“Music from the Invisible Sky” is an odd little compilation that was based on this idea: what happens if we take a bunch of pop/R&B artists and then force them to take on a more folksy and acoustic persona temporarily? In other words, what happens when Britney or Celine go unplugged? You have to give these largely hip/hop producers credit for trying out the idea. The result is 17 tracks of very radio-ready soft-rock/acoustic rock stuff, excellently produced, with decent melodies, but ultimately which will not impress the more adventurous ear. Of course none of the artists have anything like the mass-media empires built around them like Ms. Spears or Ms. Dion. I can only assume, however, that this assortment of extremely attractive women (a couple men) could be a veritable hotbed of talent that is picked from by the corporate gods to become divas and songstresses of mainstream FM everywhere, if such isn’t the case already. Still, this release is much more palatable than the usual garbage we’ve all come to expect from the likes of most “soft” rock (I mean, scientifically, the term is an impossibility! Shouldn’t we be dubious?!)

All kidding aside, though, this compilation is dominated by three women artists: Amy Vee, Ripley Caine, and Shelley Dael Walker, who each sport 3 or 4 tracks each. Everybody else only gets one. Vee plays the opener, which she quickly uses to sport her bluesy voice, which makes the typical overly ornate R&B acrobatics. Still, the melodies are decent, and it is acoustic, true to the album’s image. I like Ripley Caine much better: her songs aren’t pure “lite”, are harder hitting, are often percussion driven, and the cool, often disinterested tones of her voice don’t partake in any of that annoying pop overkill. “Over the Moon” actually features a distorted bite to some of the guitars, and a sense of Spanish drama. Ms. Walker treads a line somewhere in between the other two; I’d make a comparison with Amy Mann. She’s not at all dark like Caine, but she doesn’t do the syrup of Vee. She’s pleasant; her music would be good background music for a party. She could spark the interest of the execs too, especially since it seems that she has the best developed ability of everyone on this record to craft intricate songs.

Of the remainder of the record, I can say that most everyone is perfectly capable of putting together a good song, and everyone has a great voice. Javelyn’s single offering “Not Alone” is probably the catchiest marriage of R&B and acoustic sensibilities here. The men on this record do manage to send up the worst tracks on the record, though. Adam Lippman’s closer “Reaching” has a pretty awful melody, and the song is even poorly produced. Likewise, “Reach,” done by the producer himself, is simply a family affair that only made it on the disc because it’s where the money came from.

All in all, though, this compilation is much better than your average radio-ready tripe. As usual, though, the production and the technically and melodically proficient artists can’t cover up for a lack of ideas.

When I was young, and slightly more pretentious, I was always of the opinion that multiple exclamation marks were the sign of a diseased mind. Perhaps, if this held true, Nutronstars would be somewhat more interesting. Instead, they seem far too cheerful to be in any way diseased - cheerful in a grating, Britpop style: think The Bluetones, Wake Up Boo (much as I love the Boo Radleys, the amount of saccharine in their come-back hit is almost vomit-inducing) or, if anyone remembers them, Whiteout. No? Well, they were big in Japan…
While “White Room/White Noise” is probably the most listenable song on this 7 track demo, more fast paced than the remainder of the tracks, everything else seems to give away the band’s longing to get back to the mid ’90s. “The Over 60s Drop In Canteen” begins with the whimsical Britpop line, “I work in Oxfam at the top of the Carlton Road”, which “We Are The Undersea Creatures” sounds like The Bluetones’ “Autophilia” played on a child’s Casio keyboard.
Apparently Nutronstars (who between them, apparently, enjoy such varied items such as crustaceans, trains and chicken) have spent the last two years building up a strong fanbase in Nottingham. Funny, then, considering the number of people I know from Nottingham, that not one has ever mentioned them.

