Mancher dürfte vergessen haben, dass Pete Doherty hauptberuflich Musiker ist. Mit dem sich abzeichnenden Ende der Libertines suchte er sich 2003 mit den Babyshambles ein weiteres Ventil. Nach sechs Jahren Pause kommt nun mit “Sequel to the prequel” das dritte Album der Band in die Läden. Und meine zugegebenermaßen niedrigen Erwartungen daran werden weit übertroffen. “Sequel to the prequel” ist ein reifes, abwechslungsreiches und trotzdem homogenes Werk.

Das Album startet mit dem punkrockigsten Song “Fireman” um bis zur Mitte mit soliden Indie-Songs mit signifikantem Pop-Anteil zu schmeicheln und mit “Maybelline” zu glänzen. Die zweite Hälfte beginnt mit dem auffälligen Titelsong und dem Reggae-angehauchten “Dr. No”. Anschließend kommt der stärkste Teil der Platte mit “Penguins”, “Picture me in a hospital” und “Minefield”. In seiner Gesamtheit gefällt mir “Sequel to the prequel” besser als alle bisher erschienenen Babyshambles und Libertines Alben.

Spex.de:

Sequel To The Prequel ist sicher eine der besten Platten von Doherty seit den Libertines. Aber vielleicht sind Vergleiche zur Vorgängerband gar nicht mehr nötig, weil heute schon wieder klassisch ist, was 2002 neu war, wenn auch retro. Und vielleicht spürt Doherty das, wenn er sich so offensiv in die Traditionslinien des britischen Pop begibt und in viele Fußstapfen treten kann, anstatt immer nur in den eigenen schweren Stiefeln herumzustolzieren. Als wollte er beweisen, dass er alles sein kann: Clash, Beatles, 90er-Shoegazing, Folk, Punk – auch wenn er dabei vor allem sich selbst recycelt und neu entwirft. Sein lässiges und gelangweiltes Rumgemaule klingt sogar noch im ärgsten Lovesong wie ein Antistatement.

Sequel To The Prequel ist sicher eine der besten Platten von Doherty seit den Libertines. Aber vielleicht sind Vergleiche zur Vorgängerband gar nicht mehr nötig, weil heute schon wieder klassisch ist, was 2002 neu war, wenn auch retro. Und vielleicht spürt Doherty das, wenn er sich so offensiv in die Traditionslinien des britischen Pop begibt und in viele Fußstapfen treten kann, anstatt immer nur in den eigenen schweren Stiefeln herumzustolzieren. Als wollte er beweisen, dass er alles sein kann: Clash, Beatles, 90er-Shoegazing, Folk, Punk – auch wenn er dabei vor allem sich selbst recycelt und neu entwirft. Sein lässiges und gelangweiltes Rumgemaule klingt sogar noch im ärgsten Lovesong wie ein Antistatement.

Ob Doherty auch bezüglich Zuverlässigkeit bei Konzerten gereift ist? Da bislang keine Termine in Deutschland geplant sind, können Besucher in anderen europäischen Ländern Ihr Glück auf die Probe stellen. “Heimatnah” bieten sich an:

• 03.10. Paris
• 07.12. Fribourg (Schweiz)
• 08.12. Zürich
• 10.12. Wien
• 14.01.2014 Esch-Sur-Alzette  (Luxemburg)

Case’s voice bobs like a carefree duck chillin’ on a pond during swaggering closing number ‘Ragtime’. It’s a bristly, buoyant number splashed with fantasy and Kim Deal-like basslines; there are triumphant trumpets, ’60s lounge piano licks (and… clavinet?) that provide plenty of warm fuzzy-belly feelings and bolster self-esteem – just try and forget her mantra of “I am one and the same, I am useful and strange,’ repeated ad infinitum until the music halts.

‘Local Girl’ is similarly addictive. There’s light, continental guitar, waltzing blobs of bass and enormous chimes – though the record is intensely intimate and journal-like, the music is grandiose, embellished with all kinds of sonic filigree and intriguing aural trinkets. ‘Man’ is so jaunty and syrupy and sweet you’d think She & Him were involved – you’d be right in thinking so, as M. Ward does in fact lend guitar to the track. Folk ode ‘Calling Card’ takes flight through a shadow-dappled copse, showing that whilst Case may be in the throes of grief, there are still enough chinks of light to relish.

‘Where Did I Leave That Fire’, creeps onto our sonar with submarine blip-bloops and Mariana Trench darkness. Jaws-esque bass heralds Case’s chilling voice: “I shook off all the strength I’d earned/ I wanted so badly not to be me.” It’s creaking with introspective doubt and deals with the loss of identity; Case isn’t afraid to warp music to fit her tonal mould. Horror synths and alt. rock axes grind against filthy jazz sax and the shimmer of chromatic piano; above the faintly Gaelic folk drone, she weeps her epic Gothic dirge. ‘Nearly Midnight, Honolulu’, is bone-achingly furious and distressing (see: “Get the fuck away from me/ why don’t you ever shut up?” and/or “My mother, she did not love me,”) despite the fact it’s a cappella, with only a drop of reverb and layered harmonies/backing vocals detracting from Case’s flawless voice. Like ‘Hide & Seek’ by Imogen Heap, Case summons more than you’d ever imagine using less than you’d think possible.

