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Justice, weird ’80s nostalgia, blog house and so on

John Mulvey
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I am, I must confess, a bit unclear about what exactly is meant by the very hip term blog house. I've a hunch that it refers to dance music whose success is driven by online theorists rather than exposure in clubs. But to be honest, I've a bit of a dilettante attitude to the dance scene these days: much as I try to keep up to speed with as much music as I can, I think I'm missing a lot of this stuff. Which means, I suspect, that the debut album by Justice is probably seen as a bit passe by the hardcore bloggers. For me, though, it sounds great. If you don't recognise the name, there's a fair chance you've heard at least one track involving this French duo: their remix of Simian's "We Are Your Friends" has been maybe the most ubiquitous party tune of the past three years. And a pretty ubiquitous soundbed on the TV, if you don't get out as much as you used to. Anyway, Justice's debut album seems to be called "†" (I know, but give them a chance). It's not exactly the future of music, as far as I can second-guess these things, but it is a fairly exhilarating update of that filtered house sound that came barrelling out of France in the late '90s. In fact, "†" (I've impressed myself by working out how to do that symbol, by the way) would have sounded great if it had been the second album by Daft Punk. It has the same kind of deadpan intensity, the '80s fixation, and the ingenuous spirit which teeters precariously close to kitsch, but usually steers clear of it. A case in point is the current single, "D.A.N.C.E", which matches up a children's choir with some fairly gymnastic house and a few glittery disco swishes which echo Chic. It's cute, it's very nearly naff, but it also has a steely dance imperative which adds momentum rather than whimsy. Someone in the office (Phil or Mark, I think) spotted some John Carpenter sounds here, and it was definitely Mark who reckoned that the jabbering, super-intense "Stress" is built on a Herrmann-ish string sample of David Shire's "Night On Disco Mountain" from "Saturday Night Fever". It was me, shamefully, who detected the influence of Ray Parker Jr's "Ghostbusters" theme on "DVNO". A lot of '80s revivalism turns my stomach, to be honest, but there's something about Justice that makes me excuse their penchant for some ridiculous synth patches. Perhaps it's that ingenuousness, however studied it might be: I guess an evocation of playgrounds resonates more with my memories of the early '80s than the glamorous and debauched nightclub references that often stud '80s throwback records. But then that makes me guilty of that kneejerk childhood nostalgia which I usually abhor, especially that weird nostalgia for the sort of music you never liked at the time. It was all Echo & The Bunnymen, Aztec Camera, stentorian pieces in NME about African music and not much fun in North Nottinghamshire when I was growing up. I am chronically overthinking all this, of course, and a certain anxiety about liking certain aspects of Justice is probably what defines them as blog house. What should I say? It's a really entertaining record, and one which makes me think - along with the Simian Mobile Disco album, that we might finally have some successors to the knackered old stadium techno acts like The Chemical Brothers (Bits of the solo debut by Orbital's Paul Hartnoll are OK, incidentally: he's really living out his John Barry fantasies this time). I'll tell you one thing about the Justice album, though. All that '80s angst notwithstanding, the Mark King-style bass solo at the end of "DVNO" really is a bit much.

I am, I must confess, a bit unclear about what exactly is meant by the very hip term blog house. I’ve a hunch that it refers to dance music whose success is driven by online theorists rather than exposure in clubs. But to be honest, I’ve a bit of a dilettante attitude to the dance scene these days: much as I try to keep up to speed with as much music as I can, I think I’m missing a lot of this stuff.

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McCartney Back Catalogue Goes Digital

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McCartney Back Catalogue Goes Digital

Paul McCartney's record label Parlophone, part of the EMI group, has confirmed that they will be releasing his entire back catalogue across digital platforms, as well as the traditional physical formats. Records from the former Beatle's first solo album "McCartney" through his Wings era to his new album "Memory Almost Full" will now be made available digitally for the first time ever. The McCartney digital campaign could possibly signal that the much-hyped idea of the Beatles back catalogue being made available in this way could soon come to fruition. Tony Wadsworth, chairman of EMI Music UK said, “Paul McCartney’s post-Beatles catalogue, spanning four decades, is one of the great treasures of popular music. EMI is proud to be introducing Paul’s music to the digital marketplace.” Having recently received an Classical Brit Award for his album "Ecce Cor Meum", McCartney will release his new album "Memory Almost Full" on June 4. Check out the latest issue of Uncut for an exclusive interview with McCartney - see what it was like being part of Wings, and how it was an impossible task to try and follow the Beatles.

Paul McCartney’s record label Parlophone, part of the EMI group, has confirmed that they will be releasing his entire back catalogue across digital platforms, as well as the traditional physical formats.

Records from the former Beatle’s first solo album “McCartney” through his Wings era to his new album “Memory Almost Full” will now be made available digitally for the first time ever.

The McCartney digital campaign could possibly signal that the much-hyped idea of the Beatles back catalogue being made available in this way could soon come to fruition.

Tony Wadsworth, chairman of EMI Music UK said, “Paul McCartney’s post-Beatles catalogue, spanning four decades, is one of the great treasures of popular music. EMI is proud to be introducing Paul’s music to the digital marketplace.”

Having recently received an Classical Brit Award for his album “Ecce Cor Meum”, McCartney will release his new album “Memory Almost Full” on June 4.

Check out the latest issue of Uncut for an exclusive interview with McCartney – see what it was like being part of Wings, and how it was an impossible task to try and follow the Beatles.

The Unquiet Dead

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The Unquiet Dead
"The sequel that Danny and I should do is obviously Porno," producer Andrew Macdonald tells Uncut, referring to the Trainspotting follow-up that he and director Danny Boyle are asked about with a frequency bordering on national obsession. "And nobody else could direct that /except/ Danny." 28 Weeks...

“The sequel that Danny and I should do is obviously Porno,” producer Andrew Macdonald tells Uncut, referring to the Trainspotting follow-up that he and director Danny Boyle are asked about with a frequency bordering on national obsession. “And nobody else could direct that /except/ Danny.”
28 Weeks Later, however, is a different matter.

The sequel to 2002’s viral-nightmare horror 28 Days Later is directed by Juan Carlos Fresnadillo, a Spanish filmmaker with one credit to his name (though an extremely good one, the destiny-themed thriller Intacto) who Boyle hand-picked as his replacement. “Danny’s line has always been that to have a successful business in this country, you need to embrace sequels,” says Macdonald.

Although none of the original cast return; the blood-hopping virus that spawns acute anger management issues does. “I tried to persuade [28 Days Later star] Cillian Murphy to come back as an Infected, but he wouldn’t,” Macdonald laughs, adding that Boyle never ruled himself out of directing “but it was just never going to happen because he was making Sunshine.”

“They were trying to bring fresh eyes to this landscape,” says Fresnadillo. “Danny said, ‘We need you because we love Intacto and we want somebody to introduce something new in the story.'” As it was, Fresnadillo was initially reluctant to take on the project, being neither interested in sequels nor horror movies. But when he had the idea to tell the story through the experiences of one family, he was hooked.

The film picks up with the US military overseeing Britain’s resettlement after the virus has burned itself out. Don (Robert Carlyle), who survived the initial outbreak, and his young son (Mackintosh Muggleton) and daughter (Imogen Poots), who were safely abroad, are reunited in a safe zone on the Isle Of Dogs. The question is, what happened to mum?
“That’s something I really loved about the story,” says Fresnadillo. “There’s a similarity between a virus and a human being. A virus is trying always to survive and human beings also have an amazing survival instinct.

In Don’s case, his survival instinct wins over love.” With a further twist that some people may be immune to the virus (albeit carriers), and a twitchy US military prepared to incinerate anything that moves when the infection returns, this, in every way, is aiming to be bigger and better than its predecessor. So prepare for Apache gunships strafing Westminster and nighttime panic in the streets of London.

Says Macdonald, “This is more action horror, in the same way that Aliens was to Alien. In the first film, you didn’t know what was going to happen; in this film, you sort of know. When the infection comes back, you see it build and break out. There are some big scenes of terror and horror…”

28 Weeks Later is on general release now.

Click here to view the film trailer for 28 Weeks Later

New York Doll Thunders Copy Cats LP Reissued

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New York Doll Thunders Copy Cats LP Reissued

Johnny Thunders and Patti Palladin's 1988 "Copy Cats" tribute collection of songs is to be made available for the first time in eight years later this month. The album features their homage to artists and bands the rock pair grew up with in New York. The eclectic covers that even late DJ John Peel declared "better than the originals" include Elvis Presley's "Crawfish" and "Alligator Wine" by Screaming Jay Hawkins. Other highlights are The Shirelles "Baby It's You" which features guest backing vocals by The Pretenders' Chrissie Hynde and a version of The Chambers Brothers' "Uptown Harlem" which features Only Ones guitarist John Perry. "Copy Cats" is reissued on May 28 through Jungle Records. Click here to see a video clip of Johnny Thunders doing "I Was Born To Cry"

Johnny Thunders and Patti Palladin’s 1988 “Copy Cats” tribute collection of songs is to be made available for the first time in eight years later this month.

