Pink Floyd: The Final Cut

The Final Cut

Best song: The Fletcher Memorial Home

Worst song: Southampton Dock

Overall grade: 5

After Roger Waters left Pink Floyd in the early 80s, he took a bit of time off and then released a solo album. Of course, before Roger Waters left Pink Floyd he also took a bit of time off and then released a solo album. It’s really quite a shock the first time you pick up a copy of ‘The Final Cut’, released as a Pink Floyd record, and see the writing on the back: “By Roger Waters, performed by Pink Floyd.”

With Richard Wright firmly out of the band and David Gilmour and Nick Mason out of songwriting ideas, Roger took it upon himself to further his obsession with anti-war propaganda and dedicate an entire album to it. Much of it is poetry set to sparse backing music. Instrumental breaks are a rare commodity, positive messages are nonexistent, and it’s light years away from the fun sound collage at the end of ‘Bike’. But like it or not, for all official purposes, this is as much Pink Floyd as that – and if it seems something of an outlier in its style, it’s more than good enough to deserve the name in my opinion.

The quietest murmur opens ‘The Post War Dream’: ‘Tell me truly, tell me why/was Jesus crucified/was it for this that Daddy died?’ The song sounds like one of the quietest moments off The Wall – especially that ‘hint of accusation’ line, which contains exactly the same vocal inflection he used a few times on that album. The lyrics both set the tone and provide a good opening; Roger commenting on how society has lost the hope for the future it had after the war. This is particularly relevant coming, as it was, mere months after another war, the Falklands War, ended.

‘Your Possible Pasts’ has a chorus, of sorts. It’s a lonely and desperate song, and the chorus is still both of these things, but it’s loud and echoey as well. This contrasting effect is repeated on a few songs and really suits the album, as Roger sadly contemplates his subject matter and then suddenly snaps, his sadness turning to rage. But tellingly, the solo by Dave really adds something – its despondent quality makes us feel like there’s no hope left – showing that Roger works better with someone to play off of him.

‘One Of The Few’ has an incredibly delicate guitar part behind it, which is pretty, but I think it would work even better on piano. Wright’s input is definitely missed in these minimal songs. One of the most fully realised songs is ‘The Gunner’s Dream’. With the interesting piano chords and the great saxophone part, the lyrics don’t dominate quite as much here, and overall this is the song that sounds most like 70s Pink Floyd. And the following ‘Paranoid Eyes’ almost has a melody in its pretty, reminiscing middle section, bringing side one to a heart-wrenching close.

The single greatest moment on the album is undoubtedly ‘The Fletcher Memorial Home’, which proves my vaguely controversial opinion that a song doesn’t have a melody to have hooks – this one gets stuck in my head all the time. Roger’s so passionate on the song. They say you should write about what you believe in, and that’s definitely the case here.

A few of the shorter tracks are nothing more than linking pieces. They fit the concept and when listening to the album as a whole, they work, but they don’t add anything in particular. ‘Southampton Dock’ is probably the best example of this, but ‘The Hero’s Return’ also qualifies.

On the title track, as on quite a few other songs, I’m mostly waiting, anticipating those moments when Roger just loses control and suddenly goes really intense. To me, those moments of catharsis are what make the album really worthwhile. I guess that with Roger completely in charge of songwriting, he can write what best suits his voice, keeping things technically simple but emotionally complex.

I’ve read quite a few reviews of this album, although not for a while, and I can’t remember one that doesn’t take offense at ‘Not Now John’. One of the main complaints is its being completely anomalous with the rest of the album. It’s true, there are guitars pretty constantly throughout and you can hear it without turning the volume up full, but essentially the mood is the same. The female vocals in the background are distorted and creepy and Gilmour’s guitar soloing seems to move round in the mix, creating a sense of confusion, and as for the lyrics, they’re every bit as desperate as everything else on the record. I don’t see it as a failed attempt at a “rocker”, I see it as a successful attempt at a very twisted version of a rocker.

I do think this album works incredibly well as a unit; more so than as individual songs. It’s impossible to tell which songs are Wall outtakes and which are new, everything blends so well together. And while it seems like a daunting prospect, being lectured on the evils of war for forty-three minutes, if anyone can do it while keeping you emotionally involved and without sounding preachy; it’s Roger Waters. And apart from anything else, it’s a great lesson in how to make exactly the music you want without compromising yourself for anyone.

