency towards unnecessary showboating, generally tousled waywardness and haughty self-regard that at one point threatened to wholly derail Ryan’s career, and from which behaviour that career has never entirely recovered, a lot of former fans too exasperated by his petulant excesses to persevere with him, even when he returned to some kind of form with last year’s trio of mostly fine albums. Ritter as a result of his relatively low-profile and absence of headline-grabbing antics hasn’t has nearly the attention devoted over the last several years top Adams, but on the evidence of the turn-out last week for his show at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire has accumulated no less a fanatical fan base. You couldn’t have got more people into the venue at gunpoint, and there’s a growing hum of anticipation when the stage lights go down and a teasing wait ensues before a spruce Ritter, clean-shaven and sharply suited, appears to great cheers. From where I’m pinned to the bar – well, you have to stand somewhere – what immediately follows is somewhat underpowered, the “London Calling” guitar intro to “Mind’s Eye”, all but lost in a muffled, bass-heavy sound. Things get reasonably quickly sorted, however, and the tongue-twisting rollicking Dylanesque romp of “To The Dogs Or Whoever” – the opening track from the new The Historical Conquests Of Josh Ritter, which provides nearly half of tonight’s set list – is expertly dispatched by a band whose only deficiency is a lack of obvious charisma. The surging “Good Man” is another early highlight, as the band and Ritter lock into what by now is a seamless groove, great tunes from all four albums jostling for attention, the simmering shuffle of “Monster Ballads” and, later, the Springsteen wallop of “Wolves” from The Animal Years, particularly striking. There are terrific moments when the band drop away and Ritter takes a ore or less solo spotlight on songs like the recent “The Temptation Of Adam” and the earlier “Harrisburg” and “Lawrence, KS”, both from The Golden Age Of Radio (there is, sadly, no “Me And Jiggs”, with its rousing namecheck for Townes Van Zandt). The audience is in full, passionate voice for the inevitable singalong that “Kathleen” has become, but respectfully hushed for the haunting “Girl In The War”. They are roaring again, however, on “Snow Is Gone”, but wisely leave it to Josh for most of the closing “Lillian, Egypt”, though a lot of them can’t help joining in on the song’s irrepressible chorus, which is genuinely heart-lifting. Ritter exits, finally, chased by cheers, a smile on his face as big as the arenas that if he keeps on going like this he’ll very soon be filling. Josh Ritter Set List Shepherd’s Bush Empire November 22, 2007 Naked As A Window Mind’s Eye To The Dogs Or Whoever Good Man Open Doors Here At The Right Time Monster Ballads Harrisburg The Temptation Of Adam Rumors Still Beating Real Long Distance Right Moves Wildfires Wolves Empty Hearts Lawrence KS Kathleen Encores Girl In The War Snow Is Gone Lillian, Egypt