The album features their homage to artists and bands the rock pair grew up with in New York.

The eclectic covers that even late DJ John Peel declared “better than the originals” include Elvis Presley’s “Crawfish” and “Alligator Wine” by Screaming Jay Hawkins.

Other highlights are The Shirelles “Baby It’s You” which features guest backing vocals by The Pretenders’ Chrissie Hynde and a version of The Chambers Brothers’ “Uptown Harlem” which features Only Ones guitarist John Perry.

“Copy Cats” is reissued on May 28 through Jungle Records.

Click here to see a video clip of Johnny Thunders doing “I Was Born To Cry”

Ian Brown Reveals Autumn Tour Plans

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Ian Brown Reveals Autumn Tour Plans

Ian Brown has announced a huge 22 date UK tour starting this Autumn. The dates kick off at the Newcastle Academy on September 27, around the same time it is anticipated that Brown's fifth solo album will be ready for release. The new album's working title is "The World Is Yours" and Brown is working with fellow Mancunian musicians; Smiths' bassist Andy Rourke and the Happy Mondays' Paul Ryder. Speaking about the new material, Brown says he's more confident than ever about his musical abilities. The Monkey king said "I know everyone always says their latest is their best, but I really feel that this time. I’ve really gone all out with the lyrics and melodies. I’m trying to make my own "What’s Going On". It’s going to be something really beautiful, with violins, dead sharp beats, socially conscious lyrics – this time around, I’m trying to bury everything I’ve ever done.” At a recent charity event for Manchester Versus Cancer, Brown finished a short performance with a finale of Stone Roses classic "I Am The Resurrection" - joined on stage by former bandmate Mani and Andy Rourke. Catch Brown on tour at the following venues, more dates are expected to be announced soon, including Manchester and London. Tickets for these shows go on sale this Friday (May 18) at 9am. Newcastle Academy (September 27) Hull City Hall (28) Sheffield Octagon (29) Middlesbrough Town Hall (October 1) Lincoln Engine Shed (2) Halifax Victoria Hall (3) Leeds University (5) Warrington Parr Hall (6) Dundee Caird Hall (8) Motherwell Civic Hall (9) Edinburgh Corn Exchange (10) Llandudno Venue Cymru Arena (12) Preston Guildhall (13) Derby Assembly Rooms (15) Nottingham Rock City (16) Reading Hexagon (18) Birmingham Academy (19) Cambridge Corn Exchange (20) Southampton Guildhall (22) Folkestone Leas Cliff Hall (23) Bristol Academy (25) Liverpool University (26)

Ian Brown has announced a huge 22 date UK tour starting this Autumn.

The dates kick off at the Newcastle Academy on September 27, around the same time it is anticipated that Brown’s fifth solo album will be ready for release.

The new album’s working title is “The World Is Yours” and Brown is working with fellow Mancunian musicians; Smiths’ bassist Andy Rourke and the Happy Mondays’ Paul Ryder.

Speaking about the new material, Brown says he’s more confident than ever about his musical abilities. The Monkey king said “I know everyone always says their latest is their best, but I really feel that this time. I’ve really gone all out with the lyrics and melodies. I’m trying to make my own “What’s Going On”. It’s going to be something really beautiful, with violins, dead sharp beats, socially conscious lyrics – this time around, I’m trying to bury everything I’ve ever done.”

At a recent charity event for Manchester Versus Cancer, Brown finished a short performance with a finale of Stone Roses classic “I Am The Resurrection” – joined on stage by former bandmate Mani and Andy Rourke.

Catch Brown on tour at the following venues, more dates are expected to be announced soon, including Manchester and London.

Tickets for these shows go on sale this Friday (May 18) at 9am.

Newcastle Academy (September 27)

Hull City Hall (28)

Sheffield Octagon (29)

Middlesbrough Town Hall (October 1)

Lincoln Engine Shed (2)

Halifax Victoria Hall (3)

Leeds University (5)

Warrington Parr Hall (6)

Dundee Caird Hall (8)

Motherwell Civic Hall (9)

Edinburgh Corn Exchange (10)

Llandudno Venue Cymru Arena (12)

Preston Guildhall (13)

Derby Assembly Rooms (15)

Nottingham Rock City (16)

Reading Hexagon (18)

Birmingham Academy (19)

Cambridge Corn Exchange (20)

Southampton Guildhall (22)

Folkestone Leas Cliff Hall (23)

Bristol Academy (25)

Liverpool University (26)

Roger Waters – Earls Court May 12th

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Roger Waters – Earls Court May 12th

Roger Waters – Earls Court May12th It has been a busy week for Roger Waters. His British tour kicked off in Manchester last Monday, and by Thursday he found himself sharing a Barbican bill with his old Pink Floyd bandmates at a Syd Barrett tribute show. Waters, it should be noted, was not onstage at the same time as his old colleagues. Nick Mason did turn up, however, at Waters’ sold-out Earl’s Court show - proudly sponsored by Uncut - to assist the 11-piece band run through Pink Floyd’s classic “Dark Side Of The Moon” in its entirety. The gig was a spectacle of two equal halves, the first half consisting of faithful renditions of expected Floyd classics, alongside some lesser-known Waters favourites from “The Final Cut” and his post-Floyd solo albums. Highlights included “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”, which grew from its delicate shimmering intro into a massive audience singalong, and “Wish You Were Here”, which found Waters in particularly fine voice. The appearance of the famous floating pig during “Sheep” completed part one of this enjoyable nostalgia trip. As the band took to the stage to perform “Dark Side Of The Moon”, Waters announced a special guest, and Nick Mason took up position behind the additional drumkit that had been wheeled onstage during the interval. The performance was faultless, with the lights and video screen visuals really cranking up the atmosphere. Nick Mason clicked perfectly with the band, as if he had been playing with them for the whole tour. The opening sound effects to “Time”, where Mason accompanied the ticking and ringing of the clocks with his tom-toms before the song burst into life, provided another great moment. The band (including Mason) encored with “Another Brick In The Wall”, the crowd chanting the chorus. The set closer was The Wall’s standout track, “Comfortably Numb”, with guitarists Snowy White and Dave Kilminster handling the trademark solos with aplomb. This was a fine show made even more memorable with the appearance of Mason, and added yet another chapter of Pink Floyd-related history to this venue. GARETH BEESLEY

Roger Waters – Earls Court May12th

It has been a busy week for Roger Waters. His British tour kicked off in Manchester last Monday, and by Thursday he found himself sharing a Barbican bill with his old Pink Floyd bandmates at a Syd Barrett tribute show. Waters, it should be noted, was not onstage at the same time as his old colleagues.

Nick Mason did turn up, however, at Waters’ sold-out Earl’s Court show – proudly sponsored by Uncut – to assist the 11-piece band run through Pink Floyd’s classic “Dark Side Of The Moon” in its entirety.

The gig was a spectacle of two equal halves, the first half consisting of faithful renditions of expected Floyd classics, alongside some lesser-known Waters favourites from “The Final Cut” and his post-Floyd solo albums. Highlights included “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”, which grew from its delicate shimmering intro into a massive audience singalong, and “Wish You Were Here”, which found Waters in particularly fine voice. The appearance of the famous floating pig during “Sheep” completed part one of this enjoyable nostalgia trip.

As the band took to the stage to perform “Dark Side Of The Moon”, Waters announced a special guest, and Nick Mason took up position behind the additional drumkit that had been wheeled onstage during the interval. The performance was faultless, with the lights and video screen visuals really cranking up the atmosphere. Nick Mason clicked perfectly with the band, as if he had been playing with them for the whole tour. The opening sound effects to “Time”, where Mason accompanied the ticking and ringing of the clocks with his tom-toms before the song burst into life, provided another great moment.

The band (including Mason) encored with “Another Brick In The Wall”, the crowd chanting the chorus. The set closer was The Wall’s standout track, “Comfortably Numb”, with guitarists Snowy White and Dave Kilminster handling the trademark solos with aplomb. This was a fine show made even more memorable with the appearance of Mason, and added yet another chapter of Pink Floyd-related history to this venue.