Steven Wilson World Tour 2013

Steven Wilson ‘The Raven That Refused to Sing’ Tour 2013

Date: 20 October 2013

Location: Royal Albert Hall, London

Support: n/a (there’s never support at concerts I go to! not sure why…)

Special guests: n/a

Something always goes wrong when I try to go to a concert. Typically this involves large amounts of traffic and/or an inability to find the venue, and consequently arriving any time between five minutes before the band are due on stage and fifteen minutes after. So you can imagine my concern when I arrived at the Royal Albert Hall with almost an hour to go until Steven Wilson started playing. Surely, surely, the worrying lack of problems so far in the night meant we were pretty much guaranteed to have a power outing or a crucial band member suddenly taken ill? But somehow, amazingly, everything managed to happen according to plan. I even managed to buy a glow-in-the-dark T-shirt with the Raven cover art on.

Essentially, this night was particularly important to me because Steven Wilson is someone who I could never forgive myself if I passed up the opportunity to see. (This has been something I’ve had in mind ever since I passed up the chance to see Ian Anderson play Thick as a Brick a couple of years back, and regretted it ever since.) So I went, even though I was really tired and it was the night before I was due to go away.

And at first, honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure I’d made the right decision. The concert opened with a twenty-minute video that consisted mostly of a camera pointed at a single street in London, monitoring the dull occurrences (staged or otherwise) that took place there in a typical day. Eventually, a busker (maybe played by Wilson himself – I’m not sure because the screen was very small and the man’s head was covered by the lighting rig) turned up, took out his guitar, tuned it, and, after an intolerably long pause, began to play the opening notes to ‘Trains’ by Porcupine Tree. At this very moment, Wilson himself walked on stage, carrying his own acoustic guitar, playing along. When he opened his mouth to sing; that was the moment I knew I’d made the right decision to come.

‘Trains’ was but a brief introduction, however, and immediately following it the band plunged into ‘Luminol’, which was the song from The Raven that worked best live. Its larger than life, 70s throwback feel really made it seem like I was travelling back in time, and I could tell everyone on stage was really throwing themselves into it. That’s not to dismiss the album’s other songs, though: ‘The Holy Drinker’, though it lacked Alan Parsons’ guitar solo, had even more power and confidence than the original. ‘The Watchmaker’ kept the delicate beauty of its studio version, and it and ‘Drive Home’ were both kept absolutely believable with the help of Wilson’s vocals. ‘Drive Home’ was accompanied by a video, which like the opening one I had trouble seeing, but what I did see looked like a great and moving accompaniment. The one song that I thought didn’t quite live up to the original was the title track, ‘The Raven that Refused to Sing’ itself, because it lacked the intimacy and clean feel that I like about it, and tried a little too hard to be an epic concert closer.

Of course, there were also a range of songs from Wilson’s two previous albums. The highlight of these was ‘Index’ for sure: already a highlight on Grace for Drowning, its fast-paced psychopathy was magnified on stage and I was half expecting Wilson to leap out into the audience, brandishing a knife – hearing it played like that was a real rush. Another great moment was the condensed, 15-minute version of ‘Raider II’ which was such a good decision for the band, as it kept all the best parts of the original while cutting out the parts that weren’t quite as strong. ‘Sectarian’ made an appearance too, and is notable for being the point in the concert where I had the ‘I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to be here’ moment I have somewhere in every concert, and we were also treated to the melancholy ballad ‘Postcard’, which I wasn’t expecting to work on stage but did, and the single from Insurgentes, ‘Harmony Korine’, which I’ve apparently been pronouncing wrong for years. Oh, yeah, and it was incredibly well played by the entire band, especially the keyboard player.

Just before the interval, Wilson announced that he was premiering a new song, stating ‘Some people are surprised that I’ve written new material already… but I’m old enough to remember a time when it was normal for bands to release an album every year.’ I love the idea; I always love to hear new music and generally do enjoy songs right from the first listen, so it was a great contrast to the other songs that I knew really well. The new song was called ‘Wreckage’ (that night, anyway) and, though unpolished, seems like it’s going to be really, really excellent. It’s very dynamic, combining the high intensity of ‘Luminol’ with the quiet emotion of ‘Drive Home’, as well as something else I can’t quite put my finger on that shows he’s still growing as a songwriter. I have high hopes for his fourth album.