For over a decade PJ Harvey has been one of those artists who always strove to develop and experiment. Each of her albums has seen her explore different, often disparate sides to her artistic personality, and although certain lyrical themes and musical ideas tie them together, there has been a definitive progression. With her seventh album ‘Uh Huh Her’, PJ may have been feeling under pressure to follow up the huge international success of ‘Stories From the City, Stories From the Sea’, and maybe this explains why she has chosen to go back to basics. Harkening back to ‘4 Track Demos’, this album was recorded in her home studio, and aside from percussion and the odd backing vocal it is entirely a PJ affair.
For long time fans this album at time seems like a gallop through her back catalogue. The lyrical anger and angst of ‘Dry’ and ‘Rid of Me’ is there in spades, especially on ‘Who The Fuck’ which is ’50 ft Queenie’s’ spiritual sister. ‘Cat On The Wall’, ‘Shame’ and ‘The Pocket Knife’ – good as they are – sound like PJ on autopilot. At its worst some of this album sounds like works in progress – ‘The End’ and ‘No Child of Mine’ are both just sketches and ‘Seagulls’ is a completely pointless exercise. However, in places she retreads old territory with new authority – ‘The Letter’, ‘The Slow Drug’ and ‘You Come Through’ all add a new spin to familiar themes.
It’s hard to believe that PJ is still as angry and angsty as she was when she started out. Her primal howl doesn’t have the conviction it once had, and significantly the simple folksy ‘Desperate Kingdom of Love’ is far more poignant and affecting than the distorted anger of ‘Who the Fuck’ and ‘Shame’; similarly ‘The Darker Days of Me and Him’ is low key, acoustic and brimming with emotional honesty. In places this album can stand up to anything in PJ Harvey’s back catalogue, but as a whole it is woefully inconsistent. A tighter running order and the trimming of a few tracks would have made this a much more forceful collection of songs. It’s a worthy addition to her body of work, but not one to get too thrilled about.

Pink Grease hail from Sheffield, where all the town’s bands apparently live in the same road, and, lurking in a dusty junk shop on the corner, resides the man who assembled Def Leppard’s one-armed drummer’s kit. It hardly sounds like the ideal environment to give birth to a snarling, bleached hair and eyeliner-ed, hot pants and stilletto glam. But then, the Manics always looked rather out of place in Blackwood… Perhaps smaller, industrially-declining British towns create a kind of energy and honesty that London-based bands such as The Darkness simply can’t compete with. And there’s no denying it, Pink Grease write fantastic tunes, turning up that summery rock ‘n’ roll pop that was perfected in the days of the Beach Boys and adding more than a little pinch of glam and funk to create something that is just, well, damn near perfect.
With their two recent singles, “Fever” and “The Pink G.R.ease” battling for prime position at the beginning of the album, after the pop-chorused “Remember Forever”, it would be an easy thing to switch off and ignore the rest of the album. But, in Pink Grease’s case, this just isn’t possible. “Peaches” is a straight-forward rock ‘n’ roll anthem, which could rival any band in a stadium, and “Serial Heartbreaker” comes from a similar, if slightly more ominous, mould, while “Into My Heart” is the album-closing heartfelt ballad-esque track. “Wind Up Bird” and “The Nasty Show” quickly stack up the funkier, hip hop influenced, side of the album, the latter with the perfect couplet “I wanna fucking die for you, I wanna die fucking you”; a twisted, sexier version of Morrissey’s idyllically romantic sentiments in “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out”. It’s a sign of the intensity of Pink Grease’s passion. And intensity is almost never a bad thing.