GARETH BEESLEY

White Noise, John Fahey’s disciples, and our new home

John Mulvey
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Forgive the constant references to domestic business at Uncut these past few days, but it's been hard to review much music when we've been in the throes of moving office. We're now firmly established in our luxurious new building just behind the Tate Modern, and have spent the morning trying to understand the new phones and get used to the decor: roughly MODE magazine, redesigned by IKEA, but a damn sight nicer than our old place. Our state-of-the-art sound system with speakers built into the roof or something hasn't turned up yet, so we've plugged in our old stereo just behind the artroom. I'm trying to hear stuff through a wall of packing crates, so attention to detail won't be great today, but I can recommend the forthcoming reissue of White Noise's "An Electric Storm", which is basically Delia Derbyshire from the BBC Radiophonic Workshop alongside David Vorhaus and Brian Hodgson, producing an intense proto-electronic black mass. The orgy bit on (I think) "My Game Of Loving" went down particularly badly with our new neighbours from marketing, but it sounded great to me; another one of those bands like The United States Of America and Elephant's Memory who were clearly a big influence on Stereolab and, especially, Broadcast. I've also given a play to "The Great Koonaklaster Speaks", a new John Fahey tribute album, which sounded pretty good, with plenty of brackish drone and fluid fingerpicking from Michael Hurley, Badgerlore(one of Ben Chasny's projects) and the always wonderful Jack Rose. I'll try and write more about this one in the next week or two. I'll also try and write more about David Ackles, since Rob Smyth pulled me up on rerunning an old piece on Ackles' first album. Fair point, Rob: bear with me and I'll get there, all being well.

Forgive the constant references to domestic business at Uncut these past few days, but it’s been hard to review much music when we’ve been in the throes of moving office. We’re now firmly established in our luxurious new building just behind the Tate Modern, and have spent the morning trying to understand the new phones and get used to the decor: roughly MODE magazine, redesigned by IKEA, but a damn sight nicer than our old place.

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Waiting for the great leap forward

Michael Bonner
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It's a very risky manoeuvre to pull off successfully -- that is, graduating from TV to the movies, from the relatively parochial world of the Channel 4 sitcom to the bright and shiny universe of multiplexes, ancilliary revenue streams and premiers at Leicester Square. With former Spaced stars Simon Pegg and Nick Frost currently receiving, as they say, rave reviews in the States for the second film, Hot Fuzz, David Mitchell and Robert Webb, whose Peep Show is an appointment to view for many in the UNCUT office, have attempted to make that leap to celluloid success with Magicians. Shockingly, for a comedy, Magicians is criminally unfunny. And this despite being scripted by the Peep Show writers, and with Mitchell and Webb doing a variation on their characters from the show (Mitchell: prissy and fussy yet strangely loveable; Webb: preening, smug tosser). They play magicians, once part of a double act who fell out and now have to work together again to enter a magic tournament. The script is crude, and not in a good way, and there's holes in the plot so big you could pilot a fleet of sleek and glistening Boengs through. So, what went wrong? Why isn't it funny? I wonder if it's because, despite four series of Peep Show under their belts, plus a slew of radio series and work seperately in other shows, they're just not ready for the movies yet. Maybe they had a window of opportunity they were obliged to take, and the script never got as fully developed or polished as it should have been. All the same, they must have watched the dailies back. They're not supid blokes -- they went to Cambridge, you know -- they must have realised it wasn't working. But when does it work? What makes a good movie for TV stars? The League Of Gentlemen cannily did more of the same, only bigger, for their movie outing, upping the ante on their own fictional world of Royston Vaysey. Pegg and Frost took the fundamental concepts inherent in Spaced -- all that love of pop culture references and late-night, stoner babble -- and had a huge Transatlantic hit with Shaun Of The Dead. It seems, if you're giving the audiences some kind of riff on your established TV personae, it'll work (probably). In the same way John Cleese has carved out a moderately successful movie career playing Basil Fawlty, so Mel Smith and Griff Rhys-Jones' dire Morons From Outer Space tanked because a) it bore no relationship to anything they'd done previously and b) some idiot decided it'd be A Good Idea to split up a perfectly functional double act. I'd rather not, at this point, open up a conversation on the relative merits of movie versions of Seventies sitcoms -- we all know Porridge is the only way that counts. The beauty of Peep Show -- apart from the skin-crawlingly horrendous situations the characters find themselves in -- is the vocalisation of their interior thought processes, often hysterically, brutally cruel at that. In Magicians, Mitchell and Webb, sadly, don't really find themselves in the kind of knuckle-chewingly embarrassing situations they end up in Peep Show. The narrative is in no way as sadistic. Magicians opens in the UK this Friday

It’s a very risky manoeuvre to pull off successfully — that is, graduating from TV to the movies, from the relatively parochial world of the Channel 4 sitcom to the bright and shiny universe of multiplexes, ancilliary revenue streams and premiers at Leicester Square.

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Rufus Wainwright – Release The Stars

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Rufus Wainwright – Release The Stars

In 1821, Thomas De Quincey compared opium addiction to being trapped in a “castle of indolence”. An opium eater, he wrote, “lies under the weight of incubus and nightmare… He would lay down his life if he might but get up and walk; but he is powerless as an infant, and cannot even attempt to rise.” Forgive the pretension, it’s just that Rufus Wainwright drives you to these sort of lofty references. Release The Stars, as Wainwright tells Uncut on the next page, was recorded in a state of extreme purity, the lavish drug binges long behind him. It’s not so easy, though, to escape that castle of indolence. For nearly a decade now, Wainwright has proved himself to be one of the most gifted songwriters in America. His erudition, wit and general gayness have been so pronounced, we’re technically obliged to call him Wildean at every opportunity. He has a magical way of joining the dots between Cole Porter and Thom Yorke, between David Ackles and Jeff Buckley. He’s a serious artist, though one with a keen sense of his own absurdity: the cover of 2005’s Want Two found Wainwright posing as a Pre-Raphaelite Ophelia, all dressed up and ready to drown. Still, it is his voice, so extravagantly mournful, so luxuriously torpid, that suggests he must always remain The Jaded Bohemian, even without the drugs. Release The Stars, his fifth and possibly best album, should be the record where he escapes such stereotypes. But curiously, he sounds more opulently wasted than ever, as if he’s realised that ennui, in the right hands, can be a creative attribute rather than a professional curse. “Going To A Town” might be the angriest lyric Wainwright has written, an indictment of the country of his birth that hinges on the refrain, “I’m so tired of you America”. That “tired” is the key, though: rarely has a protest song been so dolorous. Like De Quincey, he’d start a revolution if he could only get off the chaise longue. The effect is striking, not least because “Going To A Town” sounds something like Radiohead’s “High And Dry” rescored as a torch song. Release The Stars is full of lovely tunes, but it’s the imagination with which Wainwright tackles them that raises this album above his previous work. While Want One and Want Two were slightly marred by a glossy pop finish, Release The Stars has a wood-panelled classiness, and arrangements whose complexity augments the tunes rather than overwhelms them. Neil Tennant is listed as Executive Producer, but it’s Wainwright himself who actually produced these 12 songs, and who navigated his own path from studio to studio, picking up an ever-more bejewelled coterie of musicians along the way. If the vocal tone might often be one of somnambulence, the practicalities of making Release The Stars suggest a very clear head. The castlist includes regulars like sister Martha, mother Kate McGarrigle and Teddy Thompson, venerable actress Sîan Phillips, Tennant on synths, sundry orchestras plus, on lead guitar, Teddy’s father Richard Thompson. Fortunately, Wainwright is adept at finding grace and space where others would be swamped. The opening “Do I Disappoint You” sees him present a withering defence of his own human frailties, while one orchestral battalion after another mount their attacks and Martha Wainwright (a much stronger singer than her brother, by the by) summons “CHAOS!” and “DESTRUCTION!” like a marauding Fury. The title track, meanwhile, has a brassy Broadway swagger – the result, presumably, of Wainwright immersing himself in that world for his Judy Garland tribute concerts (the song’s lyrical inspiration comes from Lorca Cohen, Leonard’s daughter, missing the New York show). Wainwright, though, is not a belter, and it’s his unsuitability to the top hat and high-kicking routine that makes this grand, flawed finale so compelling. “Slideshow” is even better, a masterpiece of wry emotional dithering that begins, pointedly, “Do I love you because you treat me so indifferently?/ Or is it the medication?” Pursued by 14 musicians and the London Session Orchestra, he moves at a languid pace through a sequence of euphoric crescendos until, after four minutes, Richard Thompson cuts through the melodrama with a clean, needling solo and Wainwright is left in a lucid reverie, realising, “Do I love you? Yes I do.” It’s a rare moment of resolution on an album filled with romantic indecision, with dreams of travel and leave-taking. “Between My Legs” is sprightly and uncharacteristically rocking, describing a dysfunctional relationship that can only be consummated with an escape from the city. There are apocalyptic overtones, too, as Wainwright describes a frenzied mass evacuation, then employs Sîan Phillips to incant his words like a spell over another ravishing climax. If these set pieces initially grab the attention, Release The Stars has other pleasures that reveal themselves more discreetly. “Leaving For Paris” is an end-of-the-affair piano ballad which intimates that Wainwright’s finest work may yet be solemn and minimal. There’s a baroque, Brel-like trinket called “Tulsa” that claims Brandon Flowers “tastes of potato chips in the morning”. And finally, amid all the gilt, theatre, recherché poses and brilliant music, there’s a hint that, without the drugs, the castle of indolence might not always be a rewarding place to hang out. “I’m tired of writing elegies to boredom,” he sings in “Sanssouci”, “I just want to be at Sanssouci tonight.” “Sans souci” translates as carefree and, of course, the promise of happiness – “the boys that made me lose the blues” – turns out to be an illusion. When Wainwright arrives at the club it is deserted, and, terminally world-weary, he can only retreat to his melancholy boudoir. If he keeps making albums as good as this, we should wall him up in there forever. JOHN MULVEY

In 1821, Thomas De Quincey compared opium addiction to being trapped in a “castle of indolence”. An opium eater, he wrote, “lies under the weight of incubus and nightmare… He would lay down his life if he might but get up and walk; but he is powerless as an infant, and cannot even attempt to rise.”

