Huw Davies' Week Spot

Mario Balotelli's going to a monastery (no, really)

2011-05-27T15:05:00.004+01:00

*blows the dust off this blog*

Sorry, I know it’s been a while. In fact, it’s been so long that it seems barely worth apologising. Suffice it to say I’m back with something particularly blogworthy. To wit:

Mario Balotelli is going to spend a week in an Italian monastery.

More specifically, that’s the Santacittarama Buddhist Monastery in Frasso Sabino, which, as far as I can work out from Google Maps, is in the middle of nowhere (a good place for a monastery, admittedly). It’s not far from Rome, and seems to be happy enough to take people in for some brief religious guidance.

To be honest, the idea of Mario Balotelli, the man who fires toy guns at passers-by, breaks into women's prisons and throws darts at youth team players, meditating with Buddhist monks is incredible. When I first heard, I assumed it would be this kind of monastery – that looks much more up Mario’s street.

But no, apparently, he’s actually going to spend a week of his summer holidays trying to calm down a touch. No doubt someone at Manchester City has had a word in his ear.

An artist's impression

Don’t worry, I’m not turning this blog into a gossip column – I just love that this is Mario Balotelli’s next step towards salvation, after beating on school bullies and giving a homeless man £1,000. Can you have a midlife crisis at 20?

Strangely enough, I didn’t think a 140-character tweet would do this story justice. Hell, there’s a film in this.

Once again: Mario Balotelli. In a monastery. Meditating.

Bloody hell.

About Last Night (re: the General Election)

2010-05-07T12:35:00.009+01:00

Well hung, innit? I'm hanging like a parliament. Hang this. Etc. The jokes everywhere are from the news of a hung parliament, as the British public - well, 65% of it - went to the polls and voted for no one in particular.

Some of us were foolish enough to stay up all night to watch the results come in, and for a more in-depth, more drunken look I recommend trawling through my old tweets at www.twitter.com/weekspotblog. But for those of you with lives to lead (I did update so many times I broke Twitter and was told to stop posting), here's a summary of how no one bar the Greens can be happy with this result.

And fair play to the Greens. It's a fantastic outcome for the single-issue nutters.

Anyway, here goes: the Top Ten 'Oh Fucks' of the night:

1. Oh fuck. The Liberal Democrats had a shocker last night, and this is where it all started to go wrong. Clegg's collective had been making promises of a genuine challenge to Government and 110 seats. Instead, they lost five MPs, and currently stand on a paltry 54 (16 constituencies are still to be announced).

Again, it all started here. The LibDems' no1 target seat saw a 6.9% swing AWAY from the yellows and into the hands of a gleeful Tory party. No doubt for Doughty; no paradise lost for Milton.

Clegg considers his career options

2. Oh fuck. The Conservative Party actually had a pretty bad night of it as well, despite what this terrifyingly blue map of the UK might aver. Seriously, if they just counted votes in England, not Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland as well, the Tories would walk it.

But they won't be at all happy with failing to reach a majority, and it was in constituencies such as this that they fell. It really looked like the Blues would take Tooting, but despite a healthy 3.6% swing against them Labour and Sadiq Khan MP held on. 'Yes we Khan' were the chants. Yes we Khan. +10% turnout too. Good work, Tooting.

Not Tooting his own horn here

3. Oh fuck. Labour had to endure a torrid night (this was a particularly painful one to lose - just 54 votes in it), and what will really hurt is losing some big names. Two former home secretaries, Charles Clarke and Jacqui Smith, were among the casualties and although Clarke is anti-Brown and anti-Balls, he's an old head they didn't want to see go.

How fucked? This fucked

4. Oh fuck. Labour weren't the only party to say goodbye to some prominent figures and again, this was the beginning of the end for the LibDems. Lembit Opik, he of Cheeky Girl fame, lost his seat in Montgomeryshire as the Tories made another gain - this time, with a massive 13.2% swing. Cheeky.

5. Oh fuck. Evan Harris also went - a massive blow for the LibDems. There were only 176 votes in it.

6. Oh fuck. The British National Party didn't win any seats, which is great news, but I wish I could be more optimistic about half a million voters putting an X by their name. I can't. It's disgusting.

Interestingly, the BNP actually lost 1.7% of the vote in the constituency where Nick Griffin plumped his fat bonk-eyed arse.

Understatement?

7. Oh fuck. Essex has a lot to answer for. Chavs, white stilettos and Jamie Oliver aside, the county has a nasty habit of being pretty right-wing in its voting habits. The constituency that best summed up its extent of fail last night was Basildon South & Thurrock East, where they successfully got rid of a Labour minister, voted in a Tory and gave more than 2,500 votes to the BNP. Well done.

8. Oh fuck. Every time I switched over ITV's coverage was absolutely God-awful, from Alistair Stewart constantly interrupting everybody like he's king of the fucking world to filming outside a pub where David Cameron was drinking. It's a pub - just go inside!

9. Oh fuck. Jeremy Vine's house of wank was the reason I kept switching over in the first place.

10. Oh fuck. Last but not least, I was very sad to see this man lose his seat. Richard Taylor is a doctor who ran as a single-issue independent in 2001 to keep Kidderminster Hospital open, and absolutely slammed Labour's junior minister David Lock into the ground. He then held on in 2005 to become the first independent MP to retain his seat since the 1970s. He's such a hero that the LibDems didn't put up any opposition against him on either occasion.

Unfortunately, the Tories did and this time round they won. Bastards.

So, what a bust that was. Here's to a hung parliament seeing some good change put through. What? It could happen.

Oh yay. OK, then, one piece of good news: bag of balls David Heathcoat-Amory, 17 years in power, lost his seat in Wells, Somerset. He literally owns this constituency. It was pretty damn satisfying seeing him lose control of it.

Hammers under the hammer in sale of the century

2010-04-27T13:45:00.015+01:00

Roll up, roll up, everything must go, etc. It's the sale of the century and you're all invited to take home a West Ham player of your very own.

I've not held back before in saying that Messrs Gold and Sullivan, owners of West Ham United football club, should keep their noses out of the direct running of the team, including transfers and contracts, and concentrate on keeping the club solvent and wearing purple velvet suits (they really, really do).

I won't hold back now either: they still need to shut up. The Cockney double act's most recent announcement is that, despite surviving the drop and the exodus of players that naturally follows, they will still readily sell any player except midfield talisman Scott Parker.

And the same debt-ridden club has bid £4m for Graham Dorrans of newly-promoted West Brom. O...K.

That's Gold; where's Sullivan?

I could go on again about their clumsy announcements, or the folly in keeping Scott Parker but allowing three England internationals to go, but what I find more interesting here is which clubs could benefit from this West Ham summer sale. My surmisings follow.

Clearly these are not all very likely, and I'd be very surprised if a dozen players leave Upton Park anyway, but certainly some big Premier League names should think about dusting down their chequebooks.

---

ROBERT GREEN TO ARSENAL

Perfect opportunity for Wenger, this. If the Gunners are as cash-strapped as their fans repeatedly profess them to be, they'll need to think small for that much-needed 'keeper (oh, come on, you know Almunia and Fabianski are utter balls).

Green would be a superb signing. Always involved in England's pass-the-parcel approach to the no1 jersey, the 30-year-old has an excellent pair of hands, a decent Premier League pedigree and is more reliable than most England 'keepers (*cough* JamesRobinsonCarson *cough*).

There's longevity to be had too: he may be into his fourth decade now, but 'keepers hang around forever so another shotstopper wouldn't be required for some time.

(Annoyingly, the Metro has now noted this potential move, but I thought of it first, damn it.)

Alternatively: FULHAM. Mark Schwarzer is a top, top 'keeper but he's 37 now and his understudy, Pascal Zuberbuhler, is 39. The Cottagers would love someone a little more, uh, evergreen (sorry).