Case’s record comes after a lengthy bout of what she labelled “grief and mourning.” Of confronting her inner turmoil, she said: “I had to look inward more than I wanted. It was sobering, and I often felt like I was blurring the lines of mental illness.” What was undoubtedly a turbulent time has birthed a record flowing with all manner of emotions, ranging from wide-eyed hope to white-knuckled rage. For Case, this is likely a cathartic effort; it’s improbable this path will be revisited, unless more tragedy befalls her, but it’s a tremendous listen and a wonderful demonstration of her talents nonetheless.

(The Line Of Best Fit)  

10 Fakten zum neuen Album von Franz Ferdinand:

This is a staggering return to form for the Glaswegian quartet, the sound of Franz Ferdinand coming home after a four year long absence--with the right thoughts, the right words, and the right album.

(Pretty Much Amazing)

Franz Ferdinand's Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action is an unapologetically swaggering disco-rock album that refuses to overstay its welcome.

(Slant Magazine)

Zwar setzen Franz Ferdinand ihre beim Vorgängeralbum begonnene Tendenz fort, das charakteristische Wimmer-wimmer und Blubber-blubber analoger Synthesizer einzuarbeiten, wie etwa im Stück »Stand On The Horizon«, wo der Keyboardeinsatz an Tango auf der Heimorgel erinnert. Doch sind sie eben nicht die subversiven Humoristen, die es braucht, um daraus interessanten Inhalt zu machen. Eher wirken die neuen Klänge wie angetackert an das alte Dam-dam-dam.

   An anderer Stelle erscheint das Stück »Evil Eye« wie eine humorige Hommage an The Clash und Blondie zu Zeiten, als diese ihrerseits mit mäßigem Erfolg die aufblühende HipHop-Kultur in ihr Schaffen zu integrieren versuchten. Aber trotz vertrauter Produktionsästhetik klingt auch dies eher nach Kindersendungsmusik als nach dem flotten Retro-Kunsthochschulpop, der Franz Ferdinand einst recht verführerisch machte. Ließen sie sich vormals über Verführungspotenziale während Matineefilmvorstellungen aus, bringen sie heute nur ein lapidares »sometimes / wish you were here« zustande.

   Der Verfasser wird das Gefühl nicht los, dass die Jungs es besser könnten; er glaubt es herauszuhören aus Alex Kapranos’ unverändert sonorem Bariton und auch aus seinem Falsett, selbst bei Wegwerfware wie der von Hot Chip produzierten Single »Right Action«. Der Verfasser vermutet, sie haben »es« immer noch in sich, aber verspüren keinen Drang, »es« noch einmal hervorzukitzeln; wer weiß, vielleicht könnten sie das Dam-dam-dam noch einmal vor Spannung knistern lassen, haben jedoch gar nicht gemerkt, dass es nicht mehr knistert, denn auch bei fadem Dam-dam-dam kreischen die Mädchen vor Begeisterung und werfen womöglich BHs auf die Bühne (2004, im Astoria in London, taten sie’s!) ob der harmlosen Sexiness dieser vier aufgeweckten, adretten Jungs.

   Jungs, genau darin besteht das »es«, das dem Verfasser fehlt: Früher sahen Franz Ferdinand – obwohl auch damals schon Ende 20 – nicht nur jungshaft aus, sie klangen auch so. Heute haben sie sich das Aussehen bewahrt, klingen aber wie Erwachsene, die jugendlich klingen wollen.

(SPEX)

Einige Songs auf Loud City Song lancieren eine Art von Ambient-Musik, die vehement Kontemplation einfordert. Das ist gut so, denn sonst würde man die raren Momente von Aufwühlung verpassen, die sich in die ansonsten sehr streng aufgebauten Songs schleichen. Mal öffnet sich ein Stück zu sphärischen Weiten, ein andermal verdichtet es sich, und nervöse Streicher erzeugen Turbulenz. Manchmal scheint es, als bleibe die Musik stehen und sei als »Ding an sich« zu hören. Julia Holter beherrscht eben die Kunst des Transzendenzeffekts. Zu sich selbst kommt diese in der fantastischen Coverversion des Soul-Klassikers »Hello Stranger« von Barbara Lewis: pure ozeanische Verzauberung, die kein Morgen und kein Außen zu kennen scheint.

   Aber sicher gibt es das Außen doch, denn was wäre die Transzendenz ohne Immanenz? Bei aller Vorliebe für sakrale Atmosphären und E-Musik- Ernst schätzt Holter das Profane. Schmierige Cheapo-Synthies oder schlüpfrige Saxofoneinlagen signalisieren blasphemische Brüche, und in der Julia-Holter-Welt ist selbst experimenteller Yacht-Rock möglich. Außerdem erden die Feldaufnahmen und Alltagsgeräusche, mit denen Holter wieder arbeitet, den Klang. Geraschel und Vogelzwitschern stehen für realness im Erhabenen.

   Wenn man Julia Holter etwas vorhalten kann, dann ihr Beharren auf Referenz- und Kontextlosigkeit. In Interviews erklärt sie Quellenforschung gerne für obsolet, dabei sind die Spuren etwa von Joni Mitchell, John Cage oder Robert Wyatt unüberhörbar. Zudem erinnern einige Songs auf dem neuen Album an das lakonische Spiel des Japan-Bassisten Mick Karn. So verständlich die Geste des weiblichen Geniekults sein mag, sie wirkt doch etwas snobistisch. Und ganz davon abgesehen hängen auch an den Göttern und Göttinnen längst üppige Fußnotenapparate.