Forgive the pretension, it’s just that Rufus Wainwright drives you to these sort of lofty references. Release The Stars, as Wainwright tells Uncut on the next page, was recorded in a state of extreme purity, the lavish drug binges long behind him. It’s not so easy, though, to escape that castle of indolence.

For nearly a decade now, Wainwright has proved himself to be one of the most gifted songwriters in America. His erudition, wit and general gayness have been so pronounced, we’re technically obliged to call him Wildean at every opportunity. He has a magical way of joining the dots between Cole Porter and Thom Yorke, between David Ackles and Jeff Buckley. He’s a serious artist, though one with a keen sense of his own absurdity: the cover of 2005’s Want Two found Wainwright posing as a Pre-Raphaelite Ophelia, all dressed up and ready to drown.

Still, it is his voice, so extravagantly mournful, so luxuriously torpid, that suggests he must always remain The Jaded Bohemian, even without the drugs. Release The Stars, his fifth and possibly best album, should be the record where he escapes such stereotypes. But curiously, he sounds more opulently wasted than ever, as if he’s realised that ennui, in the right hands, can be a creative attribute rather than a professional curse. “Going To A Town” might be the angriest lyric Wainwright has written, an indictment of the country of his birth that hinges on the refrain, “I’m so tired of you America”. That “tired” is the key, though: rarely has a protest song been so dolorous. Like De Quincey, he’d start a revolution if he could only get off the chaise longue.

The effect is striking, not least because “Going To A Town” sounds something like Radiohead’s “High And Dry” rescored as a torch song. Release The Stars is full of lovely tunes, but it’s the imagination with which Wainwright tackles them that raises this album above his previous work. While Want One and Want Two were slightly marred by a glossy pop finish, Release The Stars has a wood-panelled classiness, and arrangements whose complexity augments the tunes rather than overwhelms them.

Neil Tennant is listed as Executive Producer, but it’s Wainwright himself who actually produced these 12 songs, and who navigated his own path from studio to studio, picking up an ever-more bejewelled coterie of musicians along the way. If the vocal tone might often be one of somnambulence, the practicalities of making Release The Stars suggest a very clear head. The castlist includes regulars like sister Martha, mother Kate McGarrigle and Teddy Thompson, venerable actress Sîan Phillips, Tennant on synths, sundry orchestras plus, on lead guitar, Teddy’s father Richard Thompson.

Fortunately, Wainwright is adept at finding grace and space where others would be swamped. The opening “Do I Disappoint You” sees him present a withering defence of his own human frailties, while one orchestral battalion after another mount their attacks and Martha Wainwright (a much stronger singer than her brother, by the by) summons “CHAOS!” and “DESTRUCTION!” like a marauding Fury. The title track, meanwhile, has a brassy Broadway swagger – the result, presumably, of Wainwright immersing himself in that world for his Judy Garland tribute concerts (the song’s lyrical inspiration comes from Lorca Cohen, Leonard’s daughter, missing the New York show). Wainwright, though, is not a belter, and it’s his unsuitability to the top hat and high-kicking routine that makes this grand, flawed finale so compelling.

“Slideshow” is even better, a masterpiece of wry emotional dithering that begins, pointedly, “Do I love you because you treat me so indifferently?/ Or is it the medication?” Pursued by 14 musicians and the London Session Orchestra, he moves at a languid pace through a sequence of euphoric crescendos until, after four minutes, Richard Thompson cuts through the melodrama with a clean, needling solo and Wainwright is left in a lucid reverie, realising, “Do I love you? Yes I do.”

It’s a rare moment of resolution on an album filled with romantic indecision, with dreams of travel and leave-taking. “Between My Legs” is sprightly and uncharacteristically rocking, describing a dysfunctional relationship that can only be consummated with an escape from the city. There are apocalyptic overtones, too, as Wainwright describes a frenzied mass evacuation, then employs Sîan Phillips to incant his words like a spell over another ravishing climax.

If these set pieces initially grab the attention, Release The Stars has other pleasures that reveal themselves more discreetly. “Leaving For Paris” is an

end-of-the-affair piano ballad which intimates that Wainwright’s finest work may yet be solemn and minimal. There’s a baroque, Brel-like trinket called “Tulsa” that claims Brandon Flowers “tastes of potato chips in the morning”.

And finally, amid all the gilt, theatre, recherché poses and brilliant music, there’s a hint that, without the drugs, the castle of indolence might not always be a rewarding place to hang out. “I’m tired of writing elegies to boredom,” he sings in “Sanssouci”, “I just want to be at Sanssouci tonight.” “Sans souci” translates as carefree and, of course, the promise of happiness – “the boys that made me lose the blues” – turns out to be an illusion. When Wainwright arrives at the club it is deserted, and, terminally world-weary, he can only retreat to his melancholy boudoir. If he keeps making albums as good as this, we should wall him up in there forever.

JOHN MULVEY

Wilco – Sky Blue Sky

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Wilco – Sky Blue Sky

On Sky Blue Sky, Jeff Tweedy peels back the thin epidermis protecting his well-scarred emotions, to reveal a lonely figure torn between the poles of his desire for the completeness of romantic union, and his inclination towards solitude – a conflict he realises is torpedoing both his happiness and his chances of sustaining a relationship. Hang on a moment, haven’t we been here before? Isn’t this Yankee Hotel Foxtrot all over again? And, for that matter, A Ghost Is Born? Well, in a way it is. Tweedy’s compulsion to examine his own emotional landscape, and to share the results with his audience, makes him the closest modern equivalent of the Laurel Canyon confessional troubadours, particularly James Taylor, Joni Mitchell and Jackson Browne. So it’s appropriate that the musical landscape Wilco creates for Sky Blue Sky is for the most part a retro-repro version of the comforting, balmy tones of the early-’70s Asylum sound, full of gentle, easy-going strummage, limpid lead-guitar fills and lustrous curls of lap-steel. Which is a slight disappointment, as on recent albums the band had been shifting towards a more exploratory style (one thinks of the 11-minute Neu!-beat exercise “Spiders” and the even longer, slowly imploding noise piece “Less Than You Think”, both from A Ghost Is Born) that threatened to tug their core country-rock into intriguing new areas. So instead of any startling left-turns, these songs are more likely to lead to guitar fills reminiscent of Neil Young (on “Hate It Here”) or the classic Allman Brothers dual strike force of Dickey Betts and Duane Allman (“Impossible Germany”) – pleasant enough in themselves, though one wonders if Tweedy’s musical wanderlust is completely satisfied with this restricted approach, whose restraint and desire to please mirrors the conciliatory lyrical tone. By the time one reaches the concluding “On And On And On”, with its resolution to persevere and endure, it’s rather like observing someone attain the 12th step of a therapy programme: they may emerge more stable and centred than before, but there’s a nagging edge of melancholy for what has been lost. ANDY GILL Q&A with Jeff Tweedy: UNCUT: How did you arrive at Sky Blue Sky’s mellow sound? TWEEDY: It’s really a lot of unspoken playing together, and finding what material we gravitate towards. When I listen to it now it sounds like the common ground between all of our different backgrounds. There’s a very large section that’s rooted in an earlier period of rock, that was formative for all of us. Which period? Late-’60s, early-’70s music. I don’t think there’s any retro-active spirit to what we were doing, but it was a way for us to communicate. It’s a pretty large group, so the arrangements came out really song-oriented. The shapes seem more classical. Are you surprised when people compare it to Fleetwood Mac? Yeah! I don’t get that. Wilco records come wrapped in all these expectations, that bleed over from the previous record, and that’s not the way we have ever operated. INTERVIEW: ALASTAIR McKAY

On Sky Blue Sky, Jeff Tweedy peels back the thin epidermis protecting his well-scarred emotions, to reveal a lonely figure torn between the poles of his desire for the completeness of romantic union, and his inclination towards solitude – a conflict he realises is torpedoing both his happiness and his chances of sustaining a relationship.