Between songs, Wilson was a great showman and had great interactions with the audience. Towards the beginning, he casually revealed that this was his hundredth solo show. ‘Since I was last here with Porcupine Tree, I’ve made two solo records and played a hundred shows, according to my statistician… or maybe it’s a hundred solo records and two shows, I can never remember.’ Later, he and his keyboard player educated us on the Mellotron. ‘How many of you know what a Mellotron is?’ (Cue a large cheer.) ‘So those of you who are over sixty. It was the first sampling instrument and is particularly famous for its flute and string sounds.’ The player demonstrates by playing a few bars of the introductions to ‘Strawberry Fields’ and ‘The Court of the Crimson King’. ‘No songs have ever made those sounds famous…’

And as if he hasn’t given us enough great material already, Wilson and band come back after the final Raven number to play ‘Radioactive Toy’ from the first ever Porcupine Tree album. It’s probably the first great song he ever wrote, and it’s a real reminder of where he came from. In true arena-pop-concert style, he offers the audience the microphone to sing the final chorus, and it may only be a couple thousand voices, but everyone gets into it, shouting as loudly and tunelessly as they can ‘Give me a reason to destroy; give me… RADIOACTIVE TOY!’ Then, we’re treated to a space rock improvisation to finish the night – ‘because nobody started using the P-word to describe me until the third or fourth album.’

I’d go back tonight if I could. As that’s not possible, I’ll probably be waiting until the next tour, but I would undoubtedly go back.

Biffy Clyro: Blackened Sky

Blackened Sky

Best song: Kill The Old, Torture Their Young, although there’s a few contenders

Worst song: eh. Convex, Concave?

Overall grade: 4

So, I’m starting another new band because I keep coming to the end of discographies (it’s really quite terrifying. Reviews of first albums are difficult) and I thought that I’d try another band that’s never really been covered by anyone in the WRC before. So I thought for a while and realised that as far as contradictory bands go, Biffy Clyro have to be right up there. I mean, I have friends who like them who typically only listen to the most formulaic of songs, yet just a few years ago – with the same exact members - they were underground and experimental; and they themselves have claimed a prog influence. And somewhere along the way there was a magic point where it all turned out right. I know they’re hardly the first or only band to have done this, but something about the way it’s happened in my lifetime, right in front of my eyes provoking different reactions from different friends, makes me interested to review them.

The band’s first album was released in 2002, and it isn’t that magic moment. You probably guessed that from the rating, though, so I don’t feel bad about saying that so close to the start.

I love ‘Joy.Discovery.Invention’ as an opener, enigmatic and claustrophobic, with the vocals and ominous drum beat that stay quiet and controlled except for the occasional bursts of emotion with ‘get up, get up!’ until the two minute mark where everything explodes in a burst of distortion. It’s a great moment, but once everything’s become all fuzzy it’s not quite so interesting, since it makes it harder to hear what’s going on.

Second song ‘27’ follows the same pattern with its quiet section followed by a loud section, but in this one I prefer the loud! The quieter part is a little dull and passes me by, but the  louder part is full of energised and uplifting guitars. Fan favourite ‘Justboy’ is the first song that’s good all the way through. It’s constantly restless, unable to decide what tempo or volume it wants to be, but wherever it goes it carries a huge hook and powerful vocals, and has a great, larger-than-life guitar solo in the middle. It’d almost be worth seeing them live just for this.

‘Kill The Old, Torture Their Young’ is the only track (on this album) where I consider their claim to a prog influence to really be justified. That’s not just because of its 6+ minute length; it’s also down to the cryptic lyrics, the labour that’s clearly gone into making it perfectly flow into one song, the many and varied instrumental sections, the gorgeous little piano solo, the little bit around the 5 minute mark that sounds like ‘Run Like Hell’. It reminds me of the Mars Volta in places. I mean, it’s not a full-blown prog song, but it’s a full-on good song, and that’s more important.

The introduction to ‘The Go-Slow’ is all kinds of interesting and the beginning lyrical part is quite beautiful, but what is with this band’s obsession with the quiet/loud divide? It was cool the first few times, but now I’m wondering if they’ve ever heard of the gradual build, or even of the numbers five and six on the amplifier. And the singer loses a certain amount of charisma when he starts screaming everything. Similar complaint about ‘Christopher’s River’, since it starts out as a darkly pretty and evocative ballad but disintegrates a little later, although it does manage to hold onto its melody, unlike its predecessor.