(Spex)

Der latent kammermusikalische Aspekt von Holters ersten beiden Alben TRAGEDY und EKSTASIS tritt auf LOUD CITY SONG durch die Beteiligung der Musiker in den Vordergrund, die elektronischen Atmosphären ein Stück weit zurück, was nicht heißen soll, dass hier keine Ambience vorhanden ist. Die erzeugt Holter teilweise allein durch den Einsatz ihrer Stimme. „Leicht“ in einem Pop-Sinn ist die Musik Julia Holters immer noch nicht, wenn sich etwa das pompöse, überladene „Maxim’s II“, das für ihre Verhältnisse fast schon „hart rockt“, in einen astreinen Freejazz-Track, circa 1965, verwandelt. Daneben steht etwa die Coverversion des 1963er-Hits „Hello Stranger“ der R’n’B-Sängerin Barbara Lewis, den Holter auf ihre Art bis zur Unkenntlichkeit verfremdet. Die Künstlerin betont – sehr zum Leidwesen der Theoretiker, die sich an der Analyse des konzeptionellen Überbaus ihrer Musik begeilen –, dass weder die Kenntnis von Colettes Roman „Gigi“ noch der Gedichte Frank O’Haras, von denen LOUD CITY SONG inspiriert ist, notwendig seien, um das Album zu genießen. Schaden kann das natürlich nicht.

(Musikexpress)

Likewise, the beats of Flourish // Perish are where the fundamental differences between it and its antecedent begin: skittering and arthropodic all over, instead of surging. While Flourish // Perish and Native Speaker can both be reasonably described as “dance,” Flourish takes that nomenclature far less in the traditional sense (i.e., don’t expect to do that dancing with anybody else in the room). The rhythms here are generally much more complex, both technically and texturally, forcing focus onto the minutia, practically demanding headphones over speakers. But there was also an energy to Native Speaker that gets lost in Braids’ new obsession for intricate flavors, as occasionally, these songs fail to move in any purposeful direction.

Braids’ new, hushed sound could also be attributed in part to the departure of their fourth member, keyboardist Katie Lee. It’s a perfectly understandable, logical move for a band to attempt a “less is more” record when faced with fewer hands on deck, and that appears to be the thought process behind Flourish // Perish. And, on certain cuts in between moments of disorientation, especially the crescendoing “Ebben”, it’s a goal thoroughly accomplished.

(Consequence Of Sound)

That humanity is very much still at the heart of their sophomore album, Flourish//Perish. The title alone directly addresses vitality, which almost comes across as adventurous when you try to rectify the idea with the electronic effects and futuristic percussion rhythms that populate the bleak terrain of the album. These incongruities recur in the album’s content. “Together” is about as solitary and paranoid of a number as you will get in these mid-summer months, with frontwoman Raphaelle Standell-Preston finding company in her own mind, and the speaker sounding anything but “together.” Standell-Preston is the confident center of “Juniper,” letting her classically beautiful vocals take root amid the cyclone of discordant textures.

The conflicting effect of the album can be unnerving on “Amends,” where the vibrance of the vocals is rushed by the environment, like sprinting in a dark hallway, hoping not to crash into a wall. Impressions like these are easy to respect, but also hold the identity of Braids lightly, and without reverence for what they have previously constructed. Perhaps the departure of keyboardist and vocalist Katie Lee affected the direction of the project, as there are only a few moments where the roadmap laid out on Native Speaker is followed.

Those few moments, though, cultivate curiosity about who the three-piece Montreal band really is. While it’s possible that they are more the Austra-esque creators of spare darkwave we hear on “December,” this impressive bit of songwriting is also Braids at their least creative.

It’s closer “In Kind,” with eight minutes of unpredictable, brave and exhilarating musicianship that achieves heights most bands spend a career searching for. The length of time it takes to unfold challenges waning attention spans, but by revealing Standell-Preston’s drawn fangs early, it turns the listeners into willing victims. It’s a shame Braids doesn’t live on this level, but it also makes the reward of “In Kind” more satisfying. If we know anything about Braids by the conclusion of the song, and the album, it is to expect change and growth, not a settled-on sound. And, for better or worse, that is very human.

(Paste Magazine)

Like many bands that fall under the indie pop umbrella, it is easy to hear the influence of great bands that came before, but Paper Lions filters their love of other artists with plenty of sunshine and that happy innocent voice of youth. “Ghostwriter” is simply beautiful, a song that could be a Pet Sounds B-side. “Pull Me In” is the bubbly pop song that will make you dance around the room first, then ponder the relationship the lyrics portray. “So Lonely” flat rocks it out, begging for some most excellent air drumming.

(The Owl Mag)

(...) It’s a shame too, because their gentle mix of grungy guitars, tight harmonies and sugary pop melodies is a real treat. Singer John MacPhee’s voice operates in the high-but-not-quite falsetto territory favoured by Matthew Caws and Rivers Cuomo and like those gentlemen, has a knack for wrapping itself around intelligent, rolling hooks. The opening ‘Bodies In The Winter’ is a perfect example, with MacPhee’s voice drifting over the top of stabbing guitars, handclaps and a chunky, rumbling bass before its fist-pumping pop-rock chorus.