There’s a definite feeling of ‘difficult second album syndrome’ when it comes to McLusky’s new album ‘The difference between you and me is that I’m not on fire’ despite it being their third. Debut album ‘My pain and sadness…’ was largely overlooked despite being a good record not least for its slapdash production and because follow up ‘McLusky Do Dallas’ blew it out of the water with the sort of force that epitomizes McLusky’s unique quality.
So how could they follow up ‘Do Dallas’? An abrasive fusion of Pixies hooks, Fall basslines and Andy Falkous impetuous snarl all skilfully reigned in by legendary producer Steve Albini. McLusky are too ambitious to ‘do a Strokes,’ yet alienating fans with a whole new template is also a dangerous game to play.
Opener ‘Without MSG I am nothing’ is a solid yet cautious opener lacking some of Do Dallas’ unmistakable grunt but, thankfully, the buzzsaw guitar on ‘That man will not hang’ recalls one of Do Dallas’ pivotal moments, ‘Collagen Rock’, and once more everything in the garden is rosy. More of the same is evident later on a raucous ‘You should be ashamed Seamus’ but there’s some tender moments here, dispelling any fears McLusky are a one trick pony. ‘She will only bring you happiness’ is almost a ballad with Falkous’ vocals more sincere and introspective than ever before and it’s a delightful tune. ‘Kkkitchens what were you thinking’ cranks up the guitars again and is over in the blink of an eye before the sticky patch on the album falls upon us. ‘Icarus Smicarus’ has a distinct whiff of Offspring about it and ‘Slay’ with its quiet-loud dynamics is an oddity and smacks of self-indulgence. The aforementioned ‘You should be ashamed Seamus’ gets things back on track but the album falls away slightly, becoming less tune based and swamping itself in noise. Only ‘Forget about him I’m mint’ and ‘1956 and all that’ offering something of a respite.
The lack of memorable tunes on the latter part of the album is something of an achilles heel for ‘The only difference….’ because when McLusky hit the spot they do it with unerring accuracy. It’s not the finished article but a mightily ambitious and courageous stab at following up ‘Do Dallas’ and they’re still one of the most intriguing bands on the market.

A strong collection from Dustin’s Bar Mitvah, leading with the one that seems to stick in your head the most: “Jimmy White”. This is either a sad but simple reflection of a fallen boyhood hero or a sadder reflection on how your idol can fall from grace, maybe letting you down, proving how human they are. Or, it’s a song about that snooker player. ‘Jimmy White’s on crack tonight’. It sounds like a quick pop cultured tune, but its sad undertones and tight sound bring it home to be something more. Jimmy White stands out because of its fallen hero theme and good tune whereas “Problem Child” is a more lo-fi sounding anger-fest. Dave’s vocals sound Clash-like; a dirty edge which is defining Dustin’s Bar Mitzvah and keeping them realistic. Which is good.
If this demo is rough, it’s a sound that suits them brilliantly, adding a live feel which most post-punk bands seem to lose in recording. But then everything about Dustin’s rings of a cool just-starting-out, as apposed to a lazy ‘when do we get pots of lovely money?’ Even though the lads probably do want pots of money, the fact that they, for the most part, sound like they don’t care is good.
“Catch Your Eye”, for some reason, reminds me of both the Foo Fighters and early Smashing Pumpkins. Either I’ve mistaken a hard worked tune or the Dustin boys have been eating the same apples as Dave Grohl and Billy Whatsisname. The chorus is good though, some 80’s punk sounds leave you remembering nice things about it. Dustin carry on the better bits of “Catch Your Eye” into “On Your Own”, Dave’s ‘don’t give a shit’ vocals still reminding you what these guys are about. “Purgatory Girls”, though, is a more of an experiment while still hearing a dozen more of their influences coming through. Dustin’s Bar Mitzvah are going to naturally leave a wake of riots, mosh-pitting twats and old chums as they skip and crunch their way around the shop. I think you should keep an eye for them for the time being.