The lyrics on ‘Hero Management’ are insightful and delivered with just the right amount of uncertainty. It’s the song where they really let themselves loose on their own instruments and play a long, dynamic instrumental passage in the middle. ‘Stress on the Sky’ does this too, and it’s a very aptly titled one, since it does have the feel that they’re trapped and straining to escape from something. It passes through the conventions of a normal song along the way, but it’s still the most ‘out there’ song on the album. Not for the faint hearted, it layers throbbing instruments and pained wails to create an inescapable sound that comes at you from all sides.

There are moments of brilliance on the second half of the album, such as the call and response of the guitars and drums in the opening of ‘Convex, Concave’, which is a really cool effect, but they’re scattered between a fair amount of quite forgettable material. But you know what? They do finally make their ballad, in a sense. ‘Scary Mary’ never loses its grip on itself or descends into anarchy, and its aching nostalgia and low, reflective guitar makes it a great ending to the album, so you’ll finish it feeling content, even if it’s been fairly flawed throughout.

Their incessant use of fuzz pedals definitely gets on my nerves, and often they’re a bit too involved in their worship of 90s alt-rock bands to concentrate on their considerable talents in both pop music and experimentalism. But it’s not a disaster, and it provides a great blueprint for later works.

Fun Biffy game: go onto the YouTube video for any of their songs, and count the number of people who write the catchphrase ‘Mon the Biff’ in the comments. It entertains me particularly with these songs, because all these people who claim to be “different” for listening to their older stuff are, in fact, all exactly the same by posting the exact same thing. 

The Clash: The Clash

The Clash  (UK version)

Best song: controversially, Police & Thieves

Worst song: What’s My Name

Overall grade: 5

(again, sorry for the delays. Just one more day of school. I promise.)

You’ve probably heard of the Clash; they’re kind of a big deal. I’d heard of them before I started listening to all the 60s and 70s music that fills up most of my collection today. But just in case you still think I’m talking about the noise made when two cymbals are banged together, brief summary: the Clash were an integral part of the British punk rock movement that happened in 1977, which basically means they were big fans of the idea that anyone can start a band, not such big fans of the government, and quite vocal about both of these things. They were originally formed with the intention to be “a new band that would rival the Sex Pistols” but, of course, they would end up out-lasting the Pistols by quite a few years, as well as securing a reputation based more on the music than the shock factor, which the Pistols can’t claim. That said, I’ve never written a piece of English coursework on the Clash.

Interestingly, although Joe Strummer is by far the most well-known member of the Clash, he was actually the last to join. The band existed for quite some time without a lead singer. It wasn’t until Strummer joined that things really got off the ground, though: he has a writing credit on every song but one on this album, along with Mick Jones.

In the list of great punk debuts, this has to be right up there. It didn’t invent British punk, but  it may have given it its enduring appeal. The Clash proved from day one that they knew what they wanted to say and how they were going to say it, and the songs here are loud and punchy but also very listenable, although they never had the same pop inclinations as the Ramones. So yeah, it is very tempting to get up and headbang to these songs, and that’s definitely a lot of fun, but it’s also good to pay attention to the lyrics once in a while, especially on songs like ‘Career Opportunities’ and ‘Hate & War’, both of which offset their fast, fun beat with a meaningful and well-expressed message.

A lot of these songs do sound fairly similar, but standouts include the ridiculously catchy ‘London’s Burning’ and the angry call to action ‘White Riot’. There’s also ‘Deny’, which I think is really underrated; it doesn’t even have its own Wikipedia page but in actual fact it has the best vocal and guitar interplay on the album as well as the ‘you’re such a liarrr…’ hook. The riff that opens ‘What’s My Name’ is really cool, and always makes me really excited to hear the song, but in actual fact it’s quite repetitive and annoying, in a not dissimilar way to the recent Rihanna song of the same title.

Last song of note is the closer ‘Garageland’. It’s a beautiful sentiment: a lot of fans were worried that by signing to CBS Records, the Clash would forget where they came from and become a sell-out corporate band, and this song was the band’s promise they wouldn’t lose sight of their roots. It’s especially relevant coming at the end of their first highly successful album, and its famous opening line ‘Back in the garage with my bullshit detector’ has united crowds at concert venues worldwide.