‘Little Liar’ is dreamier still. The best Real Estate song that band decided not to write, and with a noticeably 60’s pop chorus, it is the record’s most laid-back, unassuming moment and features that most lovable of traits: verses that are just as smile-inducingly catchy as their chorus partners. ‘Pull Me In’ too has a retro quality, bobbing along on a rhythm so bouncy it can’t help but bring to mind Hall & Oats’ ‘You Make My Dreams’, albeit a Hall & Oates that grew up on Weezer.

All of this is to say, that what My Friends has in winning melodies, it lacks in any genuine originality. It is not an album that attempts to reinvent a genre. But that is ok. Not all albums need to. That Paper Lions are here, in 2013, with new material is more than enough of a reason to celebrate. In My Friends they have an album destined to quickly regain the lost ground. Let’s not have to wait so long for a follow-up next time though, fellas.

(When The Gramophone Rings)

Diese Ausgangslage lässt sich vorzüglich dazu missbrauchen, sich an zweierlei Fragestellungen abzuarbeiten: 1. Wozu braucht eine fünfköpfige Band überhaupt einen Produzenten – sind da nicht schon genügend kreative Köpfe am Start? 2. Welcher Produzent ist am Ende der derbste?
  

Zu Punkt 1: Produzenten werden für gemeinhin dann ins Boot geholt, wenn die Band a) ihren shit aus Gründen der Sozialkompetenz nicht allein zusammenkriegt und deshalb einen Mediator, Leitwolf oder eine Domina benötigt oder b) der Meinung ist, dass es das eigene Material noch nicht so richtig bringt, Input von außen die Sache also kreativ aufpimpen würde. Nun aber folgende Erkenntnis: Alienation ist ein gutes bis sehr gutes Album, weil Slut eine gute bis sehr gute Band sind. Was direkt zur Beantwortung der zweiten Frage führt: Oliver Zülch, ausgerechnet der Mainstream-Typ (Ärzte, Sportfreunde Stiller) in der illustren Riege! Unter seinen Fittichen klingen Slut wie die bestmögliche Version ihrer selbst. Zülch begibt sich, ähnlich wie sonst Moses Schneider, in die Rolle eines Engineers, der die Band dazu bringt, aus sich selbst heraus gut zu klingen, Opulenz also mit angestammten Mitteln zu erzeugen. Vielleicht handelt es sich bei dem bedrohlich dengelnden »Next Big Thing« und dem supermilden Chanson »All Show« auch einfach nur um die besten Kompositionen. Das wäre aber großer Zufall.
   Die anderen Jungs haben die Chance ergriffen und die Slut-Songs mit ihrem persönlichen Imprint versehen. War wohl ihr Auftrag, kann man ihnen keinen Strick draus drehen. Und auf weiter Strecke zündet das Amalgam ja auch. Dennoch bleiben Fragen: Wie klänge zum Beispiel »Anybody Have A Roadmap?« ohne das Klicker-Klacker und die Tribal-Trommeln? Würde »Broke My Backbone« auch ohne Jungle-Groove und Mr.-Oizo-Bass auskommen? Und würde »Remote Controlled« ohne den Billo-Drummie vielleicht nicht ganz so sehr nach 80er-Revival schmecken?
   Schon klar: Im musikalischen Jetzt und Hier können Musiker und Produzenten aller Genres theoretisch auf das gleiche Produktionsmittelarsenal zurückgreifen. Womit sich Genres (außer die ganz, ganz speziellen) auch schon wieder erübrigt haben. Nichts scheint da uncooler als Linientreue. Dennoch soll dieser Text mit einem vermeintlich mega-reaktionären Fazit beendet werden, das gerade für Slut seine Gültigkeit nicht verloren hat: Eine gute Indierockband ist eine gute Indierockband ist eine gute Indierockband.

(SPEX)

(...) Nein, vor allem deshalb, weil diese Band, die um eine stilistisch denkbar offene Auslegung der Idee Alternative Rock noch nie verlegen war, auf ALIENATION noch einmal die zehnjährige Bandgeschichte rekapituliert und alles vorführt, was sie kann – und dann noch ein bisschen mehr. Also gibt es knackigen Gitarrenrock wie in „Next Big Thing“, entspann­te Gitarrenpopsongs wie „All Show“, psychedelisches Wimmern wie im „Silk Road Blues“, weihevolle Düsternis in „Idiot Dancers“ und nervös flatternde, elektronische Reduktion in „Broke My Backbone“. Eins haben die Stücke gemeinsam: Dass sie trotz des gewaltigen Detailreichtums so klingen, als wären sie auf dem Sprung zu etwas Größerem.

(Musikexpress)

As it wafts along, Moon Tides carries with it a range of musical touchstones, past and present. 70s hippie counterculture rears its head occasionally, as on the bucolic imagery of ‘Evergreener’ and the skipping bassline on sunny anthem ‘Seven 2 One’. The album’s woozy aesthetic and isolated lyricism, not to mention the grainy coastline of its cover, takes cues from former chillwavers like Washed Out and Toro Y Moi. But the dominant reference is 80s pop, whether it’s ‘Dream The Dare’ evoking the starry-eyed gaze of the Cocteau Twins at their height, or princess-in-a-tower ballad ‘Golden Girl’ floating in the midpoint between the gloss of Fleetwood Mac circa Tango In The Night and the icy self-reflection of Suzanne Vega. The duo don’t shy away from the decade’s more kitschy excesses either, as demonstrated by the prominent sampling of Benny Mardones’s 1980 fromage-fest ‘Into The Night’ on the R&B-inflected ‘Scotty’.