---

CARLTON COLE TO LIVERPOOL

Bear with me here.

I know what you're thinking: "Really, that carthorse to a Big Four (snigger) club? What are you smoking, where can I get it and does it come with its own 'Amsterdam or Bust' lighter?"

But let's not forget that Carlton Cole, while not the most fashionable of footballers, is a top-quality striker and not far from Fabio Capello's thoughts. I'm a big fan of the ex-Chelsea man, and God knows Liverpool could do with him in their squad.

First up, he's a strong lad who holds the ball up well - the perfect support for Fernando 'Why am I still here?' Torres.

Secondly, even at 26 he has the top-flight experience to counter many of the Reds' younger players' collective lack of nouse.

Thirdly, he can score goals. Without Torres and Gerrard, Liverpool don't find the net easy to...well, find.

Fourthly, he'd be available for under £10 mill, and when you bear in mind Liverpool are apparently without much in the way of transfer funds (something I attribute to spending £35m on Johnson and Aquilani), he'd be a bargain buy.

Lastly, and most importantly, he's better than David bloomin' Ngog.

Alternatively: ASTON VILLA. Because Cole does the same thing Heskey does but he's capable of scoring goals - and Villa's tally this season is some 18 lower than Top Four rivals Manchester City.

---

DANNY GABBIDON TO WIGAN

There's no two ways about it: Wigan need to perform better next season or they're getting relegated.

Magical victories over Chelsea, Liverpool and most recently a self-destructing Arsenal can't, and doesn't, take the edge off the fact that the Latics have been poor.

And the first thing to look at there is their defence. Losing 9-1 to Spurs, 4-0 to relegation battlers Portsmouth and Bolton (not to mention 4-1 to Championship side Blackpool in the Carling Cup) and 5-0 to Manchester United TWICE happens for a reason.

Gabbidon might not be of the same calibre of Matthew Upson, at least in terms of media coverage, but he is a sound defender and would be available on the cheap.

Alternatively: BOLTON (see below).

---

MATTHEW UPSON TO BOLTON

Shit team, shit defence. Many will say Upson could go to a bigger club - Arsenal are rumoured - but having survived this season, Owen Coyle will be looking to take Bolton to mid-table next season. An Upson-Cahill centre-back pairing would be a great foundation - all they'd need then is, y'know, a striker.

Also, whisper it quietly, but I don't think Matthew Upson is very good. A bigger club could do much better.

Alternatively: ARSENAL, apparently. Wouldn't mind playing against a team with Sol Campbell and Upson as centre-backs.

---

JULIEN FAUBERT TO WOLVES

Faubert has been good this year, and as a former Real Madrid player (seriously, how did that happen?) he'll be ambitious at staying in the Premier League.

Wolves are currently playing Ronald Zubar at right-back.

That is all.

---

JONATHAN SPECTOR TO NOTTINGHAM FOREST

Moving into the newcomers, Forest are favourites to win the Championship play-offs and if they do so, they'll want to add to that infamously small squad. Spector, who can play in any position across the back line and in midfield (he used to play up front too) would add useful versatility.

So would Kieran Dyer, but...well...

---

BENNI McCARTHY TO SWANSEA

Oh, shut up. It's not inconceivable that Swansea could be in the Premiership next year, and given that their scoring rate - 40 goals in 45 games - is akin to that of a dying leper in a disco, they'd love a striker with some top-flight experience. McCarthy could give them just that for a season or two.

---

LUIS BOA MORTE TO NEWCASTLE

Slightly clutching at straws now.

---

MIDO TO MANCHESTER UNITED

OK, I give up.

Supergrass Not Superbad

2010-04-13T22:26:00.010+01:00

I was gutted to hear yesterday that erstwhile Britpop survivors (until now) Supergrass have decided to call it a day after 17 years. Busy as I was, it almost consumed my day - I listened to I Should Coco on the walk home from work and remembered how good a debut it was, and would have written this blog last night except I was PLUG a bit PLUG busy writing PLUG this one first.

There's not really much for me to say, either, except that their departure from the scene is a great shame. It's true their star faded a while back - most people I've spoken to thought they'd split years ago - but they kept making good music that was, above all, great fun. Even their deliberately downbeat Road To Rouen had a wonderful sense of mischief about it. Indeed, though they released a considerably happier album a few years later, Road To Rouen was really their finale. It even ended with a song called Fin.

But it was good to know they were still around. And now they're not. All we can do is listen to their lasting classic, In It For The Money - surely the best name for a follow-up album ever, not to mention its opening song and chorus - and remember the good times.

I was going to put a Spotify playlist on here for anyone unacquainted with Gaz, Mick and Danny's (what names) particular brand of joyful guitar pop, but my friend's theory that a greatest hits collection is the best introduction works better for Supergrass than it does most bands. Supergrass Is 10 is an ace party album, if nothing else (and even if it does only have tracks from the first four of their six albums).

Supergrass Is 10: The Best of 94-04

Give it a go. And if you've heard it all before, psht - stick it on shuffle and remember the good times. If you don't like it, well, fine. But fewer bands created such a sense of fun as Supergrass, and for me, that's something music needs on occasion.

Anyway, times change and with a fond, lingering memory, we - fine, I - should move on. Ironically, perhaps, Supergrass put it best themselves way back in 1995, when they closed their debut album with these words:

Thanks to everyone for everything you've done
But now it's time to go
You know it's hard
We've had some fun
But now the moment's come
It's time to go

Who could ask for more?
Who could ask for more?

Oh, it's a damn shame, it really is

2010-04-07T21:38:00.003+01:00

Manchester United 3-2 Bayern Munich (agg 4-4) (Bayern Munich win on away goals)

The first time in four years there haven't been three English teams in the Champions League semi-finals.

The first time in four years there haven't been two English teams in the Champions League semi-finals.

The first time in seven years an English team hasn't been in a Champions League semi-final.

Well, at least people will stop talking about how, Barcelona aside, English teams put their European rivals to shame.

As for Ferguson after the game, I could rant about how disgraceful a human being he is, but instead I'll just remind how Manchester United are the worst culprits for crowding around a referee to get a man sent off and when Bayern Munich do it, his response is "Typical Germans."

The man's an arse.

An entirely justified rant about television

2010-03-30T09:39:00.009+01:00

Last night I found myself watching a much heralded little British film called Happy-Go-Lucky on FilmFour, directed by Mike Leigh of Secrets & Lies and Vera Drake fame. It wasn't very good, to be honest: a pointless non-journey with a terrible script and an incredibly annoying soundtrack (think when Lottery-funded films have 'quirky' scenes). Without stellar performances from Sally Hawkins and the ever-brilliant Eddie Marsan, it would have been a complete waste of everybody's time.

But even though it wasn't going anywhere, I wanted to know what happened at the end. I'd been sitting through this film for two and a bit hours waiting for something to happen (caveat: a film can be good, even brilliant, without anything happening; it's just that this was not an example) and finally it was petering out to an inevitably saccharine conclusion. Still, I wanted to hear what the final words were. It's the end of a film, isn't it? Of course you do.

Then, over the final scene: "And next on FilmFour, blah di blah di blah di fucking blah."

What? You're joking, right? Now? Right now? Over the final words of the film?

But no - it happened, and in the film's closing scene. Not over the credits, which immediately followed. Over the film itself. The last bit we heard, after the voiceover, was two characters laughing. What were they laughing about? I don't know.

This is absolutely inexcusable. In fact, it's unthinkable. Further than that, it's mental. Completely, utterly mental. I can't think of any way of justifying this argument because, surely, surely, it's just so bloody obvious. YOU DON'T TALK OVER THE END OF A FILM. Even I know that, and I used to talk over films all the time.