The only cover on this version of the album is reggae song ‘Police & Thieves’, and it’s extended from the original for a full six minutes. With hindsight it seems obvious, but at the time it was probably a surprising choice of song to cover, with most bands taking on more straightforward rock songs. The Clash made absolutely the right choice, though: their version is absolutely stunning. I’m generally biased against covers and it’s almost unheard of for me to pick one as best song, but here I can’t find a contender. The band have very much put their own signature on the song and each of them does a great job: Simonon’s bass line perfectly drives things along giving a simple and sparse feel, Strummer’s rough and streetwise vocals suit the subject matter and contrast with the ‘oh yeah!’ heard repeated in the background, Jones plays a clever, interesting guitar solo that breaks the song into two parts and the whole song has an odd spacious feel. It’s got enough time to really explore the controlled-anger buildup that helps make it so successful.

That aside, this is, of course, less diverse than some of the band’s later records, and in some ways they were still growing into their talents. But it’s the sound of a group of really passionate young guys writing unrestrainedly about what they believe in, and that really shows through in the music and makes the album a highly enjoyable listen.

So, I reviewed the UK version. Why? The Clash are from the UK. This version came first, it was written to be an album and it’s the album they wanted to put out. The US version is essentially just a compilation that draws very heavily from this album. That’s not to say it’s not worth a listen, though. I’d probably give it the same grade and it does have ‘I Fought The Law’ on it, which is another totally awesome cover (this band just know how to pick them, they really do.) 

Yes: Drama

Drama

Best song: Tempus Fugit

Worst song: White Car

Overall grade: 5

(author’s note: I’m so sorry I’ve been away for a while! I had to send off my university applications on Wednesday so I was working really hard to get those finished, and then I went to Switzerland for a couple of days, and then I had a pretty disastrous Friday night and felt too ill to do anything Saturday. But I promise to try to catch up a little over the next few weeks.)

‘Tormato’ was widely ridiculed – by the fans, by the music press, and somewhat by me, although I doubt my review had any influence on what happened in 1980. What happened was that both Jon Anderson and Rick Wakeman quit the band. Not the first time for Wakeman, who was already making a habit of this leaving and rejoining thing, but certainly the first time for Anderson. His departure shocked fans the world over, but not as much as the announcement of the new members: Trevor Horn and Geoff Downes from the Buggles. Yes, the Buggles, who had one song of any note, and that’s just because it was the first video to be played on MTV, and other than that were completely forgettable.

So, two crucial members gone and two new members who came from a plasticky synth-pop group – this album must be terrible, right? Well, actually no. This album is damn good. Quite a few of the songs had pretty much already been written by Howe, Squire and White, and it feels like with just three of them, they were all putting a lot more effort into the songwriting process.

From the opening bars of ‘Machine Messiah’ it’s pretty clear that Yes don’t really fit into the symphonic rock box anymore. They’ve predated King Crimson by a year in mixing New Wave into a hard-edged prog sound and it’s totally awesome. Howe’s guitar is the highlight for me on this sprawling and messy 10 minute epic, and although Downes is no Wakeman, his part is still plenty complicated enough to keep me interested, and he does some good Moog soloing. And it doesn’t feel too far removed from “classic Yes” so as to be a completely different band, still including a lot of their trademarks, like some great vocal harmonies.

‘White Car’ is basically unnecessary, and at only 1 minute 21 seconds, it doesn’t do anything except fill up 1 minute and 21 seconds of vinyl. I guess Downes and Horn wrote it to be an introduction to ‘Does It Really Happen?’, but that song stands up just fine on its own. I’ve heard people say it sounds like a 90125 song, but I don’t get that. Sure, it’s got the arena-sized sound to it, but it’s so much more unique than anything from that album, more inspired, quirkier. In fact, with the slight funk influence that goes into the riffs, it reminds me more of something like ‘Siberian Khatru’ from earlier.

‘Into the Lens’ is my least favourite actual song, and the one that Downes and Horn had the most influence on (it would appear in an alternate version on a later Buggles album). Specifically, I find Horn’s vocal part kind of ugly, and so it’s the one moment when I really miss Jon Anderson’s presence. The melody is simple and accessible, and comparable to what bands like Asia and Kansas were writing, but classier. It’s very listenable, but too safe in places and I don’t really consider it Yes.

‘Run Through The Light’ again has more of a pop influence, but it still works well because there’s so much going on. Yes always include a ballad, and here, this is the one. If it was a Buggles song, it would probably be sickeningly dull, but as a Yes song the pretty melody and soulful mandolin are counterbalanced by White’s awesome drumming and Howe’s purposeful guitar. Horn plays bass instead of Squire, which I’m not too fond of, but it means we get to hear Squire on electric piano (I wish that was a little more prominent.)