There’s a sense of poise throughout; every edge is padded, every lick and synth wash presented without a single hair out of place. This detached approach lends the album cohesion and a statuesque grace, but like PBC’s close counterparts Beach House, it struggles to forge a deeper connection or surprise the listener with sudden shifts in tone. Moon Tides is a daydream, not a rollercoaster ride, and if you’re not enchanted with the album from its earliest moments you’re unlikely to find anything that will catch your attention down the line. Surrender to its lovely embrace, though, and you’ll find a late-summer gem that makes a perfect accompaniment to falling leaves and the last rays of September sun.

(The Line Of Best Fit)

Still, virtually everything on Moon Tides is going to earn the band the inevitable Beach House comparisons, especially when you hear the opening drum machine stutter of lead single and first track, “Pendulum”. It’s so resolutely Beach House sounding that you would, if you were a hater, wonder why Pure Bathing Culture ever wound up trying. However, when those acoustic guitar chords kick in and the atmospheric keyboard washes start, you’re instantly transported back to the ‘80s. And the cooing female vocal that innocently states, “You’re the cat’s eyes / You’re the pendulum”, at the opening of the piece makes it very well clear that Pure Bathing Culture is a much more dewy-eyed, innocent version of Beach House, one with an unabashed love of 1980s synth pop. Follow-up song and second single, “Dream the Dare” is in the same vein, but is arguably even better. Its verses swoon and its choruses ascend. It’s hard to imagine that this didn’t come out somewhere around 1988 and wasn’t a big VH-1 hit. It’s pure pop confection goodness. But if there were a choice for a third single from this album, it would be “Twins” – a song so gooey and lovely in its rendering that tears nearly welled in my eyes by the time the song hit its undeniably effective and emotional chorus. “Twins, our bodies keep us so warm / Rings, wrapped around our forearms”, sighs Versprille. That’s it, I’m already in love with this band.

Admittedly, the album is front-loaded: After “Twins”, the song quality drops off a little – but only a little – and it would be hard, admittedly, to sustain the kind of internal propulsion that Moon Tides’ first four songs build to a crescendo of poignant release. By the time you get to fifth song “Only Lonely Lovers”, you’re getting Beach House filtered through the prism of a late-‘70s ABBA hit. It’s less immediate, but it’s still a bit catchy. “Scotty” has that kind of Wang Chung guitar sound to it, and it chimes beautifully. “Golden Girl” is another song that’s ripped right out the ‘80s song book, and renders itself so exactly that, again, you’re surprised that the song wasn’t a hit in some kind of alternate universe of 25 to 30 years ago. But the album’s biggest surprise comes with the final track, “Temples of the Moon”, which feels like a Kate Bush song somewhere around The Hounds of Love. It’s absolutely haunting.

Overall, Mood Tides is probably going to have its share of people who outright hate the group for sounding so close to Beach House. But forget them. Those who couldn’t get enough of the ethereal beauty of Bloom will really appreciate what Pure Bathing Culture is doing here. It may not be up the exacting standards of Beach House’s greatest album, and I’m sure someone is also going to start bandying about comparisons to Cocteau Twins (too late, the record label’s Web page on the band already does this), but there’s really a lot to like in the purely blissful sound of Pure Bathing Culture. I’m listening to this record during some of the hottest days of summer, and the music is the exact opposite of the oppressive humidity I feel: These songs are cool and refreshing, and ultimately exhilarating. Moon Tides is a tease – I can’t wait to see what comes after these nine tracks – and I wonder if the group will still be hitching itself to Beach House’s sonic wagon by the time the next release comes around. But, if you know, Pure Bathing Culture comes walking down my street (and I suppose they have, as I already possess the record), I’d do nothing but embrace them and give them a gigantic hug. Moon Tides is an assuredly confident move, and there’s so much to take in by this band. Even if they do more than tangentially sound a little like a certain Baltimore group.

(PopMatters)

As the two gorgeous singles 'Pendulum' and 'Dream The Dare' revealed, PBC's melodies are lush and unforgettable, but the production is hazy enough to complicate things by adding a dark tone to the beauty of the arrangements. It is not a coincidence the two like trafficking in the mystical: 'Concepts of spirituality, self-actualization, mysticism, new age symbolism and pretty much everything that has to do with humans making sense of why we're all here are all deep, deep muses for us'.

The songs are visionary enough to match their ambitions. Versprille's vocals prove to be extremely flexible, switching from the ominous, siren-like croon featured on songs such as the turbulent 'Temples of The Moon', which relies on repetition and distant atmospherics like a The Dreaming-era Kate Bush's cut, to the joyous chanting on 'Only Lonely Lovers'. When feelings get too neatly distinguishable, the duo walk on a tightrope. The mythology-inspired 'Twins' heavily flirts with new age optimism and reaches stasis a notch too soon, whilst the chorus of 'Only Lonely Lovers' is so outrageously cheerful it almost feels like it's there to test your nerves. But fear not: it is the charming, ambivalent tension already found in the singles which prevails on the record, as the lilting 'Evergreen' and 'Seven 2 One' demonstrate.

Occasionally PBC accentuate their Eighties adult pop influences by taking layers away, such as in the standout 'Scotty', which sounds like Phil Collins in the best possible way. In a similar vein, 'Golden Girl' is quite stripped down compared to the rest, and comes out as a danceable, soulful little tune, where Versprille's vocals are more discernible than usual and Hindman's murmuring electric guitar lines rise and fall like a wave in the background. Whether it is a sense of longing or nostalgia at stake, Moon Tides is a solid, inebriating listen that will guide you through your personal transitions and leave you wanting for more.