And yet this isn't even the worst example of plugging the next show during the current one. On Christmas Day, I was watching one of the many millions of A Christmas Carol adaptations that always turn up. In fact, through circumstance more than judgement, I think I watched four or five that year. Patrick Stewart, Jim Carrey, Michael Caine and the muppets, the cracking Alistair Sim...thank Dickens I was saved from the Kelsey Grammar musical shocker.

ANYWAY, the film was drawing to its close and we all know what's going to happen. Still, we've had 90 minutes of misery and here comes the big ending, right? The closing speech in which we find that Scrooge went on to be a good man and Tiny Tim, who did not die, etc. etc. etc.

Nope.

"And next on BBC1, blah di blah di FUCKING BLAH BLAH."

Unbelievable. I mean that. I couldn't believe it. It's not just one of the most famous endings of all time in any medium, it's the whole point of the fucking story. It's the fucking moral. What the HELL is a child meant to take from that film without the final monologue? Did Tiny Tim die? They'll never know, but at least they'll know that Sue Barker's wearing Christmas holly for a predictably shit seasonal edition of Question of fucking Sport.

This has to be stopped. Now. If you're running late (these weren't) and have to - HAVE TO - talk over the credits, do it. But you don't talk over the end of a film. You just don't. I mean...that's it. No argument here. You just don't.

This says a lot about society, I think. We find ourselves accepting this And next week on Huw Davies' Week Spot, your not-so-intrepid occasional blogger rants about the BNP and asks, how can we let ourselves be in such a position that this party can exist? Make sure you stay tuned to www.weekspotblog.com for intellectual discussion end up dying in a fucking sewer with pokers in our eyeballs.

Oh, it makes me mad.

A predictable apology and some other words

2010-03-24T17:05:00.013Z

*tumbleweed*

Look, I'm sorry. I am. I really am. But what with jobbing, blogging once or twice a week over here and moving house and indeed city, I'm struggling to find the time to visit this dusty corner of the web.

It's a shitter, really. There's so much I want to comment about in all areas of the news, but it inevitably ends up instead on my Twitter account, sandwiched between football ramblings and rants at Neighbours.

Today: the Budget. I'd love to talk about it in more detail, but I've become so innured to 140 characters that -

Sorry. Old joke. The Budget was fascinating, but more for students of politics than of economics. The main talking point, really, is Alistair Darling's decision to axe Stamp Duty on first-time home buyers spending less than £250,000 on their property. Seeing as it's currently 1% of the property value, it'll probably save them around £2,000. Good stuff. Not quite as good, obviously, for the owners of million-pound homes, who are seeing their Stamp Duty rise 5%.

That'll be 5%, please

It's a move that sees Labour move to their traditionalist roots...oh, come on, we know that's bollocks. It's an appeal to their core voters, that's all, but what did you expect in a pre-election Budget? It's interesting, though, that penalising well-off southerners in the commuter belt whose homes have ballooned in value through no fault of their own may cost Labour as many votes as they win through helping first-time homeowners - who, by the way, won't be as poor as all that, since the move affects properties worth between £125,000 and £250,000. Basically, mummy and daddy's mansion tax pays for their first step towards their own mansion. What's that song? We are all bourgeois now?

Still, this Stamp Duty move will probably end up a votewinner rather than a voteloser, which is more than you can say for David Cameron's efforts with Gay Times. If you wanted proof the only principle this man has is that he should win the election, there you go. "What's my stance on gay people again? Wait, I know this one. Turn the camera off, let me get my crib sheet..."

Cameron: direct (well, not really)

So in conclusion, I'm rubbish, Cameron's rubbish, the Budget happened and if you are reading this, thanks for sticking with me. Now I'm settled, almost unpacked and actually have the internet at home, I can start blogging on here a bit more often than once every Twilight film.

I'm back, I promise, and I'll start....oh, next week sometime.

The Also-Rans Midweek Kickabout

2010-02-19T11:17:00.003Z

What a week of European football. Controversial goals, controversial free kicks, controversial controversy. Also, inside sources reveal some English bloke played for Milan against Manchester United, but goodness knows why they think that’s important.

Nope, it’s the Premier League that’s really intriguing me, and specifically the chat about a fourth-place play-off for that final Champions League spot. Is it a good idea?

In short, no. Shorter, N. The only way I could making this even briefer would be to punch the original exponent of the idea in the face.

Putting aside the argument that 38 games should be enough to decide the standings without the need for a play-off, it’s utterly ridiculous that a team finishing seventh, potentially some 20 points behind fourth, could play in the damn CHAMPIONS LEAGUE. It’s absurd enough that a team finishing fourth can. At least change the name of the tournament to ‘The Also-Rans Midweek Kickabout’ or something.

The play-off idea really might happen. For it to go any further, 14 of the league’s 20 teams need to back the idea, which is interesting considering 14 of the league’s 20 teams won’t be in any way affected. Predictably, those in favour include Martin O’Neill (Aston Villa are seventh) and those against include Rafa Benitez and Arsene Wenger (Liverpool fifth; Arsenal third).

It seems almost too obvious that the final spot shouldn’t go to fourth at all but the FA Cup winners, opening the race for a Champions League place wider than a play-off would and giving the tournament more importance. Hell, play tiddlywinks for the spot if you have to. Just don’t give it to fourth.

None of the contenders even want fourth, it seems. The best teams drop points now and then, but even as a fan you have to ask the question: based on this season, do any of Liverpool, Manchester City, Spurs or Aston Villa really deserve to rank alongside Europe’s league champions? Really?

'Broken Britain' - a broken claim

2010-02-05T20:58:00.003Z

But don't listen to me - listen to them!

The Economist has produced a superb piece featuring some fascinating statistics on the claims behind 'Broken Britain' - teenage pregnancies, a rise in alcohol consumption, etc. In short, they're not true.

So read it - please. At least look at the pictures. Enlightening or reinforcing - either way, they're important.

Sorry, that's all you're getting from me. There's nothing I could add that can't be summarised by calling the Conservative Party a bag o' wankers.

Many thanks to the excellent exclarotive for bringing this to my attention.

Capello Bridges the gap

2010-01-31T10:15:00.005Z

I know Fabio Capello is a clever, clever man, but I'm not sure this is the mark of a strong leader.

And by that I mean Capello, not Terry. We all know about the Chelsea cheater's indiscretions, and the debate over whether he should be stripped as captain. It's not an unreasonable argument: dressing room harmony is so important in the build-up to a World Cup, and acting like you're on Hollyoaks doesn't help things.

Personally, I'm amused that Terry's target was the partner of Wayne Bridge, of all people - one Vanessa Perroncel. In terms of fame, she's not exactly Victoria Beckham or Cheryl Cole, is she? It smacks of bullying to me, as if Terry is the loudmouth jock in an American teen film, boasting he can lay the geek's girlfriend at the drop of a thong.

Also, the concerns over a void at left-back if Cole is injured and Bridge resigns shouldn't be too hyped. It'll give the talented Stephen Warnock a chance.

But back to the Telegraph article: should it be left up to Wayne Bridge, the man so wronged in this affair, to decide whether Terry should be dropped as captain? Bridge, a man whose own place in the starting XI is totally reliant on Ashley Cole's fitness? Bridge, a man who is easily one of the least integral members of the squad? Asking the ex-team mate to decide his captain's fate is arguably fairest, but it doesn't seem the most professional of moves by Capello. You need to take charge and be firm.

The Telegraph suggests that for better or worse, the final word will rest with Bridge. If Terry wants to keep that armband, he'd better hope his team mate decides it's water under the Bridge.

Ugh, sorry.

...but was she raped?

2010-01-13T14:26:00.008Z

Five men have been cleared of raping a woman after it emerged she had spoken online about group sex fantasies.

But was she raped?

The 24-year-old from Liverpool claimed she was raped after visiting one of the men at his home in Bolton, after making contact on the internet.

But the trial at Preston Crown Court collapsed when computer evidence was produced showing her entertaining the prospect of group sex.

But was she raped?