The finishing track is ‘Tempus Fugit’, and what a finish it is! It could easily have been extended a bit (this album’s really short). Squire’s bass is just outstanding, and the title’s apt because the time really does just fly by when you’re listening to it, as it picks you up and runs away with you in a whirl of conflicting instrumentation. It’s heavy and intense and really uplifting at the same time. It’s always moving, and it’s got a lot of interesting parts that you can pay close attention to, or you can just let yourself get swept up in the feel of the song, depending on your mood. I’ve no shame in saying that this is one of my favourite Yes songs.

Part of me thinks that Squire, Howe and White would have worked quite well as a trio, just getting session musicians to play on their songs, as they’re clearly the stronger writers. Still, even the Buggles songs have something going for them, and this album is a necessity for any serious Yes fan.

Oh, Trevor Horn produced this album as well as singing, by the way. He did a good job, which is not surprising considering how hard he worked on it… he spent his wedding night in the studio. And most of his honeymoon. Although he originally planned to spend two weeks in Miami with his new wife, this time ended up getting shorter and shorter as he kept working on the album, until they decided not to bother with Miami and go to Bournemouth instead. For three days. And Steve Howe joined them.

Amazingly, they’re still married.

Radiohead: The King of Limbs

The King of Limbs

Best song: Bloom

Worst song: possibly Little By Little

Overall grade: 4

Radiohead are on hiatus. That is a sad statement but an undeniably true one, and as of October 2013, I have no idea whether it’s temporary or permanent. The hiatus commenced immediately following this album – I guess Thom felt like he’d said all he could say with the band, for now. But the question is, did he start to feel that after being done with this album, planning to leave it as his final statement, or did it happen during this album, feeling that it wasn’t going as well as their previous stuff had?

This album’s mostly built on mood. Radiohead have always been pretty minimalist but here there’s less substance than ever before, which sometimes works and sometimes doesn’t. An example of it working well is the opener ‘Bloom’, which has a disorientating electronic rhythm driving it and vocals that wouldn’t sound out of place in a haunted house. ‘Morning Mr Magpie’ isn’t quite as successful, though. I’m not saying there isn’t clever stuff going on in the song – there is – but the band seem to think that ‘Hey, look at this weird sound we can make!’ is a fair substitute for melody, and it’s just not enough. The album isn’t even saved by good track positioning of a progression of moods – everything seems randomly arranged, like the ‘this is an album’ part of things was put second to ‘these are some noises’.

On balance, the biggest problem with this album is that Radiohead have moved solely into ‘interesting’ and too far away from ‘memorable’ or ‘emotional’, two qualities that they’ve never lacked before. I know that every song starts with a different electronic beat that I appreciate at the time, but ask me to recall any of them after the album’s finished and I just can’t.

So I can only be reliable by writing this literally while listening to it, which I am. And I can say that ‘Lotus Flower’ is actually a good song, with a very creepy atmosphere and a kind of separation between its different layers, with breezy vocals used more for effect than to carry the song. I’m also going to highlight ‘Codex’, which doesn’t fit in with the rest of the album at all, and, in fact, you can pretty much ignore everything else I’ve said when thinking about this song, a powerful piano-led ode that belongs in that moment of a movie when the main character has lost all hope, and pretty much has no electronics in sight. The next song, ‘Give Up The Ghost’, is a counterpart on the acoustic guitar but less successful, similarly pretty but lacking in any real meaning like some of the earlier songs.

None of these songs are actually bad, and to say this is a bad album from Radiohead would be a lie. But to say it’s a good album would also be a lie. It’s a pretty low 4 because, although there are songs worthy of this band name, with quite a few of the songs, I really have nothing to say. They’re empty shells of Radiohead songs. I listen to them, and I don’t feel a thing.

I really hope Radiohead get back together at some point. Not because I want to see them live – although I do, more than almost anyone – but because I think they’re capable of a much better swansong than this, and more importantly, they deserve one.

Roxy Music: Roxy Music

Roxy Music

Best song: Re-Make/Re-Model

Worst song: The Bob

Overall grade: 6

My second new artist for this week will be… Roxy Music! That’s pretty exciting, as is this album. Every time I listen to either of the first two Roxy albums, I feel like I’m discovering them for the first time, almost like Eno and Ferry are changing the music each time you hear it, just to mess with your head and make you feel like you’re listening to something entirely different. Still, it’s always just as good, and I love the feeling it gives me, like I’m venturing into the unknown.