(Drowned In Sound)

Leicht verspätet (same procedure as last year...): Urlaubszeit, Festivalzeit, keine Zeit für Mixtapes. Jetzt ist es aber da und Ihr könnt wieder hören worüber wir schreiben: Das Platten vor Gericht-Mixtape mit Musik aus unseren Juli-Vorstellungen.

01 Eleanor Friedberger – Stare At The Sun
02 Wax Idols – When It Happens
03 Empire Of The Sun – Keep A Watch
04 The Electric Soft Parade - The Sun Never Sets Around Here
05 Scott Matthew – Love Will Tear Us Apart
06 The Duckworth Lewis Method – The Umpire
07 Portugal. The Man – Creep In A T-Shirt
08 Pet Shop Boys – Thursday
09 Pascal Finkenauer – Brennende Autos
10 Frida Gold – Deine Liebe
11 A Home. A Heart. Whatever. – 1991
12 LaBrassBanda – Nackert
13 Mortimer – Spindrift
14 Stareaway – The Loss Of Breath
15 Muso – Blinder Passagier
16 Okta Logue – Transit
17 Me And Oceans – When I Was A Dancer
18 Jack Beauregard – The Harbour
19 Moderat – Bad Kingdom
20 Parasite Single – Carpet Of Leaves
21 Tomahawk – Stone Letter
22 Nadine Shah – Runaway
23 The Blood Arm – Midnight Moan
24 Black City Lights – Offering
25 Meeks – Let It Be
26 Maps – You Will Find A Way
27 Bell X1 – Careful What You Wish For
28 Steven Wilson - The Raven That Refused to Sing
29 Johnny Borrell - Pan-European Supermodel Song (Oh! Gina)

Platten vor Gericht // Juli 2013 from Platten vor Gericht on 8tracks Radio.

This fourth full-length is another fizzy, fuzzy, monochrome mash-up of The Jesus And Mary Chain, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and The Raveonettes. It was produced by the latter’s Sune Rose Wagner, and his stamp is all over these 10 songs, especially the sleazy guitars of ‘Virgin’ and the ironically titled lilt of ‘Heavy Metal Clouds’. An album of washed out, happy-sad, semi-psychedelic sounds that glower as much as they gleam, it’s perfect for those 3am mornings when you’re full of alcohol and regret.

(NME)

Since the lo-fi guitar fuzz of early albums Summer of Hate and Sleep Forever, San Diego's Crocodiles have cleaned up their sound immensely. Their shoegaze leanings have been parked, replaced by an altogether sunnier disposition. Maybe those shades welded to their faces may now even be put towards outdoor use?

The honky tonk piano and groove of opener I Like It In The Dark could pass for Primal Scream in Stones mode, while the big hooks and backing vocals of drummer Anna Schulte on Marquis de Sade help Crocodiles explore 'radio friendly pop hit' territory for the first time.

Brandon Welchez' vocals revel in surfing on top of the mix rather than being buried in distortion and there's even some big brass on Heavy Metal Clouds. Edging away from their Mary Chain revivalist roots, Crocodiles now feel like kinsmen to Danish exiles the Raveonettes, maintaining a detached retro cool while never losing sight of melody. Their most engaging excursion yet.

(The Skinny)

The album opens with Alright, all driving drum beat and a Motown horn style synth line. A gentle electric guitar backs Greg Goldberg’s precise and understated vocal. When the Ballet sing “Everything’s gonna be okay,” I’m inclined to believe them.

My personal favourite track is Feelings. It’s part Roxy Music, part Pet Shop Boys all packaged with another superbly intimate vocal. There is a distinct early 80s vibe which manages somehow to sound both au courant and classic. That, perhaps, is the key to the track and indeed the album’s success, the seamless blend of old and new. 

The album manages to distil the better aspects of the 80’s electronic scene with well-crafted, personal lyrics. Unlike, say, Stephen Merritt’s ‘69 Love Songs’, the songs on ‘I Blame Society’ are polished and precise, in places more reminiscent of New Order or the Human League than Merritt’s Magnetic Fields.

Certainly one could accuse ‘I Blame Society’ of being slightly kitsch with its prominent synth and subdued vocals, but for me this adds to the charm – The Ballet have managed to create a sound which is at once familiar and innovative.

For all the lyrical mood of the album is perhaps not as upbeat as the music suggests, it was fun – something which is sadly lacking from a great deal of music today. The Ballet understand their role as providers of entertainment and excel at it. 

Fans of 80’s synth-pop will find much to enjoy in this album, as will anyone with an interest in the contemporary New York scene. Fans of album art, however, will not – the cover is right up there with Neil Young’s ‘Landing on Water’ in that it is one of the dullest, least inspiring covers that I have ever seen. With that in mind, I would probably describe ‘I Blame Society’ as a supermarket own brand chocolate bar – drearily packaged, but with hugely enjoyable contents. 