Hang on a moment, haven’t we been here before? Isn’t this Yankee Hotel Foxtrot all over again? And, for that matter, A Ghost Is Born?

Well, in a way it is. Tweedy’s compulsion to examine his own emotional landscape, and to share the results with his audience, makes him the closest modern equivalent of the Laurel Canyon confessional troubadours, particularly James Taylor, Joni Mitchell and Jackson Browne. So it’s appropriate that the musical landscape Wilco creates for Sky Blue Sky is for the most part a retro-repro version of the comforting, balmy tones of the early-’70s Asylum sound, full of gentle, easy-going strummage, limpid lead-guitar fills and lustrous curls of lap-steel.

Which is a slight disappointment, as on recent albums the band had been shifting towards a more exploratory style (one thinks of the 11-minute Neu!-beat exercise “Spiders” and the even longer, slowly imploding noise piece “Less Than You Think”, both from A Ghost Is Born) that threatened to tug their core country-rock into intriguing new areas.

So instead of any startling left-turns, these songs are more likely to lead to guitar fills reminiscent of Neil Young (on “Hate It Here”) or the classic Allman Brothers dual strike force of Dickey Betts and Duane Allman (“Impossible Germany”) – pleasant enough in themselves, though one wonders if Tweedy’s musical wanderlust is completely satisfied with this restricted approach, whose restraint and desire to please mirrors the conciliatory lyrical tone. By the time one reaches the concluding “On And On And On”, with its resolution to persevere and endure, it’s rather like observing someone attain the 12th step of a therapy programme: they may emerge more stable and centred than before, but there’s a nagging edge of melancholy for what has been lost.

ANDY GILL

Q&A with Jeff Tweedy:

UNCUT: How did you arrive at Sky Blue Sky’s mellow sound?

TWEEDY: It’s really a lot of unspoken playing together, and finding what material we gravitate towards. When

I listen to it now it sounds

like the common ground between all of our different backgrounds. There’s a very large section that’s rooted in an earlier period of rock, that was formative for all of us.

Which period?

Late-’60s, early-’70s music. I don’t think there’s any retro-active spirit to what we were doing, but it was a way for us to communicate. It’s a pretty large group, so the arrangements came out really song-oriented. The shapes seem more classical.

Are you surprised when people compare it to Fleetwood Mac?

Yeah! I don’t get that. Wilco records come wrapped in all these expectations, that bleed over from the previous record, and that’s not the way we have ever operated.

INTERVIEW: ALASTAIR McKAY

Gene Clark – With The Gosdin Brothers

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Gene Clark – With The Gosdin Brothers

When Gene Clark left the egomaniacal cadre that was the Byrds circa 1966, having provided them with a dozen or more moody masterpieces such as “I’ll Feel A Whole Lot Better” to “Eight Miles High” he stepped off into the great unknown. Despite his superior résumé, prolific songwriting, and brooding (and, presumably, saleable) good looks, the species known as the superstar singer/songwriter had yet to be codified. In fact, Clark was on uneven footing from the start. First, he flirted with a short-lived Beatles-inspired group. Studio experimentation – some of it appearing on this exemplary reissue for the first time –yielded intriguing if esoteric results, for chart action at least. Then, when David Crosby fell ill, Clark even returned, confusingly, to The Byrds’ fold for a string of concert dates. Befitting Clark’s ambitions, With The Gosdin Brothers is a creatively dazzling, yet hardly cohesive, mélange. Flitting from barebones simple (“Think I’m Gonna Feel Better”) to baroque complexity (“Echoes”), Clark was grasping for his voice. Troubled by a label (Columbia) and production team (Larry Marks and Gary Usher) equally unsure of his direction, the record – despite considerable strengths – represents a lost opportunity to launch him into rock’s then-emerging mythos. In fact, Clark’s muse was pulling him in myriad directions. “Is Yours Is Mine”, for instance, offers Byrds-meets-Beatles potency. For garage-rock ditty “Elevator Operator,” especially the driving alternate version here, Clark forsakes his usual abstract poetics for pure groove, jangle, and boogie. Meanwhile, the otherworldly “Only Colombe” and an odd, lilting cover of Ian & Sylvia’s “French Girl,” outtakes featuring Curt Boettcher’s group Ballroom adding daring backing vocals, proffer the unlikely sonic possibilities of a Highway 61 Dylan summit with The Left Banke. Then there’s the album’s influential country-rock fusion, later to blossom into the epochal Fantastic Expedition project with Doug Dillard. While the flashier Gram Parsons has ascended to godfather-of-country-rock status, Clark, aided by the Gosdin Brothers’ rural harmonies and vital studio contributions by Glen Campbell and future Byrd Clarence White, presents a glimpse of LA’s cosmic cowboy future – more than a year before Sweetheart Of The Rodeo. The electrified bluegrass of “Keep On Pushin’” may have perplexed his Sunset Strip peers, but the hangdog shuffle of “Tried So Hard”, a lost-love ballad more radiant than ever in a gorgeous alternate take, is timeless perfection. LUKE TORN

When Gene Clark left the egomaniacal cadre that was the Byrds circa 1966, having provided them with a dozen or more moody masterpieces such as “I’ll Feel A Whole Lot Better” to “Eight Miles High” he stepped off into the great unknown. Despite his superior résumé, prolific songwriting, and brooding (and, presumably, saleable) good looks, the species known as the superstar singer/songwriter had yet to be codified.

In fact, Clark was on uneven footing from the start. First, he flirted with a short-lived Beatles-inspired group. Studio experimentation – some of it appearing on this exemplary reissue for the first time –yielded intriguing if esoteric results, for chart action at least. Then, when David Crosby fell ill, Clark even returned, confusingly, to The Byrds’ fold for a string of concert dates.

Befitting Clark’s ambitions, With The Gosdin Brothers is a creatively dazzling, yet hardly cohesive, mélange. Flitting from barebones simple (“Think I’m Gonna Feel Better”) to baroque complexity (“Echoes”), Clark was grasping for his voice. Troubled by a label (Columbia) and production team (Larry Marks and Gary Usher) equally unsure of his direction, the record – despite considerable strengths – represents a lost opportunity to launch him into rock’s then-emerging mythos.

In fact, Clark’s muse was pulling him in myriad directions. “Is Yours Is Mine”, for instance, offers Byrds-meets-Beatles potency. For garage-rock ditty “Elevator Operator,” especially the driving alternate version here, Clark forsakes his usual abstract poetics for pure groove, jangle, and boogie. Meanwhile, the otherworldly “Only Colombe” and an odd, lilting cover of Ian & Sylvia’s “French Girl,” outtakes featuring Curt Boettcher’s group Ballroom adding daring backing vocals, proffer the unlikely sonic possibilities of a Highway 61 Dylan summit with The Left Banke.

Then there’s the album’s influential country-rock fusion, later to blossom into the epochal Fantastic Expedition project with Doug Dillard. While the flashier Gram Parsons has ascended to godfather-of-country-rock status, Clark, aided by the Gosdin Brothers’ rural harmonies and vital studio contributions by Glen Campbell and future Byrd Clarence White, presents a glimpse of LA’s cosmic cowboy future – more than a year before Sweetheart Of The Rodeo. The electrified bluegrass of “Keep On Pushin’” may have perplexed his Sunset Strip peers, but the hangdog shuffle

of “Tried So Hard”, a lost-love ballad more radiant than ever in a gorgeous alternate take, is timeless perfection.

LUKE TORN

Battles – Mirrored

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Battles – Mirrored

What links a former staffer of American satirical webzine The Onion, the drummer of metal bruisers Helmet, and a couple of refugees from obscure “math rock” bands of the late ’90s? Right now, it’s “Atlas” – a spinning glitterball of bouncy rhythms and firefly guitars inspired by the glammy Schaffel beat popular in the techno clubs of Cologne, but still addictive enough to score an NME Track Of The Week. “Atlas” suggests that if, in recent years, avant-garde has become code for bloodless experimentation, New York’s Battles might just be the band to change that. Formed in 2003 around guitarist/keyboardist Ian Williams, Battles are the product of intense studio alchemy. “Writing songs is like putting together a large puzzle,” laughs guitarist Dave Konopka, as Battles speed along en route to a show in upstate New York. “We hang up all these charts in our rehearsal room, and give the song parts weird names – it’s like, ‘Anjelica Huston’ totally doesn’t fit with ‘Brer Rabbit’! But sometimes it’s all about square pegs in round holes.” Taking to the stage with guitars strung across their back like broadswords, Battles scramble between fretboard, laptop, and keyboard, Tyondai Braxton (son of radical jazzer Anthony) adding processed vocals or beatbox and drummer John Stanier nailing hard-hitting, complex rhythms. That Battles make magical fusions, not a confused mess, is down to the band’s democratic take on their diverse influences. “Ian really likes African music, John is really into hip hop, Ty likes orchestrated classical music,” says Konopka. And prog? “Yeah. I was totally into Yes’ Fragile. But not so much ‘Owner Of A Lonely Heart’.” One final question: John’s cymbal is positioned a good seven feet above the stage – why? Dave relays the question to the front seat and the van dissolves into laughter. “He says…” relates the guitarist “…that he can’t get the stand down.” That’s Battles: taking things just seriously enough. LOUIS PATTISON

What links a former staffer of American satirical webzine The Onion, the drummer of metal bruisers Helmet, and a couple of refugees from obscure “math rock” bands of the late ’90s? Right now, it’s “Atlas” – a spinning glitterball of bouncy rhythms and firefly guitars inspired by the glammy Schaffel beat popular in the techno clubs of Cologne, but still addictive enough to score an NME Track Of The Week.