I suppose the point of compilations full of relatively new or unsigned bands is to act as a point of discovery for the press or the discerning listener, and fair enough. You can’t like every song on the CD, and that’s not the idea. The idea is to find a band you’ve never heard before who strike a chord, and whose later releases you can keep an eye on. I had to keep telling myself this as I began to listen. “What if I hate it? What if I’m not cool enough to appreciate it? I’ve never been cool enough to appreciate the Shoreditch scene, how am I going to cope any better with its successor?” But then, I can only go with the stuff I like, right? And it’s hard to warm to a compilation full of ‘too cool for school’ 80’s style new wave electro-rock that sounds like a far more cheaply produced Blondie, or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs with twice the style and half the content. Rip Off Your Labels demonstrates the growing scene in New Cross, and a growing scene is a good scene if it produces even one band that’s worthy of a mention. As it is, out of 14 songs, I’d say 5 really jump out and grab you - which is good by my standards…
First up, I’m loathed to say it, I really liked the soft, everso slightly tuneless counterharmonies of The F*cks and their contribution “Argos”. It’s a shame that they had to choose a name that would grab them attention rather than playing on the fact that they’ve got a sweet blend of The Cure and any vibratto drenched stateside band. Luxembourg, a band with seemingly a bit of push behind them at the moment, win the award for ‘Band most likely to fit in with the current NME scene’. That’s not necessarily a point of note though. What is noticeable, however, is that they have ‘proper’ riffs, melody, and production which makes them far more easily accessable than perhaps the rest of the bands featured. “Let Us Have It” is one of the catchiest songs here, and the vocals are lacking the pretentious over-stylised quality of their stablemates. Elizabeth Harper’s “Trouble In The Palace” sticks out like a rather beautiful sore thumb that’s been trampelled on by Cathy Cavey and kissed better by Carina Round to create the bittersweetest summer singalong in sight.
Gifthorse present the longest track on the compilation playing for a relatively hefty four and a half minutes, but it practically flies by thanks to the breathy appeal of “Happy Daggers”, that sounds like a curious blend of Dido’s Here With Me and Suede’s Animal Nitrate. But don’t let that put you off, it’s a pleasantly seedy tune that could easily be added to the ‘Tracks to have sex to..’ list. Don’t ask.
Other bands worthy of a mention are Showboys and their twist on my favourite happy tune/dark lyrics approach with the darkly menacing style of “Factory” accompanying lyrics about getting the bus home in time for tea; The Boyfriends and their overproduced yet perfectly Morrissey-esque vocals on “No Tomorrow”; and the ubiquitous Art Brut with their contribution “Top Of The Pops” or “Get All Our New Cross Band Friends Into The Studio And Let Them Shout Their Names Over A Simplistic Drumbeat.” as it’s also known.

Okay, hand up who feels a bit silly? That’ll be just me then. I shall add Razorlight to the list of Franz Ferdinand, The Catcher In The Rye and Withnail And I - all things I have avoided like the plague because of ‘hype’ before finally crumbling and discovering that I actually love them with a decent majority of my heart. “Up All Night” also joins the ever growing collection of great debut albums released in the past 12 months, along with the aforementioned Franz boys, The Scissor Sisters et al and demonstrates Razorlight’s ability to, well, stick together 13 tracks without any of them sounding like fillers - which is an accomplishment, regardless of how minor it may sound.
Aside from the funky catchiness of the tunes, the main draw of Razorlight is still Johnny’s voice. It’s pleading yet arrogant, with a kind of deluded confidence reminiscent of the Rocky Horror finale and Tim Curry’s rendition of “I’m Going Home”. It’s an achievement that means he can run the gamut of emotions, without seeming bland or fake, and it’s a priceless ability. “Rip It Up” and “Golden Touch” are already noveau classics in the NME stable, but the gem of the album is clearly the disco-ballad “Vice” and its outro’s desperate ramblings - a firm favourite amongst fans already.
Up All Night isn’t the perfect album - it dips in places, and some songs seem bland against their more sublime counterparts - and only time will tell if it achieves ‘Classic’ status. However, it’s a helluva debut and as long as the band retain their style and pace, this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