Judge Robert Brown ordered the jury to return not guilty verdicts.

Why? Because she had group sex fantasies? I don't know the ins and outs of the case (sorry) but I know group sex fantasies aren't rape fantasies. Was she raped?

[Prosecutor Michael Leeming] formally offered no evidence after reading excerpts of MSN chatlogs of her conversations before the alleged offence.

He said: "It is right to say that there is material in the chatlogs from the complainant, who is prepared to entertain ideas of group sex with strangers, where to use her words 'her morals go out of the window'."

Right, OK. Although that's not to say what other people's morals might be, out of the window or otherwise. It's not a case of matching morals here - rape is still immoral, even if the victim is too. So it still matters: was she raped?

The woman said she had agreed to visit Mr Owolabi after meeting him on MSN.

She alleged she wanted to just have sex with him, but was then raped by the others.

Judge Brown told the jury: "This case depended on the complainant's credibility.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, her credibility was shot to pieces."

Fine. Credibility is important in an accusation. But what about evidence? The prosecutor decided "it would not be appropriate to offer any evidence" after the revelation of his client's desire for group sex.

The law of innocent until proven guilty means the right decision has been made in light of evidence not being presented. But if the only reason it was not presented was because the prosecutor knew his client had slim chance of winning the case due to her reputation being in doubt, this is deeply worrying. I just hope he knows something we don't (i.e. that the alleged victim is lying); otherwise, a victim's quest for justice has failed purely because of incredibly flimsy non-evidence.

Because it doesn't matter if she'd entertained group sex fantasies or even rape fantasies before the alleged incident. All that matters is -

Was she raped?

Albums Of The Decade: #1

2009-12-31T12:08:00.009Z

So, farewell then, the 2000s. It's been a good decade, if you ignore all the shit stuff.

Before #1 - this.

I won't go into all the albums that nearly made this list, but a couple of absentees have grabbed my attention. So please let's charge our glasses to Absent Friends. No, not the album at #7; the albums that didn't make it. Apologies to:

- Re-releases etc. I know fully enhanced mixes of older recordings are being put out like fires in a flame factory, but I refuse to count them as new albums. Except, of course, the Love reworkings of Beatles tracks, but that's not in there just because I don't love it. Kudos to the people who made it, though. KUDOS.

- Classical music. I won't pretend to know who's new on the scene, but I do really like Katherine Jenkins' Living A Dream. You can all throw things at me now.

- Hip-hop/rap/grime/etc. Oh, I don't fucking know, OK? Honourable mentions (I know these artists are very different; I'm just lumping them all together): Boy In Da Corner by Dizzee Rascal; The Red Light District by Ludacris; Original Pirate Material by The Streets.

- Messiah J & The Expert. See above; an artist in and around the above genres that I very nearly included. I'm a big fan of their album Now This I Have To Hear, and not just for its album cover, but they were squeezed out when I, uh, released I'd picked 31 albums instead of 30. Damn you, Cat Power! Lingering in the back of my mind and not on my spreadsheet...

- The year 2002. Looking through my selection, there's a lot from the start of the decade (11 of the 30 were released in 2000 or 2001), yet nothing at all from 2002. I feel a good year is being a bit hard done by, so off the top of my head, in no particular order, here are ten very good albums released in that year: Original Pirate Material by The Streets; Sea Change by Beck; American IV by Johnny Cash; Melody AM by Röyksopp; Souljacker by Eels; Come With Us by The Chemical Brothers; Life On Other Planets by Supergrass; Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots by The Flaming Lips; Come Away With Me by Norah Jones; and Highly Evolved by The Vines. 2002, I salute you.

If I could have written the list again, yes, I would have done it to bring music and joy to people's ears, no, I wouldn't have done it because it took more time out of my life than I expected, and no, I wouldn't have included Lemon Jelly either.

And so for number 1 - the Album of the Decade. Call me predictable; I call it perfect.

---------

Rings Around The World - Super Furry Animals [2001]

Perfect. Completely perfect. It's annoying, actually, because I know I can't write a review to do it justice.

I know I'm not the most creative, but I can't think of a way in which this album could be improved. Even the opening and weakest track Alternate Route To Vulcan Street has grown on me that much. It's a slice of serenity interspersed with explosions. Only the Furries could make that work.

Ostensibly an album about technology and progress, Rings Around The World - a mesmerising and damn cool concept in its own right - muses about a Revelations-style armageddon, brought on by humanity's desperate desire to move quickly, no matter in what direction.

But it has time to diverge into religious fundamentalism (the brilliant epic Run! Christian, Run!: "Bang on the hour of 12, to a forest clearing we'll delve, with guns to our heads for we know that Heaven awaits us"), rising house prices (the sublime Juxtaposed With U, originally intended as a duet between Brian Harvey and Bobby Brown) and, brilliantly, the Bill Clinton-Monica Lewinsky affair (Presidential Suite: "Honestly, do we need to know if he really came inside her mouth?"). It's a diverse album, to say the least.

Not least in its sound. After the unsubtle and goshdarnit fun Britrock of their first two LPs, experimentation with Guerrilla and Welsh-language jazz in Mwng, Rings sees the Furries delve into their more natural home of laid-back orchestral pop for the first time.

In doing this, many bands could have slipped into a musical coma, but SFA are wiser to it, largely because they get bored quite easily. So, Sidewalk Serfer Girl is a juddering slammer of a song, juxtaposing (sorry) gentle folkish guitar with thumping guitar chords on its way to a strangely heartwarming chorus - heartwarming in its tenderness; strange in that it comes in a song about comas, famine and bungee jumping.

The title track is simple, no-nonsense stuff, but then it's also the song that first got me into SFA and as such, a personal favourite. In fact, it's one of my favourite songs ever. Sounding the whole way through like a warm-up into a bigger song, it also hits its stride from the off and finds a refrain to stay in your head until you die. Nice video, too.

Fan favourite and live masterpiece Receptacle For The Respectable is almost as fantastic, skipping between genres like they're on a hopscotch pattern. From pop to swing to metal, it sweeps you up and away before throwing you nosedeep into one of the best miniature techno instrumentals you'll hear, [A] Touch Sensitive (another great song title).

Oh, I could go on. The brilliance of folk ballad-turned-industrial rave No Sympathy. The video to It's Not The End Of The World?. The beautiful build-up of Shoot Doris Day, which transformed in my mind from average to extraordinary in a couple of listens (it's a microcosm of the whole album in that it's a grower; if you don't like it straight off, you'll love it later). Even Paul McCartney turning up on Receptacle For The Respectable chewing celery down the phone in an homage to the Beach Boys (well, why not?)

But I won't. I sense the job's not done, but that's because I'm writing about an album that must be listened to. So listen to it. Now. Lush in sound, intelligent in words, fun in spirit and imbued with a fragile happiness, it's probably the best thing made this decade.

Spotify link.

Thanks for reading, if you did. If you didn't...well, you're not reading this.

Come back tomorrow, next year as I begin my daily countdown of the 365 Best Songs Ever Written.

Albums Of The Decade: #2 (irritating lack of music within)

2009-12-30T19:26:00.009Z

Love And Theft - Bob Dylan [2001]

To release your 31st studio album is pretty impressive. To still be touring 300 days of the year aged 60 is quite an achievement too. To use those rare days off to record one of the best albums you've ever made in a 40-year career is just plain extraordinary.

And it is. It really, really is. With no exaggeration, I would genuinely place Love And Theft in a top five - even top three - list of Bob Dylan albums, with the legendary likes of The Freewheelin' and Bringing It All Back Home.

Dear God, it's a good record. Where to start? Dylan opts for Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum, a song that sets the tone and pace of the album with a rolling, rollicking delta blues rhythm. It's not the strongest song on the album, but it's great fun.