So. Roxy Music was formed by Bryan Ferry between 1970 and 1971 after he’d failed to win his audition for King Crimson (can you imagine if he had won?!) and was originally supposed to have Davy O’List, that guy from the Nice, on guitars, but he quit before this album was recorded. I can see how he would have been drawn to the band in the first place and I like to imagine him playing this album at home just after its release, sick with jealousy. The band picked up their second choice, Phil Manzanera, and almost immediately they were ready to start recording.

Of course, what makes this album brilliant is the perfect balance between the indulgent, high-society glam-rock that Ferry writes and the general insane weirdness that Brian Eno brings to the table. To see this in action, you need look no further than the opening track ‘Re-Make/Re-Model’. It opens with a recording of a large room of people talking, and a guy tapping on the side of his glass, as if he’s going to make a speech. This song is the speech. Dripping with mellotron and saxophone, this song actually rocks really hard, which you wouldn’t expect if you only knew the band’s later albums. It also shows just how smart this band is. They wanted to prove they weren’t just your everyday glam rock band, and so included a bunch of little references to other pieces from all genres and periods of music. You can listen out for ‘Day Tripper’, but there’s a bunch of others too, and I’m sure I’ve missed some.

Moving swiftly on, we have ‘Ladytron’. The beginning melody always reminds me a little of ‘Outside the Wall’, but predates it by about 7 years, so that’s impossible. Anyway, this song donated its name to a British electronic band years in 1999, which gives an idea of how ahead of its time and futuristic-sounding it was. Repetitively synthy and containing a wonderfully eclectic mix of sounds and emotions, Bryan Ferry’s acquired-taste voice is not yet the central aspect of the band’s sound – it’s just used to add flavour. (And when I say acquired taste, I mean in the exact OPPOSITE way that, say, Jon Anderson is an acquired taste.)

There’s a little descending guitar line that opens ‘If There Is Something’ and it’s awesome. Mostly, I like the song because it includes the country and blues-rock influences that so many prog and art-rock bands of the time completely rejected, and proves that these styles can make interesting, inventive music too.

Eno lets Ferry take the lead on ‘2H.B.’, the latter’s tribute to famous film star Humphrey Bogart. It’s a quietly timeless track that wouldn’t sound out of place at a late night intimate soiree, and creates an entirely different atmosphere to the early tracks, and it is all atmosphere, except for the vocals and electric piano that carry the song through. Did I mention the other King Crimson tie-in? This album is produced by Peter Sinfield, and now that he’s not let loose on the lyrics, he does a good job – this song in particular stands out with its pensive production.

Sadly, opening side two is the album’s only real flaw. It just seems like such a waste! There are a LOT of good musical ideas in ‘The Bob’, but for whatever reason – laziness, time constraints, lack of ideas, whatever – their chances of becoming full songs was stolen from underneath them, and they were all thrown together in this, a song that, every time you get into it, abruptly changes and throws you off course, leaving you disappointed.

Ferry must be a big movie buff, because I’ve heard ‘Chance Meeting’ is some kind of homage to the film ‘Brief Encounter’. I’ve never seen it, so when I listen to the song I more think about the spacey, endless sax notes and how they work with the wash of smooth vocals and the short, fast, evenly spaced piano plinking.‘Would You Believe’ is, at first, a beautiful jazzy ballad that abruptly picks up the pace and becomes something that makes you want to get up and dance, getting faster and culminating in a fast-paced solo before a gorgeous lament of an ending.

To finish is ‘Sea Breezes’, which is mostly quiet and minimalistic, and I’ve also heard it described as peaceful – but I’ve always heard a kind of creepy undertone, something a little shady going on just beneath the surface. And then ‘Bitters End’, which is a short, fun coda to the album that has another good sax part and an informal, winding-down feel to it.

The first side of this album is worthy of a 7 for sure. The second side is still extremely high quality, although not quite in the same league as it’s a little more safe and mainstream-sounding,  and if it wasn’t for ‘The Bob’ I’d be happy to put this as one of my very favourite records. Still highly recommended and the opening track is probably your best starting point with the band, if you’re art-music inclined at all.

David Bowie: Space Oddity

Space Oddity

Best song: Come on, really? Do I even need to say it? …Space Oddity.

Worst song: Unwashed And Somewhat Slightly Dazed

Overall grade: 3

After spending a few weeks powering through Floyd, dealing with a bunch of requests and random side projects, and generally having to put off writing reviews in favour of completing university applications, I’m finally doing what I promised I’d do a month ago, and starting on a couple of new artists. First of these is David Bowie, and I’m planning to tackle his entire 70s discography as well as selected later works.