I’d been hearing the new Beastie Boys’ album was some kind of return to old skool sounds. That’s what everyone’s heard – followed closely by admitting to having not heard it yet. Don’t go beating yourself up, have a listen to “To the 5 Boroughs”. It is slightly old skool, it’s more of a retro sound; Beastie Boys’ retro as opposed to everyone else’s retro, which I think is the best kind of retro I’ve heard in ages. It’s a simple mix of lyrics and samples, a return to form, perhaps, if you think Beastie Boys have ever been away. Some tracks attempt a little more and lose out, like ‘Crawlspace’, but most stick to a simple fomula. The Boys talk and chant their way to the end of the cool sounds. “To the 5 Boroughs” isn’t as political as you first think, though the trouble with middle-class ‘about as hip-hop as a pair of slippers’ people like me is that you listen to rhyming schemes, the beats and pretty funky sounds. As it turns out the words actually mean stuff. Seems the Beastie Boys are pissed at lot of crap. ‘Right Right Now Now’ hits you in the soapbox early on. “I’m getting tired of the situation. The US attacking other nations…” he’s right though, it was a pretty shit thing to do. But is that why I’m beat-bopping my lilly-white British ass? Probably not, but it sounds cool. It sounds like the Beastie Boys. They seem pretty keen on telling everyone that they’re the man and that you can piss right off if they’re in your face attitude and kick-ass lyrics aren’t to your taste. “My style’s impregnable like Hoover dam. And if you don’t like them, hey, Fuck You!” Who are they trying to fool? The three people who don’t already believe that they’ve got ‘billions and billions of rhymes to flex’? Or the five million people who know the Beastie Boys are cool, but not that cool. They might be from the east side, but they don’t have anyone to kick off with. So they’re picking on George Bush.
Maybe after all these years then they should take a new direction. Isn’t this a new direction? No, it’s more of a collection of avenues the Boys were heading down for some time. Just so happens a major US terrorist attack and war in the middle east got in the way and made them even more angry. It’s a good focus for anger, it’s simply said, and should be simply heard. But, sorry, I was in the middle of my robot body-popping. ‘Rhyme the rhyme well’; see, this is Beastie Boys. It’s not like I’m ignoring their important views, it’s like not noticing someone’s dropped their hat in the street, you walk past and eventually you get to the toy shop. Yeah, the Beastie Boys are craftsmen, there aint no fastin’. This self gratifying lyricism is what a lot of people think they do well. But it’s lyricism that the boys are craftsmen in. The ‘We fucking rule, we do’ tracks water down the current-affairs leaning album. It’s a relief, I find. I’m happier to hear more about what’s on their minds. The Boys have a remarkably fool-proof popularity bubble surrounding their ego and songs. A lot of people can’t fail to like them, some just hate them. This retro-fuelled return to grass routes will probably be an exposure to most of the light-hearted Beastie Boys’ fans, but a well needed one. While the Boys are most people’s only exposure to current New York hip-hop, their sound edged towards the commercial, a commercial they invented. While it sounds like they slip back into that trap with ‘Triple Trouble’, using a 70s disco sample, it’s still raw enough to fit in with the album. ‘An Open Letter to New York’, a tougher heart-warming track about just how great New York is. It’s very cool, I’ve been there. It’s a sturdy city considering all that’s happened to it, that’s the vibe I’m getting from the Boys and not because it’s a really cool place to visit. “Since 9/11 we’re still livin’ and lovin’ life we’ve been given”. The album’s full of this stuff. I’m thinking the Beastie Boys are the best people to be saying this. But the bigger issues like the war, 9/11 and how the Beastie Boys will never sell out to advertising is precursored by more local New York issues. Dog dirt on sidewalks, bin collections being missed, that rough looking family that just moved in downstairs, the decision to make 73rd a one-way street - it can be a tough world. Like three old bastards moaning about the changing world, the Beastie Boys mention more disenchanting issues like gun control. It all feels like too much too late, most of the world is smarting over issues that have developed since the Boys laid these tracks down. But they still reflect the mood of the town and they’re still bloody awesome. “Kickin’ lyrics to your brain, when you hear this you’ll be as right as rain”.

According to their press release, X Is Loaded are known as “one of the hardest working bands on the rock scene”, which hardly seems like glowing praise. However, judging by this, their debut album, it’s probably fair. X Is Loaded try. They try really hard. They just don’t have that something special, that added extra that makes them stand out from the crowd.
A lot of the songs on the album start off quite well. “Zero” (a Smashing Pumpkins homage?) begins with a Therapy?-esque rif, before going a bit 3 Colours Red in the vocal - a decent, pop-rock singalong track that suddenly goes all Keane in a bizarrely extended ending. “Dean Park” and “Roll On” meanwhile are quite enjoyable straight rock tunes, while debut single “Laugh, Point & Wave” has an interesting rhythm, and is probably the best track on the album.
In general, then, X Is Loaded aren’t bad (apart from “The End Of Everything”, which is actually more dull than Feeder). There just simply isn’t any point to them in the indie guitar-rock world. The Wildhearts have catchier choruses, Therapy? have more depth, 80’s Matchbox are heavier, Muse are more polished. In fact, there isn’t any area X Is Loaded can claim to excel in. They’re simply average - no more, no less.