“Atlas” suggests that if, in recent years, avant-garde has become code for bloodless experimentation, New York’s Battles might just be the band to change that.

Formed in 2003 around guitarist/keyboardist Ian Williams, Battles are the product of intense studio alchemy. “Writing songs is like putting together a large puzzle,” laughs guitarist Dave Konopka, as Battles speed along en route to a show in upstate New York. “We hang up all these charts in our rehearsal room, and give the song parts weird names – it’s like, ‘Anjelica Huston’ totally doesn’t fit with ‘Brer Rabbit’! But sometimes it’s all about square pegs in round holes.”

Taking to the stage with guitars strung across their back like broadswords, Battles scramble between fretboard, laptop, and keyboard, Tyondai Braxton (son of radical jazzer Anthony) adding processed vocals or beatbox and drummer John Stanier nailing hard-hitting, complex rhythms. That Battles make magical fusions, not a confused mess, is down to the band’s democratic take on their diverse influences.

“Ian really likes African music, John is really into

hip hop, Ty likes orchestrated classical music,” says Konopka. And prog? “Yeah. I was totally into Yes’ Fragile. But not so much ‘Owner Of A Lonely Heart’.”

One final question: John’s cymbal is positioned a good seven feet above the stage – why? Dave relays the question to the front seat and the van dissolves into laughter. “He says…” relates the guitarist “…that he can’t get the stand down.”

That’s Battles: taking things just seriously enough.

LOUIS PATTISON

Joe Strummer: The Future Is Unwritten

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Joe Strummer: The Future Is Unwritten

It’s rare that rock star deaths have such a profound, and widespread, impact as Joe Strummer’s passing did. In the opening sequence to Temple’s documentary, radio and TV bulletins beam news of his death, on December 22, 2002, round the globe. Using excerpts from Strummer’s London Calling World Music show, home movies, archive footage and original interviews, Temple explores Strummer’s trajectory, from private schoolboy via punk icon to a passionate environmentalist whose death became a global event. As with Temple’s Sex Pistols doc, The Filth And The Fury, the collage of different media brings the story to life. For the rebellious schoolboy, Joe’s voiceover is accompanied by clips from If…, 1984 and Animal Farm. To capture his hobo period, Joe’s letters to old girlfriends, illustrated with comic sketches, are animated. Cut through the film are campfire reminiscences by family, friends and admirers including Jim Jarmusch, assorted Chili Peppers, Bobby Gillespie and Clash partners Jones, Headon and Chimes (but not, strangely, Paul Simonon). Inevitably, The Clash – captured in seminal archive footage – are key to the Strummer’s story. There’s a sense that the first half of his life was spent building up to the group’s success, often cutting off friends to fulfil his ambition; he then spent the rest of his life recovering from it. The depression that haunted him is evident as he struggled with the contradictions of fame, exhausted and demoralised by The Clash’s final US stadium show in 1983. Far from a hagiography, Future… acknowledges the complexities and contradictions of Joe’s character, doesn’t flinch from exposing his many flaws. A predictably grandstanding Bono strikes a false note, though. The U2 man took The Clash’s passion into another sphere, and was slated to collaborate with Strummer the month after he died, but the tone of his appearance here is sorely misjudged. Whether Bono honoured the rebel rock outsider principle that made Strummer a rallying point is debatable. The film itself, though, gives Joe’s legacy everything it deserves. Only Temple could have gained access to this material, and commanded it so successfully. Early on, we see footage of Strummer nailing the opening to “White Riot”; and until the close, this film brilliantly evokes the spirit of punk’s greatest ambassador. GAVIN MARTIN

It’s rare that rock star deaths have such a profound, and widespread, impact as Joe Strummer’s passing did. In the opening sequence to Temple’s documentary, radio and TV bulletins beam news of his death, on December 22, 2002, round the globe. Using excerpts from Strummer’s London Calling World Music show, home movies, archive footage and original interviews, Temple explores Strummer’s trajectory, from private schoolboy via punk icon to a passionate environmentalist whose death became a global event.

As with Temple’s Sex Pistols doc, The Filth And The Fury, the collage of different media brings the story to life. For the rebellious schoolboy, Joe’s voiceover is accompanied by clips from If…, 1984 and Animal Farm. To capture his hobo period, Joe’s letters to old girlfriends, illustrated with comic sketches, are animated. Cut through the film are campfire reminiscences by family, friends and admirers including Jim Jarmusch, assorted Chili Peppers, Bobby Gillespie and Clash partners Jones, Headon and Chimes (but not, strangely, Paul Simonon).

Inevitably, The Clash – captured in seminal archive footage – are key to the Strummer’s story. There’s a sense that the first half of his life was spent building up to the group’s success, often cutting off friends to fulfil his ambition; he then spent the rest of his life recovering from it. The depression that haunted him is evident as he struggled with the contradictions of fame, exhausted and demoralised by The Clash’s final US stadium show in 1983.

Far from a hagiography, Future… acknowledges the complexities and contradictions of Joe’s character, doesn’t flinch from exposing his many flaws. A predictably grandstanding Bono strikes a false note, though. The U2 man took The Clash’s passion into another sphere, and was slated to collaborate with Strummer the month after he died, but the tone of his appearance here is sorely misjudged.

Whether Bono honoured the rebel rock outsider principle that made Strummer a rallying point is debatable. The film itself, though, gives Joe’s legacy everything it deserves. Only Temple could have gained access to this material, and commanded it so successfully. Early on, we see footage of Strummer nailing the opening to “White Riot”; and until the close, this film brilliantly evokes the spirit of punk’s greatest ambassador.

GAVIN MARTIN

Zodiac

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Zodiac

DIR: DAVID FINCHER ST: JAKE GYLLENHALL, ROBERT DOWNEY JR, MARK RUFFALO, ANTHONY EDWARDS San Francisco 1969: the city is terrorised by a spree of motiveless murders, for which the self-proclaimed Zodiac takes responsibility with a series of cryptic messages. Detective Dave Toschi (Ruffalo) and newspaperman Paul Avery (Downey Jr) are frustrated in their investigations, but Chronicle cartoonist Robert Graysmith (Gyllenhall) dedicates a decade of his life to tracking down the killer. In the five years since his last film it's seemed like David Fincher, now 40, has stalled trying to work out what enfants terribles are supposed to do for an encore. Panic Room, his most recent outing, certainly felt like a dead end - a ruthlessly elegant entertainment in itself, it still felt a long way from the livewire brilliance that crackled through Seven and Fight Club. And so he's cast around for the right project. At various points he's been linked with the Mission: Impossible franchise, the Black Dahlia adaptation and even skateboarding movie Lords Of Dogtown. What finally seems to have drawn him to Zodiac is a personal connection: Fincher was a schoolboy in Marin, North California in the late 60s when the eponymous serial killer taunted the area's police and media with a series of encrypted notes claiming responsibility for a spree of motiveless killings and announcing his intention to take out an entire school bus. The biographical link hints that Fincher felt ready to take a more mature, responsible approach to the powers of horror that detractors suggest he cynically if stylishly exploited in Seven. Zodiac often feels like an apologetic corrective to the earlier film: in place of the grungy, non-specific American Purgatory there's an obsession with the every day textures of late-60s San Francisco, in place of breathless rooftop chase scenes there's the frequently humdrum futility of police procedures, and instead of the creepily charismatic evil mastermind, there's a pervading sense of the real banality of evil. The result is an odd film, torn between the desire to be respectable and Fincher's more loopily lyrical urges. In many ways Zodiac is an homage to a certain conscientious strain of 70s cinema - most obviously Pakula's Watergate adaptation All The President's Men, but also the films of Sidney Lumet: Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, even Network. Yet when it leaves the cop shops and newsrooms, it presents a California of lakesides and pastures that has rarely looked lovelier. A shot of the Golden Gate bridge seems to ascend all the way to heaven - or are those clouds the fog of unknowing that envelop the case? And Fincher can't resist having some wicked fun with the lurid conventions of thriller - you will certainly never hear Donovan's "Hurdy Gurdy Man" the same way again. And the cast is often brilliant: Robert Downey Jr has a ball as Paul Avery, crime reporter and deadpan dandy of the Chronicle, while Mark Ruffalo broods with bravado as Dave Toschi, the real-life detective who inspired such cinematic mavericks as Bullitt and Dirty Harry. But the problem with the film is its focus on Robert Graysmith, portrayed by Jake Gyllenhall. Originally a cartoonist with a passion for puzzles, Graysmith got caught up in the case as it buzzed around the newspaper offices, his natural curiosity blooming into full-blown obsession as he pursued the paper-trail of evidence long after the professionals had given up (or in Avery's case, given in to their addictions). Maybe Fincher has some fellow feeling for a man who leaves the cartoon world to investigate the real crimes around him - but Graysmith is an odd fish to base a film upon. "There's more than one way to lose your life to a killer," runs the tag line, and you watch as the dossiers pile up, edging out his girlfriend (Chloe Sevigny seemingly doing a dowdy Gwyneth impression) and his kids in his small apartment. But you never get an insight into his motivation - is it a passion for justice, a hunger for fame, simple parental concern? You get the sense that Gyllenhall is also struggling with these questions. The film covers ten years of investigation, but the character doesn't seem to grow, or even age very much. In the end you're forced to conclude that it's simply his nerdy determination to finish a jigsaw - in which case you wonder why he didn't simply settle for a particularly taxing Suduko session. The film deliberately frustrates demands for an easy, satisfying answer - as in life, dead ends, red herrings, false trails proliferate. And you have to give Fincher credit for facing the mature challenge of trying to dramatise this dispiriting truth. All the same, you get the sense of a talent kept on the leash, the irresponsibly flash kid struggling to escape from the middle-aged concern. Fincher's next film - The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button - concerns a character who ages backwards; maybe there's still time for that youthful brilliance to re-emerge. STEPHEN TROUSSE