(pennyblackmusic)

It’s notable, then, that while the title of I Blame Society may allude to The Ballet’s radical sensibilities the music within is easily the most mainstream they have yet put their name to. This manifests itself not only in their most accomplished production to date but in lyrics which are never as direct as they have been previously. Meaningless, for example, has a nuance which is easily lost if you don’t know the band’s history. It opens with lines which allude to the gay marriage fight in the United States (and beyond) – “I’ve got no wedding dress, I’ve got no diamond ring… I guess my love is meaningless”. These lines could easily be taken as a standard plea for ‘marriage equality’ but, as the song expands to more existential questions of life, it becomes clear that singer Greg Goldberg is actually celebrating the freedom which comes with the absence of imposed definition and structure. It’s a song about queer liberation and with this in mind its shuffling gait and ’60s girl group backing vocals take on a greater resonance.

This subtext is present throughout I Blame Society but for the most part it’s obvious that it’s an album intended to be heard by people previously unaware of The Ballet. Its lyrics are carried in big, confident pop songs which fizz with melody and frequently manage the tricky balancing act of being generally appealing while addressing specifically queer themes. Too Much Time, for example, concerns the homophobic religious right yet comes on as quirky ‘us against the world’ anthem, its burbling synths and xylophone proving irresistible. The intriguing Turn You, meanwhile, is appealingly dynamic while offering dark lyrics like “I’m gonna make you sick like me, I’m gonna set your body free”.

The opening Alright makes the dash for more success instantly obvious, roaring out of the gates with pounding Motown-esque drums and strings which recall the brief liaison between McAlmont & Butler. Even more commercial is Feelings, the kind of ’80s new wave anthem which should soundtrack a film featuring Rob Lowe and Molly Ringwald. It’s polished and persuasive stuff but there are moments when the lurch towards the mainstream becomes brazenly derivative – to say that Sorry pays homage to Erasure’s Breath Of Life would be putting it very kindly, while All The Way sounds like a Jesus And Mary Chain tribute band (albeit a very enjoyable one). Still, most of I Blame Society is intelligent, engaging and most importantly hugely listenable. It’s really not a stretch to imagine some of these songs soundtracking a future episode of Glee and, even if that’s unlikely, the possibility is a success in itself for such a previously niche band.

(music OMH)

10 Fakten zum neuen Album von White Lies:

Despite said retro parallel, White Lies do sound like a band firmly in the present, utilising electronic samples with classic valve-driven guitar chords to accompany the trademark baritone of McVeigh.

(Clash Music)

It may not have the instant appeal of To Lose A Life, but the combination of the running narrative and a host of memorable hooks make it their most consistent record to date.

(Music OMH)

As in the work of Simon Le Bon and Jim Kerr, an amalgam of which singer Harry McVeigh theatrically channels, dumb lyrics can be mitigated by robust anthems.

(Guardian)

09.11.13 Köln, Live Music Hall
11.11.13 Frankfurt, Gibson
12.11.13 München, Theaterfabrik
27.11.13 Hamburg, Große Freiheit

“You Don’t Know Me” opens the record with a flute-accented blast of airy guitar-pop, while frontman Tim DeLaughter preaches from on high about the virtues of being true to oneself (“There’s always more to you than there are of them,” he sings). The rest of the tracks are similarly wrapped in a tight sonic package, from the breezy, baroque chamber pop of “You’re Golden” to the glossy power pop of “What Would You Do?”

Still, the band doesn’t tilt its hand too heavily toward convention. Even as it veers a bit more to the middle, Yes, It’s True does so without sacrificing the Spree’s flare for the grandiose. ”Popular By Design” still makes good use of its expansive chorus of background singers, while ”Carefully Try,” with its rolling timpani and lush orchestration, helps give things an appropriately soaring feel. Lyrically, DeLaughter isn’t above getting weird and abstract, whether he’s musing about aquatic life on “Let Them Be” or just going nuts with his high-on-life musical worldview. 

The approach is a much more centered one, but even in moderation, The Polyphonic Spree is still a band too wired with oddball energy to completely play it straight. Even with the group’s slight retraction, it’s that madcap sense of wonder and lofty ambition that helps keep Yes, It’s True healthily afloat.

(A.V. Club)

A tendency to lean more heavily than before on grand theatricality—possibly a hangover from their recent reworking of The Rocky Horror Picture Show—only accentuates the boundless optimism of their uplifting sun-dappled pop. When it works well, as it does on "Carefully Try" or "Your Golden," they create musical vignettes that tread the line between bittersweet and upbeat. When it falters, it sees them dip into an irritating self-parody, one which undermines their soaring harmonies by mining well-trodden ground; rampant horns and hand claps are a weary accompaniment to Delaughter's strained aphorisms on tracks such as "What Would You Do?" Like the original cast recording of a musical yet to be staged—and undoubtedly they must be quite the experience live-Yes, It's True has interesting moments, but ultimately makes for an insubstantial and at times deeply vapid experience.

(Under The Radar)

As a duo Low Sea have two big problems: monotonous keyboard lines courtesy of Bobby D and uninteresting vocal lines from Billie. Her singing constantly feel strained. It starts on a bad foot too. An initially intriguing echo laden guitar becomes victim of reverberating synths that repeat a three-chord pattern. Then the vocals come in. Delivered with wobbles and breaks it could be Patsy Kensit at a casting call for a role as Sam Fox. The chorus does actually thicken musically but there’s no voice to run with it.

This feels like bad acting. These are attempts at pretending to be a band. The second track, ‘Sentimental Games’, is delivered with such a one-note constitution that there’s nothing to engage with. As Billie sings “I like early afternoons” there’s no way this line can be believed, then she says “and I like the rain”… ok, maybe this line resonates a little. By the time the half chorus of ‘When I’m Feeling Down’ has hit, rather unpleasantly, the best thing to do is turn off. If they can’t be bothered to do more than offer half a chorus, why bother applying the effort of full attention?