The desperate regret of Mississippi provides a superb follow-up, creating intrigue and empathy in the bars of an easygoing melody. Then Elvis takes over for Summer Days, at least if the opening guitar riff is anything to go by - except Elvis didn't reach 60 in time to sing:

Well, I'm drivin' in the flats in a Cadillac car
The girls all say, "You're a worn-out star"
My pockets are loaded and I'm spending every dime
How can you say you love someone else when you know it's me all the time?

Teasing lyrics aside, Summer Days also shows off the work of David Kemper, easily the best drummer to accompany Dylan since Mick Jones in the '60s. His effect on the album is inestimable: while almost every one of Dylan's backing musicians is content to sit back and just be present, Kemper seems to have demanded to drive the songs, setting a frantic upbeat rhythm and pounding miniature drum solos. The rhythm changes on the sublime Cry A While are to be admired as well as enjoyed, as are its autobiographically ironic promise, "I'll die before I turn senile" and bitter opening words:

Well, I had to go down and see a guy named Mr. Goldsmith
A nasty, dirty, double-crossin', back-stabbin' phony I didn't want to have to be dealin' with
But I did it for you
And all you gave me was a smile

Kemper's efforts can also be heard very much in full flow on High Water (For Charley Patton), which is quite simply Dylan's best song since the '70s. Hell, it's one of his best songs ever. Apocalyptic and doom-laden, it's pure perfection and also proof positive Dylan should involve the fella on the banjo much more often.

With a thumping bass drum, tambourine and deathrattle groans for backing vocals, High Water is musically stunning. It transfixes you. Indeed, it's so good the whole of the Richard Gere/Billy The Kid segment of the film I'm Not There appears to have been made just so this song could be included. Then you have Dylan's typically marvellous scene-setting, of course:

They got Charles Darwin trapped out there on Highway 5
Judge says to the High Sheriff, "I want him dead or alive.
"Either one - I don't care."
High water everywhere

Thanks to its rhythm and blues tone and often mischievous lyrics ("You say my eyes are pretty and my smile is nice / I'll sell them to you at a reduced price"), there's a tremendous sense of toe-tapping fun on the record - see Lonesome Day Blues and the riff-laden Honest With Me for two more excellent examples - but it's deeper than it may appear. Bye And Bye is much sadder on second listen, while Sugar Baby is particularly mournful and particularly brilliant too.

As for Dylan's love-it-or-hate-it singing voice, he finally seems to have found the husky old-timer's hushed whisper he's always wanted. Since the age of 21 he's done an impression of an old man with a whisky-sozzled blues croak; now he has it, it sounds damn good.

What with Love And Theft, modern classic Modern Times, the even better Together Through Life (in which his vocals hit their absolute best) and his incomparable Christmas album, this decade has turned out to be pretty fruitful for Dylan fans. Here's to another.

Spotify, you're really not impressing me at the moment - less, even, than YouTube, which has NO videos of songs from this album in their original arrangement (Dylan fucks about with them live).

Tomorrow: the album of the decade, revealed on its last day. Gasp in shock! Choke in horror! Roll your eyes in indifference!

Albums Of The Decade: #3

2009-12-29T19:42:00.009Z

The Sophtware Slump - Grandaddy [2000]

I, like at least three other people, was actually very sad when Grandaddy announced their split a few years ago. They've made some damn good records in their time - 2003's Sumday is well worth a listen or four - but no better than this, their defining opus, The Sophtware Slump.

The album is often called an American OK Computer, which really doesn't do it justice. Yes, the two are similar in handling the concept of technology: as the self-explanatory Broken Household Appliance National Forest demonstrates, The Sophtware Slump sees Grandaddy at the height of their 'Won't somebody think of the machines?' distress. But it's so much more than an imitation of a much more successful band; in fact, comparing it to OK Computer possibly does it something of a disservice. Besides, in sound it has more in common with Neutral Milk Hotel's In The Aeroplane Over The Sea.

Bookending The Sophtware Slump are two earth-shatteringly beautiful songs, albeit beautiful in very different ways. He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's The Pilot, opening track, nine-minute single and the true triumph in Grandaddy's career, is a truly wonderful epic split into three parts. After a stuttering intro, the long-awaited chord on 1:19 is somehow one of the most heartwarming sounds put to record. Then "I believe they want you to give in" and the melancholy layered vocal refrains carrying you through to the end. It's wondrous.

At the other end of the scale and tracklisting, So You'll Aim Toward The Sky sweeps you up into the clouds with a soaring string arrangement and plink-plonk piano, before landing you back in the real world with a bump as the album finishes with the whisper, "Good luck." Shame that luck never held out for Grandaddy.

Other standouts include simple rocker Hewlett's Daughter, even simpler rocker Chartsengrafs, the more complex and mesmerising Miner At The Dial-A-View and Jed's Other Poem (Beautiful Ground), a low-key number with a superb tune and playful lyrics:

You said I'd wake up dead drunk alone in the park
I called you a liar
But how right you were
I try to sing it funny like Beck but it's bringing me down
Lower than ground
Beautiful ground

And this is not to mention The Crystal Lake, a brilliant single if ever there was one. Simultaneously miserable and uplifting, it's an absolute cracker. "Should never have left the crystal lake for areas where trees are fake and dogs are dead with broken hearts, collapsing by the coffee carts," sings Jason Lytle over looping synths and crashing guitars.

The whole of The Sophtware Slump conjures one of the most unexpectedly potent images imaginable: a desolate world of broken machines, backward men and rotting countryside. It's one hell of an sight.

So is this album placed this high on the list because of posthumous nostalgia, just as everyone raved that much more about Heath Ledger's performance as The Joker? I'd like to think not. The Sophtware Slump is an alternative classic of the turning millennium, that should be listened to in decades to come. It is sad Grandaddy are gone, but they did leave us with this: an utterly beautiful record - no more, no less.

Spotify link.

Post #100. Or: Albums Released This Decade What I Kinda Like A Lot #4

2009-12-28T18:00:00.009Z

'O Brother, Where Art Thou?' The Soundtrack - Various Artists [2000]

The record that launched a thousand careers.

This compilation, soundtrack to what I personally think is the most perfect film ever made (but let's put that aside for now because that's another list no one will agree with), collected the finest crafters of folk and bluegrass the world has to offer, and in return for their rewarding viewers and listeners with unbelievably good music, rewarded these masters of their art with recognition not before known or appreciated.

Sorry, that was a sentence more unnecessarily long than Nelson Mandela's. Heigh-o!

Legends such as Alison Krauss (God, I love her voice), Gillian Welch and even Emmylou Harris do feature, it's true, but it was wonderful to see some appreciation for producer T-Bone Burnett, Dan Tyminski and, yes, Ralph Stanley. On his 75th birthday, he sang O Death - a capella - at the 44th Grammy Awards. I'm sorry, but I just find that unbelievable. In retrospect, it's a miracle Kanye West didn't turn up promising to let them finish but first adding by gum, Bob Dylan was robbed.

Yes, Dylan lost out to the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack for Album of the Year. I imagine he was very happy about it, actually. Fellow losing nominees OutKast and U2 (hah!) were probably less thrilled.

The award, and Stanley's, were just two of five Grammies won by the record - and deservedly, fully deservedly.

Anyone who knows the Coen brothers' films know they care deeply about their soundtracks, and each song fits its moment in the film perfectly, but it works so well in its own right too. To hear modern legends recreate classic bluegrass songs and make them their own is no less than incredible in effect.

Highlights? Ooh, not easy. The Soggy Bottom Boys' acoustic and full band recordings of Man Of Constant Sorrow both go down as classic versions of the song, and rightfully so, thanks to Tyminski's artful arrangement and damn fine singing.

The aforementioned O Death is another fantastic song, crooned with such fragility by Ralph Stanley it's like hearing his soul be ripped apart with his ageing body. But, y'know, more cheerful. Stanley also turns up on album and film closer Angel Band, which is just bloody lovely.