DIR: DAVID FINCHER

ST: JAKE GYLLENHALL, ROBERT DOWNEY JR, MARK RUFFALO, ANTHONY EDWARDS

San Francisco 1969: the city is terrorised by a spree of motiveless murders, for which the self-proclaimed Zodiac takes responsibility with a series of cryptic messages. Detective Dave Toschi (Ruffalo) and newspaperman Paul Avery (Downey Jr) are frustrated in their investigations, but Chronicle cartoonist Robert Graysmith (Gyllenhall) dedicates a decade of his life to tracking down the killer.

In the five years since his last film it’s seemed like David Fincher, now 40, has stalled trying to work out what enfants terribles are supposed to do for an encore. Panic Room, his most recent outing, certainly felt like a dead end – a ruthlessly elegant entertainment in itself, it still felt a long way from the livewire brilliance that crackled through Seven and Fight Club.

And so he’s cast around for the right project. At various points he’s been linked with the Mission: Impossible franchise, the Black Dahlia adaptation and even skateboarding movie Lords Of Dogtown. What finally seems to have drawn him to Zodiac is a personal connection: Fincher was a schoolboy in Marin, North California in the late 60s when the eponymous serial killer taunted the area’s police and media with a series of encrypted notes claiming responsibility for a spree of motiveless killings and announcing his intention to take out an entire school bus.

The biographical link hints that Fincher felt ready to take a more mature, responsible approach to the powers of horror that detractors suggest he cynically if stylishly exploited in Seven. Zodiac often feels like an apologetic corrective to the earlier film: in place of the grungy, non-specific American Purgatory there’s an obsession with the every day textures of late-60s San Francisco, in place of breathless rooftop chase scenes there’s the frequently humdrum futility of police procedures, and instead of the creepily charismatic evil mastermind, there’s a pervading sense of the real banality of evil.

The result is an odd film, torn between the desire to be respectable and Fincher’s more loopily lyrical urges. In many ways Zodiac is an homage to a certain conscientious strain of 70s cinema – most obviously Pakula’s Watergate adaptation All The President’s Men, but also the films of Sidney Lumet: Serpico, Dog Day Afternoon, even Network. Yet when it leaves the cop shops and newsrooms, it presents a California of lakesides and pastures that has rarely looked lovelier. A shot of the Golden Gate bridge seems to ascend all the way to heaven – or are those clouds the fog of unknowing that envelop the case? And Fincher can’t resist having some wicked fun with the lurid conventions of thriller – you will certainly never hear Donovan’s “Hurdy Gurdy Man” the same way again.

And the cast is often brilliant: Robert Downey Jr has a ball as Paul Avery, crime reporter and deadpan dandy of the Chronicle, while Mark Ruffalo broods with bravado as Dave Toschi, the real-life detective who inspired such cinematic mavericks as Bullitt and Dirty Harry.

But the problem with the film is its focus on Robert Graysmith, portrayed by Jake Gyllenhall. Originally a cartoonist with a passion for puzzles, Graysmith got caught up in the case as it buzzed around the newspaper offices, his natural curiosity blooming into full-blown obsession as he pursued the paper-trail of evidence long after the professionals had given up (or in Avery’s case, given in to their addictions).

Maybe Fincher has some fellow feeling for a man who leaves the cartoon world to investigate the real crimes around him – but Graysmith is an odd fish to base a film upon. “There’s more than one way to lose your life to a killer,” runs the tag line, and you watch as the dossiers pile up, edging out his girlfriend (Chloe Sevigny seemingly doing a dowdy Gwyneth impression) and his kids in his small apartment. But you never get an insight into his motivation – is it a passion for justice, a hunger for fame, simple parental concern? You get the sense that Gyllenhall is also struggling with these questions. The film covers ten years of investigation, but the character doesn’t seem to grow, or even age very much. In the end you’re forced to conclude that it’s simply his nerdy determination to finish a jigsaw – in which case you wonder why he didn’t simply settle for a particularly taxing Suduko session.

The film deliberately frustrates demands for an easy, satisfying answer – as in life, dead ends, red herrings, false trails proliferate. And you have to give Fincher credit for facing the mature challenge of trying to dramatise this dispiriting truth. All the same, you get the sense of a talent kept on the leash, the irresponsibly flash kid struggling to escape from the middle-aged concern. Fincher’s next film – The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button – concerns a character who ages backwards; maybe there’s still time for that youthful brilliance to re-emerge.

STEPHEN TROUSSE

Ten Years Ago This Week

Terry Staunton
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HAPPENINGS TEN YEARS TIME AGO May 14 to 20, 1997 Crosby, Stills & Nash are inducted into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall Of Fame. Neil Young also gets the call, as part of Buffalo Springfield, while other inductees are Joni Mitchell, The Bee Gees, The Jackson Five, Parliament/Funkadelic, and The Young Rascals. Michael Jackson tops the UK albums chart with his remix album Blood On The Dancefloor, and announces a sponsorship deal with a new soda called Mystery Drink. The King Of Pop also had a hand in the recipe of the beverage, a spokesman for the manufacturers telling reporters "At Michael's request, we didn't put anything artificial in it." Reformed boozy rockers Motley Crue also unveil a new soft drink, Ty-D-Bol. Phil Spector passes judgement on the Spice Girls who, while enjoying a second week at Number One in the US albums chart, are slated by Christian watchdog groups for their "bordering on pornography" promo videos. "There's a big difference," says the legendary girl group pioneer. "A porno movie has better music." Meanwhile, Spector is reported to be talks with Tom Cruise and Jerry Maguire director Cameron Crowe about a movie of his life, although industry insiders suggest that Spector's multi-million dollar demands for the rights to use his classic "Wall Of Sound" hits on the soundtrack may prove to be an unassailable stumbling block. Three rock veterans release new albums on the same day; Paul McCartney (Flaming Pie), Steve Winwood (Junction Seven), and John Fogerty (Blue Moon Swamp), the former Creedence Clearwater Revival man's first new material in 11 years. Kathy Burke wins the Best Actress award at the Cannes Film Festival for her role in Gary Oldman's directorial debut Nil By Mouth. The jury, which included directors Tim Burton and Mike Leigh, name Sean Penn Best Actor for She's So Lovely. Performance director Donald Cammell's last film, Wild Side, is given a video release in the original form its maker intended, a year after his suicide. The earlier decision of independent studio Nulmage Pictures to re-edit the movie and premiere it on cable television, bypassing cinemas, had been suggested as a contributary factor to Cammell taking his own life. Magician David Blaine's debut TV special is aired in the US, the ABC network impressed by the illusionist's warm-up spots at the Grammys earlier in the year, and endorsements from superstar pals Jack Nicholson, Robert De Niro and Madonna. "David is very contemporary, of his generation, hip and cool," says network president Jamie Tarses. "We think he can pull in the young, urban audience." Miami Vice star Don Johnson is being sued by a female chauffer for sexual harassment. Court papers allege that the actor repeatedly tried to grope his driver while she was behind the wheel of a moving vehicle. Tiger Woods lands a $13 million sponsorship deal with American Express. The new Labour government announces a plan to ban tobacco advertising from all UK sporting events. Terry Staunton

HAPPENINGS TEN YEARS TIME AGO

May 14 to 20, 1997

Crosby, Stills & Nash are inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall Of Fame. Neil Young also gets the call, as part of Buffalo Springfield, while other inductees are Joni Mitchell, The Bee Gees, The Jackson Five, Parliament/Funkadelic, and The Young Rascals.