There are other bands doing this better. There have been other bands doing this better for a long time. Many of those bands are cited as influences to Low Sea. Valleys, for example, create anxiety and insecurity but make it engaging and encourage empathy to establish a connection. It’s hard to know who would connect with this. People who like the idea of moody music but who don’t care about music itself?

The Low Sea probably do care about music - but you couldn't really tell that from Remote Viewing.

10 Fakten zum neuen Album von Travis:

Dass sie aber trotz langer Pause nahtlos an ihre Stärken anknüpfen können, zeigen sie dann schon mit dem Opener “Mother”. Ein beschwingtes Stück Piano-Pop mit einem wunderbar quietschenden Fran Healy, der sich im Laufe des Stücks gemeinsam mit der Band immer weiter emporschwingt. Ein Stück, das so auch perfekt auf das Tom Odell Debüt gepasst hätte und für die ein oder andere Gänsehaut sorgt. Es folgt die aktuelle Single “Moving”. Eine leichtfüßige Melodie trifft auf sanft erzählenden Gesang und einen gewohnt starken Refrain. Das macht in der Summe einen Song, zu dem Travis Fans auf Konzerten wieder einmal herrlich schwelgen können. “Reminder” fällt dagegen etwas ab und bleibt ein wenig blass. Ein Durchhänger, der aber schnell durch den Titeltrack “Where You Stand” wett gemacht wird. Ein Stück, das jetzt schon ein Bandklassiker sein dürfte und all das in sich vereint, was man an Travis so liebt. Ein Gänsehautrefrain, gefühlvoll vorgetragene Strophen und eine schöne, leicht schwermütige Melodie sorgen für den größten Hit des Albums und das ein oder andere Tränchen im Auge.

Danach kann das Album natürlich nur ein wenig abfallen. Das heißt aber nicht, dass der Rest von “Where You Stand” nur Mittelmaß wäre. “Reminder” ist ein nettes kleines Stück zum Mitklatschen und “Another Guy” bietet hübschen Groove mit angenehmer Melodie. “Different Room” bietet dann ein wenig balladesken Queen Sound mit luftiger Melodie und großer Geste in den Refrains. Ein Stück zum träumen unter freiem Himmel, der zu jeder Jahreszeit passt. Gegen Ende fahren Travis dann auch noch einmal eine ihrer wunderschönen Pianoballaden auf. Fran wimmert sich zu einer berührenden Klaviermelodie durch “The Big Screen” und verzaubert damit ganz zum Ende. “Where You Stand” ist vielleicht nicht das beste Travis Album und zeigt auch keine Band, die sich neu erfunden hat. Aber das möchte man von den Schotten auch gar nicht. Musik von Travis ist wie ein guter Freund, den man gut kennt und an dem besonders schätzt, dass er genau so ist, wie man ihn damals kennen gelernt hat. Man schätzt ihn trotz seiner kleinen Macken und Eigenarten und freut sich auf jedes Wiedersehen. So ist auch “Where You Stand”. Trotz seiner Schwächen und kleiner Durchhänger lauscht man dem Album immer wieder gerne und fühlt sich gleich daran erinnert, warum man die Band so sehr schätzt.

(White Tapes)

Fran Healy’s boyish voice is so distinctive that I was really interested to hear if time had hardened or rocked it up any. Nup. When he chimes in on ‘Mother’, the first track, you feel that friendly voice in your ear. Like you can hear the kid next door singing in his kitchen. It could be the most non-threatening ‘rock’ voice ever. Yet, and don’t ask me why, it has a bit of an edge to it. In an age of perfect, plastic, souless pop idol vocals, Healy’s is still refreshing and cut through.

There is a lovely acoustic feel to a lot of these songs. The second track, ‘Moving’, is so ridiculously Travisish it could be a reject from The Man Who. While the production values are high with Ilbert on board, they are uncomplicated. ‘Reminder’ is largely an acoustic guitar and Healy’s vocals, with a bit of whistling thrown in. ‘New Shoes’ gets a bit UB40, but that’s not such a bad thing.

The first single and title track, ‘Where you stand’ has more production elements than some of the other tracks. Driven by piano and guitars and of course, Healy’s pleading vocals.

‘Warning Sign’ is a poppy ballad that made me think “Geeze how soppy it this” but I found myself singing along (scarey). And the following track, ‘Another Guy’ just keeps the toes tapping with a driving drum beat (and I say that in the softest of terms) with a B52’s like guitar riff going beat for beat.

This is all good news for people that were hoping Travis haven’t changed their style. Fear not, they haven’t. And if they have, us mere mortals wont pick it. I remember The Man Who being an album in the late 90’s that I listened to a lot. It wasn’t out of the CD player for weeks, maybe months. When you do that with certain albums, and you may only do that once a year, it grinds a groove into your brain somewhere. It’s there forever just waiting to be played or heard every few years. Where You Stand reignites that groove. Sure Healy’s voice is mostly responsible for that, but Travis songs have a definite style to their construction that is unmistakable.

So for those new to Travis you’ll find a fine album full of well crafted indie-pop songs.

For the Travis fans of old wanting to hear more of the same, you won’t be disappointed.

(The Orange Press)