What else? Down To The River To Pray and Didn't Leave Nobody But The Baby are much-admir'd thanks to Alison Krauss' involvement, and they are both beautiful renditions, but credit must also go to Chris Thomas King for his heartbreaking version of Hard Time Killing Floor Blues.

John Hartford is responsible for two gorgeous string-laden instrumentals, there's a brilliant rare 1920s recording in Harry McClintock's Big Rock Candy Mountain (corking song) and actor Tim Blake Nelson has a more than decent stab at In The Jailhouse Now. Give that man a recording contract.

To be honest, there's only one recording on this 19-track album I would call any less than wonderful, and that's because it's excruciating - three pre-teen girls murdering In The Highways. Still, they're young. I'll forgive them.

What an album. What bluegrass. What gospel. What brilliance.

So I suppose the final question is: does this count? I wasn't going to include the album on my list because I wasn't sure if a soundtrack created by various artists should be included on an albums of the decade list. But then I took away the rules and thought about it simply: it's one of the best records of the decade. Simple as that.

How nice. My 100th post on this silly little blog, set up well over a year ago, and I get to celebrate my favourite film as well as one of my favourite albums.

Tomorrow, I'll probably pick the Being John Malkovich soundtrack (does it have one?) just so I can drone on endlessly about the film.

Spotify link.

Albums Of The Decade: #5

2009-12-27T11:49:00.008Z

Howl - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club [2005]

Where the hell did this come from?

After two albums with good singles but on the whole worthy of the description 'not bad', a pretty decent but by no means special rock band suddenly delved deep into their hearts, found their inner blues, which I don't think anyone thought existed in them, and pulled out a bloody stunner of a record. As I said: where the hell did this come from?

The title says it all. Howl is raw to the core. It's a cry of justice, injustice and misery. It's, well, a howl.

I'm born and weary but life's just begun
And I've run from the reasons and roamed to the gun
They say I'm the killer and thy will be done
And the doors won't be open when I finally become
And I've seen the battle and I've seen the war
And the life out here is the life I've been sold

The best moments come in the number of acoustic tracks that simply bleed soul. These are not just quiet remedies for those bored of the relentlessly happy, but whole tragic worlds created in a three-minute guitar lick (the drummer and bassist have very much been given leave for this album). Restless Sinner is particularly good, while Devil's Waitin', quoted above, is no less than haunting.

It could be said there's a lack of invested feeling in observant third-person ballads such as Restless Sinner - though I don't agree; it's a brilliant song with wonderful guitar work - but that never hurt Dylan, and if it's personal emotion you want, look no further than Fault Line. With copious amounts of harmonica, that most underrated of instruments, and a refrain of "Racing with the rising tide to my father's door", it's really quite moving.

But it's not all one-paced: Shuffle Your Feet, all handclaps and bottleneck guitar, and Ain't No Easy Way, one of the few indie singles of late to feature an instrumental mouth organ chorus, raise the tempo and are both absolute stompers in their own right. They provide a perfectly judged antidote to the bittersweet laments of the rest of the album's noose-fearing gospel.

It is, quite literally given their previous guitar anthem dreams, an incredible modern blues album.

And yet no one else seems to think so. From the universally acclaimed Since I Left You yesterday to the largely deplored Howl today, it's a bit of a fall. But I don't care.

This is gem of an album. What a shame that as soon as they could, BRMC went back to their old rocky road. But at least we are left with this - Howl.

No Spotify link because Spotify doesn't have this album. It's all on YouTube, though - give it a listen.

Albums Of The Decade: #6

2009-12-26T20:22:00.006Z

Since I Left You - The Avalanches [2000]

Truly a breakthrough in the world of dance music

- PopMatters

It's downright shocking how fun this is

- The Austin Chronicle

Please, for the love of God, check out Since I Left You

- Drowned in Sound

There's little doubt to Since I Left You's status as one of the most intimate and emotional dance records that isn't vocal-based

- Allmusic

Quite possibly the best sample record ever made

- The Onion AV Club

A masterpiece

- Pitchfork

Yeah, it's good, innit?

From the opening chords of Since I Left You to the final refrain, "I tried but I just can't get you, since the day I left you" it's gloriously joyful and about as close to perfection as an improvised record made from 9000-odd samples can be.

Fuck YOU, Lemon Jelly.

Get a drink, have a good time now. Welcome to paradise

Spotify link.

Albums Of The Decade: #7

2009-12-24T21:25:00.006Z

Absent Friends - The Divine Comedy [2004]

Beautiful; intelligent; haunting.

After his decision to 'go straight' with Regeneration, it was with open arms that I welcomed the real Neil Hannon back to the stage. He's complained before that Regeneration is an underrated album, but it's completely the other way round. Fans love it. Critics love it. And it's fucking awful.

I agree the overblown scores and comedy sound effects of Fin de Siècle et al undermine Hannon's brilliant, clever, gently comic lyrics, but Regeneration made the music boring and the lyrics worse. There's a song in which he lists things he's lost. The whole album's neither funny nor deep. It's horrific.

The superb Absent Friends, then, made me breathe such a sigh of relief I blew away a small child.

But the thing to remember about Neil Hannon as a lyricist is that he's actually bloody miserable. Tell anyone you're a Divine Comedy fan and they sing National Express at you (it's really annoying); they don't know he's made nine albums, each more depressing than the last.

And in Absent Friends, he found the music to fit the words. To fully express every minutiae of sadness in its core, a full orchestra with string-led melodies are used to perfection, although Hannon still lacked the confidence to really pull off his massive orchestral gigs at the Royal Albert Hall and the Palladium (though the second half and encore of the latter is excellent).

But in Absent Friends, it's a perfect fit - chamber pop at its very best. Case in point: Sticks And Stones, with its stabbing cello and sweeping violins. The song absolutely soars. It's also hard to dislike a song that begins, "You and I go together like the molar and the drill." The title track is another cracker, uplifting and melancholy at the same time.

Hannon knows when to show restraint with his instruments, though: My Imaginary Friend is a quiet, friendly, banjo-led ditty very much in the middle of the road, but it's so utterly lovely you'd be a bastard to hate it.

The same goes for album closer Charmed Life, which, being a sugary sweet tribute to his young daughter, should by all rights be awful. But it's not. So there.

Let's not go around thinking this is happy happy fun times though. Leaving Today, about leaving his family behind, is a heartbreaker of pure misery. Musically, it's no less than haunting. Lyrically: "So suddenly awake," it begins. "No light through yonder window breaks. No crowing cock; just my old clock...."

Our Mutual Friend - definite emphasis on friends in this album - is the true standout, however. Listen to it. From the opening confession, "No matter how I try I just can't get her out of my mind" to its shattering conclusion (via the lovely throwaway line, "I woke up the next day all alone but for a headache), it involves you completely, and every individual line is perfect. The scene is so beautifully set, it's impossible not to feel for the speaker when it closes.

Sad, observant and wryly comic, Absent Friends is the album to give Divine Comedy fans hope. Can't wait for the new album.

Sorry, that was a terrible review of a wonderful record. Please listen to at least a bit of it. Merry Christmas! I'll be back with #6 on Boxing Day. Until then, here's a present, made around the release of this album:

Spotify link.

Albums Of The Decade: #8

2009-12-23T14:38:00.005Z

Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not - Arctic Monkeys [2006]

Yawn. Sigh. Predictable.

There's nothing to say about this album that hasn't already been said, so I'll just summarise: Alex Turner is genuinely one of the finest lyricists of the 21st century. Being able to write with such skill aged only 19 makes him an absolutely massive cunt.

And that's all I have to say on the matter.

Spotify link

Albums Of The Decade: #9

2009-12-22T15:05:00.010Z

La Peste - Alabama 3 [2000]

Sorry.

The good thing, I suppose, is that in knowing I'll never justify this selection to anyone who takes their music seriously, I can write pretty much whatever I want about it.