Bowie did have an album before this one, officially, but to all intents and purposes his career started when he released the single ‘Space Oddity’. In June 1969 it managed to capture the heart of a generation of people who were fascinated by space and had it constantly on their minds in the wake of the first moon landings. Its rise up the charts is one of those pivotal moments in music history, one that always makes you wonder what would have been without it.

Almost forty-five years later, space is still a source of interest to a lot of people, and the song hasn’t lost any of its power. It’s a crushingly sad tale, but we should have seen it coming all along – the opening is creepy and ominous, which both represents Major Tom’s fear of the unknown and foreshadows the climax. Slowly, torturously, it ripples and builds, until we hear the first call of ‘Ground control to Major Tom…’. I forget just how cool the lyrics are sometimes; organised as a conversation between Major Tom up in his spacecraft and the people back on the Earth who are monitoring him. They carefully give him instructions: ‘Take your protein pills and put your helmet on’, and he’s just excited and overwhelmed by the whole experience: ‘I’m floating in a most peculiar way/And the stars look very different today!’ There’s the poignant moment of ‘Tell my wife I love her very much/She knows!’ coming right before the unexpected shock of ‘Your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong/Can you hear me, Major Tom?’ They sound panicked, but Tom can’t hear them, so he interrupts with his ‘Planet Earth is blue, and there’s nothing I can do…’ All communication between them is dead, and the implication is that he soon will be too, out there on his own. In around three minutes, Bowie’s managed to create a character that I care about so much and who seems so real that it breaks my heart when he’s left stranded in outer space.

This portion of the song is, of course, focused on the vocals (although there are the obligatory spacey whooshing noises) but there’s a two-minute jam session to finish, featuring the lovely Mellotron sounds of the wonderful Rick Wakeman, while Bowie himself plays a Stylophone (I heard that he only included that on a dare) and it feels like a much needed release of tension spiralling out.

I’ve heard a few different interpretations of the song – that it’s a metaphor for heroin use and that it’s criticising the British space program – but I prefer to take it at face value, as an excellently crafted story perfectly matched with its accompanying music. It may have mostly become famous due to the circumstances of its release, but I think it would have stood out at any time.    

Sadly, this album is not just ‘Space Oddity’, though it’d probably be better if it was. I don’t really see why anyone would choose to listen to this all the way through. A case in point is second track ‘Unwashed And Somewhat Slightly Dazed’, a ridiculous Dylan pastiche that completely makes a mockery of Bowie. In ‘Letter to Hermione’, Bowie himself sounds bored and like he’s not all that interested in the song. I’m not either, the melody’s pretty dull.

The one other good song on this album is ‘Cygnet Committee’, which uses prog influences (maybe from hanging out with Wakeman) and an outstanding and emotional vocal performance to completely justify its ambitious 10 minute length. Lyrically it doesn’t always make sense, although it has its moments of clarity, but the music is actually probably more dynamic than the title track, seamlessly transitioning through a few distinct phases that show Bowie’s innate songwriting talent even this early on in his career. I love the ending, where the vocals become more echoey, gradually getting further away, as the drums become more rhythmic and staccato – cool effect.

Sadly, the second side is basically filler. ‘Janine’ is a fairly forgettable finger of folk-pop, ‘An Occasional Dream’ is very pretty and nostalgic at the beginning and has some occasional nice flute playing but gets kind of stagnant, ‘Wild Eyed Boy from Freecloud’ begins in a very similar way to the title track and so disappoints me when it’s not, ‘God Knows I’m Good’ has really annoying, almost unlistenable vocals and a melody that’s repetitive and nowhere near good enough to make up for it. And ‘Memory Of A Free Festival’… it’s in two parts, the first quiet and reflective and the second slightly louder and with more of a sense of community. Honestly, both parts should have been cut out of the song. But if I had to pick one to cut, I’d pick the second part. Bowie’s singing on autopilot and it all sounds very clunky, the different parts out of time with each other.

TL;DR version: Listen to ‘Space Oddity’. The song, that is. Listen to it every day for the rest of your life. Never get tired of it. Listen to ‘Cygnet Committee’ pretty often too if you like it, which I do. Everything else should be treated as more of a historical document than something that’s still supposed to be listened to. I know I can look back on it, shake my head in bewilderment and think ‘who would have predicted…?’