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Uncut has left the building (nearly)

John Mulvey
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OK I've just packed the stereo into a crate, so it's a bit hard to write a proper blog today. Uncut is moving to our palatial new home this afternoon, and I'll hopefully get back to proper blogging action next week. I'll definitely be filing something on the terrific Justice album, in spite of parts of it reminding me of Ray Parker Jr. I'll also get my thoughts together on the long-awaited Jason Isbell solo album, and that great compilation of Finnish psych, if I can find it. Plus there'll hopefully be live reviews of Wilco and Ghost coming up, and maybe Brightblack Morning Light if I can make the show. See you there, maybe?

OK I’ve just packed the stereo into a crate, so it’s a bit hard to write a proper blog today. Uncut is moving to our palatial new home this afternoon, and I’ll hopefully get back to proper blogging action next week.

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Andy Bell Reignites Ride

Uncut
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Andy Bell Reignites Ride

Ride are the latest band to hit the reunion trail, following the recent reformations of other indie icons the Jesus and Mary Chain. Ride fronted by Andy Bell and Mark Gardener were at the forefront of the shoegazing scene until the band's disintegration in 1996. Members of the group have pursued various musical pursuits since the band's split, most notably Andy Bell who formed the short-lived Hurricane#1, and then went on to become a permanant bassist for Oasis. Mark Gardner has also toured extensivley as a solo artist, whilst drummer Laurence Colbert has been drumming with the newly reformed Jesus and Mary Chain. Ride are tipped to play the North By Northeast Music and Film Festival in Toronto, Canada. The festival takes place June 7-10. There is no word yet whether Ride will play any UK dates, though a live DVD is being planned for release soon.

Ride are the latest band to hit the reunion trail, following the recent reformations of other indie icons the Jesus and Mary Chain.

Ride fronted by Andy Bell and Mark Gardener were at the forefront of the shoegazing scene until the band’s disintegration in 1996.

Members of the group have pursued various musical pursuits since the band’s split, most notably Andy Bell who formed the short-lived Hurricane#1, and then went on to become a permanant bassist for Oasis.

Mark Gardner has also toured extensivley as a solo artist, whilst drummer Laurence Colbert has been drumming with the newly reformed Jesus and Mary Chain.

Ride are tipped to play the North By Northeast Music and Film Festival in Toronto, Canada. The festival takes place June 7-10.

There is no word yet whether Ride will play any UK dates, though a live DVD is being planned for release soon.

Spider-Man meets The Flaming Lips and Black Mountain. The Arcade Fire and the Bible. And introducing Paul Duncan. . .

John Mulvey
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Very quick post today, because the Uncut move has become rather pressing here . But a few things that you might be interested in. Firstly, the Spider-Man 3 soundtrack turned up this morning. Now the film looks like hell on earth to me, and I must admit I haven't played the whole album: you'll excuse my antipathy towards Snow Patrol and The Killers, hopefully. There is, though, a nice new Flaming Lips track called "The Supreme Being Teaches Spider-Man How To Be In Love", which is Wayne and Steven doing their Beach Boys-gone-electronica thing. Much better than some of the rather thin flams they churn out for these affairs usually. And my beloved Black Mountain also contribute a new one, "Stay Free", which is very dazed Neil Young. A great band, criminally undervalued. Playing now is a recent favourite, "Above The Trees" by Paul Duncan. Duncan is a Texan based in Brooklyn whose last album didn't make much of an impression on me. This one, though (on the Hometapes label) is really lovely: impeccably arranged folk-pop with a lush and dreamy ambience and affinities with Will Oldham, especially with his last album. Duncan isn't as cranky, though, and this one deserves some love. Try before you buy at Paul's Myspace. Finally, connoisseurs of, how shall we put this respectfully, intense Christian rhetoric might enjoy Arcade Fire: A Neon Bible Study, which parses the Arcade Fire's excellent album for every conceivable - and I have to say often inconceivable - reference to the Bible. The author also appears to have given the same treatment to Spongebob Squarepants. The bit where he derives religious significance in Mark Beaumont's NME review is classic. Maybe he can find the hidden messages from God in Wild Mercury Sound?

Very quick post today, because the Uncut move has become rather pressing here . But a few things that you might be interested in. Firstly, the Spider-Man 3 soundtrack turned up this morning.

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Watch the best of Squeeze

Uncut
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Watch the best of Squeeze
Three decades on since Squeeze first emerged on to the pop scene and the band are as influential today as they ever were, with bands including Razorlight, The View and Kasabian citing them as champions. A new compilation, ‘Essential Squeeze’, has been released and showcases the best of their ...

Three decades on since Squeeze first emerged on to the pop scene and the band are as influential today as they ever were, with bands including Razorlight, The View and Kasabian citing them as champions.

A new compilation, ‘Essential Squeeze’, has been released and showcases the best of their 25 years contribution to pop. Released by Universal Music TV on the same day is the companion DVD, featuring all their pop promo videos plus a bonus live concert, filmed in Hitchin in 1982.

To celebrate Uncut.co.uk take a look back at some of the best of Squeeze. You can watch the classic videos from the band, via the link below.

Watch the videos here

Thin Lizzy Announce Headline Tour

Uncut
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Thin Lizzy Announce Headline Tour

Following a handful of arena performances with Deep Purple and Styx in the UK this month, as well as completing a European Tour, Thin Lizzy have announced a tour for later this year. Featuring 'classic' line-up members Scott Gorham and John Sykes, Thin Lizzy will play 17 venues throughout the UK, culminating at London's Hammersmith Apollo on December 13. The band which also includes Marco Mendosa on bass and Whitesnake's Tommy Aldridge on drums, will perform TL's riff-tastic hit songs including "Whiskey In The Jar," "Dancing In The Moonlight," "Sarah" and the oft-covered track "The Boys Are Back In Town." Tickets for the shows go on sale this Friday (May 11) at 9am. Ticket Hotline is: 0870 400 0688 or through usual ticket agents. You can see Thin Lizzy, co-headlining with rockers Queensyrche, at the following venues this year. Leicester, De Montfort Hall (November 22 ) Cambridge, Corn Exchange (23) Ipswich, Regent (24) Nottingham, Royal Concert Hall (26) Birmingham, Academy (27) Cardiff, St David's Hall (28) Glasgow, Academy (30) Aberdeen, Music Hall (December 1) Newcastle, City Hall (2) Sheffield, City Hall (4) Manchester, Apollo (5) Liverpool, University (6) Bristol, Colston Hall (8) Southampton, Guildhall (9) Exeter, University (10) Folkestone, Leas Cliff (12) Hammersmith, Apollo (13)

Following a handful of arena performances with Deep Purple and Styx in the UK this month, as well as completing a European Tour, Thin Lizzy have announced a tour for later this year.

Featuring ‘classic’ line-up members Scott Gorham and John Sykes, Thin Lizzy will play 17 venues throughout the UK, culminating at London’s Hammersmith Apollo on December 13.

The band which also includes Marco Mendosa on bass and Whitesnake’s Tommy Aldridge on drums, will perform TL’s riff-tastic hit songs including “Whiskey In The Jar,” “Dancing In The Moonlight,” “Sarah” and the oft-covered track “The Boys Are Back In Town.”

Tickets for the shows go on sale this Friday (May 11) at 9am. Ticket Hotline is: 0870 400 0688 or through usual ticket agents.

You can see Thin Lizzy, co-headlining with rockers Queensyrche, at the following venues this year.

Leicester, De Montfort Hall (November 22 )

Cambridge, Corn Exchange (23)

Ipswich, Regent (24)

Nottingham, Royal Concert Hall (26)

Birmingham, Academy (27)

Cardiff, St David’s Hall (28)

Glasgow, Academy (30)

Aberdeen, Music Hall (December 1)

Newcastle, City Hall (2)

Sheffield, City Hall (4)

Manchester, Apollo (5)

Liverpool, University (6)

Bristol, Colston Hall (8)

Southampton, Guildhall (9)

Exeter, University (10)

Folkestone, Leas Cliff (12)

Hammersmith, Apollo (13)

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