But I do want naysayers to know this - it's not a comedy record. I've heard, and detested, enough comedy records to know that. The tongue that was planted so firmly in cheek for their brilliant debut Exile On Coldharbour Lane (at least listen to the first track, Converted, before you judge it) is still there in La Peste, but as the title and cover sleeve suggest, it's a darker and much more serious album, more likely to draw on the absurdism of Albert Camus than take the piss out of the orchestrator of the Jonestown Massacre, as they did in their debut.

It's true that Alabama 3 have since lost sight of their original goal. They've gone MOR; 'sold out' into Midwestern country-pop. Setting aside 2005 release Outlaw, which is really rather good, it's not that bad an idea to pretend they stopped making music after their first two albums.

So, for that reason and the fact it's bloody marvellous, La Peste should be remembered. Whether it's the opus that defines their career or whether that honour belongs to Exile On Coldharbour Lane depends on how much you like your gospel, but even the most pretentious of tryhards should at least give this album a go. You never know. There might be a guilty pleasure within.

La Peste certainly starts brilliantly. Too Sick To Pray is actually, just, wow. Not always have the band succeeded in effortlessly blending their yin and yang of blues and techno - that "sweet country acid house music" - but Too Sick To Pray sees them on fire. The spirit of Hank Williams is more present than the first verse's namedrop, inspiring lyrics of defiant deathbed faith as the music spirals into a perfect mesh of slide guitar and 21st-century (ish) production.

The pace doesn't let up with Mansion On The Hill, one of Alabama 3's shortest and most dance-influenced efforts. There's not a whole lot of religion in a song about housebreaking, but it's hard not to enjoy a shouted refrain of "The meek ain't gon' inherit SHIT."

There's some very nice balladry, too, in Dylan-referencing Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlife and Walking In My Sleep, which, once you get past the oddly off-form rambling of The Very Reverend Dr D Wayne Love (aka Jake Black) at the start, shows itself to be a downbeat little corker. Larry Love/Rob Spragg's hushed vocals have, at this stage of his life, hit the perfect blues pitch, croaky while still intact and filled with both frailty and venom. The first line is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

From there, it's a bizarre but splendid mix of acid raves (Cocaine Killed My Community) and whisky-fuelled country ballads (The Thrills Have Gone), plus a fantastic slice of good old-fashioned Christian rock - never thought I'd ever use those words in a positive light - in the sublime Wade Into The Water. Admittedly, the breakdown house cover of The Eagles' Hotel California may have been ill-advised. Some fans swear by it, but it is pretty bloody awful.

It's the only bad track on a funking great album, though. You couldn't ask for a much better finish than bible-bashing 2129, lyrically depraved techno thumper Strange and Rime Of The Ancient Mariner tribute Sinking..., which ends with a wonderful Beatles-esque horn outro and singalong of "It's gonna be all right." Quality.

I think La Peste is a great, great album.

Sorry.

Spotify link

Albums Of The Decade: #10

2009-12-21T17:00:00.007Z

Icky Thump - The White Stripes [2007]

By ’ick, we’re into the Top Ten.

Most of these end-of-decade lists have had a White Stripes record or two numbered in their ranks – clearly they’re an ‘important’ band (hmm) – and in that respect mine is no different.

However, unlike the others I’ve not chosen the admittedly impressive Elephant (2003), the deeply flawed but intermittently excellent White Blood Cells (2001), or even fan favourite De Stijl (2000). Nope, I’m plumping for this baby, Meg and Jack’s sixth outing and in my view, their most accomplished to date.

There are so many good songs on Icky Thump it’s hard to know where to begin. The quite phenomenally good acoustic closing number Effect And Cause? The exhilarating country-rock merriment of You Don’t Know What Love Is? The bottleneck blues mix of Dylan and Led Zeppelin on 300mph Torrential Outpour Blues? There’s not a bad track in sight.

It seems the Detroit duo still haven’t come home to roost: after embracing English culture and recording studios with their two previous records, Icky Thump, despite the bastardisation of Mrs. Jack White’s Lancastrian exclamation ‘Hecky thump’ in the title, has more of a Celtic lilt to it. Look no further than Jim Drury’s bagpipes mid-record, which fit far better than they have any right to.

It’s not the only inspiration from leftfield: I’m Slowly Turning Into You was born from a music video. Michel Gondry directed a video with no backing, then Jack wrote the song to it. How, then, it came to be one of the best songs on the album I have no idea.

Lyrically, Icky Thump shows The White Stripes to be a touch more mature than in previous efforts. Reminiscing about school and adolescence is gone in favour of political pokery (“Americans – what, nothing better to do? Why don’t you kick yourself out? You’re an immigrant too”) and, in the superb blues song Effect And Cause, wry observations on blame-casting in a break-up:

I ain’t sayin’ I’m innocent – in fact, the reverse
But if you’re headed to the grave you don’t blame the hearse
You’re like a little girl yelling at her brother ’cos you lost his ball

The strange thing, and best thing, about Icky Thump is how it is simultaneously like their old records – specifically their 1999 self-titled debut, all garage punk riffs and covers of blues songs – while ploughing a new furrow, toying with longer songs and instruments new to the band. For while the experiments earn their place, one of the undisputed highlights is simple rock cruncher Little Cream Soda. It’s loud in exactly the right way.

After the piano pop disappointment of Get Behind Me Satan, it’s also heartening to hear a return for Jack’s incredible electric guitar skills. There are solos aplenty, but it’s not self-indulgent; indeed, on I’m Slowly Turning Into You Jack hides a virtuoso solo behind a vocal outro.

Catch Hell Blues is the closest you’ll get to guitar-wank, with White basically having a good time on a slide guitar for four minutes. Naturally he’s very good, but the whole effect isn’t as bluesy as you feel he would like. Still a good song though.

It’s an album of instant hits (even shy ballad A Martyr For My Love For You is ripped up into an uplifting rocker), which is why I find it odd they released Conquest as a single, the mariachi-punk cover of Patti Page’s classic. It’s hardly the White Stripes at their best, even if it is great fun.

Quibbles all. Icky Thump is a fantastic record – surely The White Stripes’ best in my opinion, even if no one shares that view – and it would be nice, really, if Jack White stopped fucking around and got on with making the follow-up.

Spotify link

Albums Of The Decade: #11

2009-12-20T21:44:00.009Z

Phantom Power - Super Furry Animals [2003]

Well, for the millions of you reading this, I'm sure my #11 will be something of an anticlimax after this. What a story. I feel overshadowed.

Phantom Power is a wonderful record from start to finish. For a 10-song concept album in which every song used D-A-D-D-A-D tuning - surely the worst idea for a concept album ever - to be turned into a 14-song masterpiece virtually flawless in its creation and implementation is quite something.

In a way, it represents the Furries taking many new steps. For one, it's the last time they ever really made any dent on the charts, effectively cutting off quite a lot of MOR listeners to their sound. I'm sure Gruff Rhys and his merry mentalists couldn't care less, but a fall in mainstream success often spells a change in a band's approach.

This time, the band allowed themselves to be much more technical about the album's production (reflected in its title, a reference to a tool often seen on mixing desks). They engineered the album themselves and had endless discussions about things I won't pretend to understand. Gone, it seems, were the days of making poorly-produced shoutfest B-sides just for the fun of it.

They did get to play with guns though.

Yet the band are right in calling the album "a little more human" than its predecessor Rings Around The World. There's a sentimental warmth to songs such as Sex, War & Robots, and not just because of its pedal steel guitar. "If tears could kill, I'd be a long time gone," croons Huw Bunford over a languid melody.

Yes, Huw Bunford. Bunf. It's the first time a song of the guitarist's had made a Furries studio album, but more noticeable is his vocals being used instead of Rhys'. It was the catalyst for everyone having a go on Love Kraft, with each band member bar Guto Pryce - he's shy, bless him - taking the lead at one stage. Again, a new sound, and one that works really well, on Phantom Power at least (Love Kraft's not all that).

But to my mind, though this album shows a band at their stage-sharing democratic best, it's brothers Dafydd Ieuan and Cian Ciaran's record. Daf is given a huge amount more freedom with his drumming, from the heraldic announcements of the gorgeous Father Father instrumentals to the frantic drum solo outro of Valet Parking.

Cian, meanwhile, is the man behind Slow Life, one of the greatest offerings of the Furries' career - a seven-minute semi-improvised experiment (the rest of the band just jammed over the top of his pre-prepared mix) that weaves seamlessly between techno and folk-rock then mashing the two together. What a finale.

I should probably write more about the songs themselves, but I doubt I'd do them justice. Suffice it to say the album is eclectic as the Furries ever are, but with an often gentler, more countrified sound. True, Out Of Control and Golden Retriever are steeped in '70s rock 'n' roll and I don't even know what The Undefeated is, but the general atmosphere is laid back to the point of falling over, and in a damn good way.

Lyrically, it's, uh, diverse. The band claims Phantom Power is about broken relationships and war, and I suppose that's partly true. But it doesn't do justice to the sheer number of subjects tackled, nor the intense amount of feeling they manage to generate on topics such as the Falklands War (The Piccolo Snare, an incredible track with some of the most beautiful close harmonising you'll ever hear) and the Chernobyl disaster's effect on North Wales (Bleed Forever).

Oh yeah, and a song about a dog. With Golden Retriever and outpourings from the soul about pan-European road travel and pet tortoises called Venus and Serena, it's good to see the Furries didn't lose their sense of fun with this one.

Even against the brilliance of Radiator and Rings Around The World, Phantom Power could just be the Super Furry Animals' best album. And if that's not enough, it's certainly one of the best albums released this decade. SFA OK.

(Wow, I managed to make a spectacular album really boring. Just listen to it.)

Spotify link.

Albums Of The Decade: #12

2009-12-19T17:57:00.005Z

You Are Free - Cat Power [2003]

Well, hello. I like this. Who are you again?

Apparently, Chan Marshall, aka Cat Power, is an American singer-songwriter and this was her sixth album, her first original offering in five years after personal struggles including a drinking problem. Nasty. Psht, I just know it's a fantastic album. What do you expect from me, information?

You Are Free is a superb display of minimalism at its very best. Stripped down to its bare bones - nothing but vocals and either piano or acoustic guitar most of the time - it's simple, pure and utterly, utterly brilliant.

Yes, utterly, utterly. That utterly.

Free, which is arguably the best track on the album - God, it's good - shows how minimalism is not just a technique, or even a theme, but a total movement. It could be anthemic, an alternative indie anthem even, but almost every effort is made to avoid that happening. A beat comes in....then it stops. An electric guitar comes in....then it stops. They come back occasionally, but refuse to fit into the rhythm as they conventionally should. It's odd, but wonderful.

Musically, Werewolf is fuller but similarly confident, and very good for that precise reason - but lyrically must be where Marshall thinks she shines, seeing as that's what she's promoting by having refrained supporting melodies (the Bob Dylan method). Fortunately for her, she's good enough to get away with it. Babydoll is a lyrical cracker; so too, I Don't Blame You.

You Are Free's most talked-about song, Names, could fall into the territory of push-your-buttons-make-you-cry-look-at-me-I'm-so-sly, but there's a true tenderness beneath the attention-grabbing tragedy:

His name was Perry
He had a learning difficulty
His father was a very mean man
His father burned his skin
His father sent him to his death
He was 10 years old

The reason, I think, is a clever contrast in how much she reveals. Some of the obvious miserablism is avoided, and it's a combination of subtlety and bluntness that makes this the best moment:

Her name was Sheryl
Black hair like an electric space
She would pretty-paint my face
She was a very good friend
Her father would come to her in the night
She was 12 years old

But personally, I love the whole sound of the album. Her voice, the production, the minimalism....it's gorgeous. Mmm.

Spotify link.

Albums Of The Decade: #13

2009-12-18T17:41:00.008Z

Unfortunately, due to circumstances beyond my control (no, really), today I can only offer you my own review without a Spotify link or a blog WITH a Spotify link but with the words written by someone else.

I figured you'd prefer the latter

Guero - Beck [2005]

The first thing I should point out is that I'm hideously underqualified to write an album review. The second thing is that if this were my top thirty albums of the decade, it would read very differently.

And thirdly, I love this album, and I will tell you why.

My relationship with Guero starts with the esteemed Mr Davies. We had known each other for about a week when he made me a copy of this album and told me that I'd like it. I in turn gave him a copy of Rooster's self-titled debut. Needless to say, he never listened to it.

However, the first time I actually listened to it was probably around six months later on the Welsh M4. This was unfortunate for me because my first instinct was to dance. This album is full of beat, drawing heavily from its South American inspiration. It's also got clear lyrics that can be happily mumbled along with, and those are my two main requirements in an album, so it was obviously going to be a favourite.

If you came looking for comments about structure, symmetry and the poignant irony of a white man referencing Latino slang, you've come to the wrong place. Instead, I suggest you click on E-Pro and watch the puppets:

I've been told that I'm not allowed to link to Qué Onda Guero, which is unfortunate because it's really rather good. About an outsider in a marketplace, the shout of 'What's up, white boy?' makes sense with the rest of the lyrics, making it quite unusual for a Beck song (see Devil's Haircut for comparison).

Well, apart from this:

James Joyce
Michael Bolton

But you're allowed to listen to Black Tambourine. I have no idea what it's about, but it's probably sexy. However, it is one of the worst songs on this album to pole dance to, and that's obviously what's important.

Anyway, this is your unlucky 13, which is why I'm breaking Mr Davies' rules and inserting a track by the artist that definitely doesn't feature on the wonderful Guero. It also stars a fictional robot.

via videosift.com

Spotify Link

Albums Of The Decade: #14

2009-12-17T19:58:00.005Z

The Understanding - Röyksopp [2005]

Given Röyksopp's 2000 debut Melody AM was the best chill-out album since Moon Safari, it was a bit of a risk for Torbjørn Brundtland and Svein Berge to take this step into a new territory of club-friendly dance music - even if it did take them five years.

But how well it worked. Excellent single Only This Moment deserved to be massive on its release, and Beautiful Day Without You is a great song to shimmy too as well. The album is funkier without losing its predecessor's chilled charm - so the brilliant What Else Is There? is all the better for the wintry Scandinavian vibe that was lacking in the Thin White Duke floorfiller remix that conquered clubs for a while.

Alpha Male, meanwhile, sets its sights high on Melody AM's epic tune Röyksopp's Night Out and surpasses it in both length and quality.

Yet as successful as the new direction is, Röyksopp are still at their best when laying the sort of slow, melancholy rhythms that sees them so closely associated with fellow Norwegians Kings Of Convenience. Someone Like You is really quite touching, and Dead To The World is a sublime wedge of cool that should be listened to by anyone in need of five minutes' relaxation. It trumps the fuck out of whale music.

There's something else, though, that sets this album apart from its competitors. Röyksopp have always had a hidden package, and that's their lyrics. For a duo that specialise in instrumentals and don't speak English as a first language, they're not bad wordsmiths:

Brave men tell the truth
A wise man's tools are analogies and puzzles
A woman holds her tongue
Knowing silence will speak for her

That's actually part of a track from Melody AM, and while The Understanding isn't necessarily as philosophical, it does delve deeper than most dance albums. As cheesy as it sounds, "I know I might lose you by taking the chance, but love without pain isn't really romance" does at least make you think a bit more than "Kalifornia is druggy druggy druggy druggy."

This record is a top quality fusion of chill-out and modern dance. You should own it.

Spotify link.