What Makes A Good Live Album?

I recently obtained a copy of R.E.M's “39 Songs” album. Released late last year, it's comprised of the finest cuts from five successive nights at Dublin's Olympia. Right at the start, Michael Stipe insists through a megaphone that “this is not a show”. Rather, the crowd were invited along to what were, to all intents and purposes, live rehearsals. “This is what we do when nobody's looking,” he later says. The shows were organised in order for the band to test out some of their natty new material in a live environment. In doing so, they revisited some of the more obscure offerings from their back catalogue. No “Losing My Religion,” no “Man On The Moon”, no “Everybody Hurts” - but a whole lot of stuff from “Fables Of The Reconstruction”. A casual fan's nightmare; a hardcore fan's nirvana. That said, though, the thirty nine songs as archived on the album – played with such passion and energy – might also be interest for those only familiar with the aforementioned “classics” as a means of investigating as to why they're one of the most cherished bands in the world today.

Not including bonus discs, “39 Songs” is, by my count, R.E.M's second live album. Their first harboured the most unimaginative title of “R.E.M Live” and was released in 2008. It was recorded during the “Around The Sun” tour and, unlike its successor, it does contain such crowd favourites as “Losing My Religion” and “Imitation of Life”. It's no cop-out of a setlist, though. They don't just rely on the big-guns. Indeed, they choose to kick off their set with a duo of quasi-obscure gems from their back catalogue - “I Took Your Name” from “Monster” and “So Fast, So Numb” from “New Adventures In Hi-Fi” - instantly catering very much there for those who love them beyond their singles.

But despite such inspired setlist choices, as a whole the package is rather stale. It's a little too polished and, apart from anything else, just feels somewhat pointless. Anaemic, I'd say. It's not the songs. No. These are some of the finest songs to have been written by any band. It's just the way they're played – perfectly. It's a little workmanlike and, despite a mildly different gravity to the sound, there's very little indeed to separate these recordings from their studio counterparts.

The same cannot be said of “39 Songs”. Compared to “R.E.M Live”, “39 Songs” feels like a real gift for the fans. A Christmas treat, as it were. Right in the middle of June. Its appeal is obvious. First, there's the curio-appeal of hearing “Accelerate” material played in such embryonic, unpolished forms. “Supernatural, Supercilious” is still referred to as “Disguise”. “Man-Sized Wreath” is introduced as a future b-side – and there's even room for the unreleased “Staring Down The Barrel of the Middle Distance”. But beyond this new material is a whole lot of obscurities, most of which is plucked from their I.R.S years – plus a few cuts from their very first EP release.

I wondered – by what criteria did they choose their setlists? It soon became obvious, though. They chose to play their personal favourites. “New Test Leper” is introduced somewhat apologetically before it's revealed that it's a song which everyone in the band professes to love. “Feeling Gravity's Pull” is paired with an anecdote concerning the harness Stipe used to wear when performing it. Most moving, however, is the story concerning his grandfather which precedes “Auctioneer”. He used to have his grandchildren place pennies on the rail track before he departed by train. These crushed pennies would then act as a reminder of this absent grandparent. Suddenly, a song which may have appeared particularly incidental in the context of quite a murky album is cast into a whole new life – some twenty-five years after its original release. Powerful.

Beyond even this, though, is the feeling that, onstage, the band are having the time of their lives. Several times Stipe's vocals falter as he stifles a laugh whilst singing. He's apparently using a laptop as a point of reference for remembering the lyrics to songs unperformed for decades; and on several occasions comments upon how little sense they make to him now, and how he's often amused when reading back that which he wrote years ago. The band play with a looseness and energy all but absent on “R.E.M Live”. They may sometimes hit a bum note, but that's part of the appeal. It's the “warts and all” approach which makes this such an essential purchase for any R.E.M fan. This is them at their rawest, but also at their most playful. They're completely exposed. But, guess what? It's not some kind of monster. It's a party.

This got me thinking as to what exactly makes for a “good” live-album. The quality of the material on “R.E.M Live” is proof that it has nothing at all to do with the songs. Rather, I believe it has everything to do with intentions. Sometimes, live-albums are released as contract-fillers. Sometimes they're released as an awful means of milking as much money as is inhumanely possible from a cash cow boon. Sometimes they're released to quench the first for novelty in the down-time between releases. In short, sometimes they're awful, cynical, moribund vehicles for evil with no merit at all. These ones, however, are pretty easy to spot. Usually (though not always) they bear criminally unimaginative titles. “BAND X – LIVE” - look out for those. Also, be wary as to at what point in the band's career these live documents were released. If it were just after their debut album, they're generally to be avoided. If, on the other hand, they are the debut album...

Ultimately, though, the overall quality of a live recording boils down to but one factor – does it make you wish you were there?

I have compiled a list of my favourite live-albums. As is always the case when I compile such lists, there are some disclaimers. I would first like to make it clear that this list does not represent “the best” live-albums. Rather, it represents my favourites. And that's why you'll find no “Who – Live At Leeds” or “James Brown – Live at the Apollo”. It's for the crucial reason that I've not heard them. I know, I know.

Second, it must be stressed that these are all official releases. I'm not including bootlegs. Nor am I including such releases in which the live material came packaged with extra recordings. This is why you won't find Pink Floyd's “Ummagumma” (it came with a disc full of bizarre studio experiments) or the second disc of The Best of The Beta Band (because, obviously, it was the bonus disc on a best of). Most annoyingly, perhaps, is the fact that this disqualifies Big Brother & The Holding Company's “Cheap Thrills” as, apparently, not all of it was recorded live.

No – this list has a very specific criteria. All were released as strictly live-albums, and all create that yearning within – the yearning that I was present at the recording.

They're in no particular order..

Spiritualized – Fucked Up Inside

1998's Royal Albert Hall recordings contain almost the entirety of “Ladies And Gentlemen Were Floating In Space” and are, as such, devastating. But I personally prefer this rare, limited edition release. This is not, I stress, included as a means of winning any kind of “indie cool” points. It's not even as though it's particularly “rare” any more, either. It can be downloaded with ridiculous ease. No blood on my hands.

Rather, it's included because it contains recordings of Spiritualized at their most blissful. Whilst a damaged , desolate rage is never  far away on the Royal Albert Hall recordings, here the band seem quite happy to be floating in space. And, as glorious as the version of “Shine A Light” is on the Royal Albert Hall album, here it's twice as long and contains about seven additional gorgeous minutes of spaced-out meanderings.

You hear stories of Spiritualized gigs from this era where crowd members found themselves so mesmerised that they unconsciously allowed for cigarettes to burn unsmoked right down to the filter. Hearing this, such tales as told in hushed, awed voices are pretty easy to believe.

Lou Reed – Rock'n'Roll Animal

Lou Reed's released quite a few live albums in his day. They're all, in their own individual ways, worth a listen. 2008's document of his “Berlin” shows features a soul-destroying rendition of “Candy Says” with Antony on vocals (and, you know, one of the most harrowing albums ever recorded played in its blistering entirety). 2004's “Animal Serenade” encapsulates perfectly the stately dignity with which his contemporary shows are infused, and 1984's “Live In Italy”, with the help of tearaway guitarist Robert Quine, contains several savage renditions of material which sounds comparatively limp on record. It's here, for instance, where you'll find the ultimate version of “Kill Your Sons”.

1974's “Rock'n'Roll Animal”, however, is a defining release not just in the Lou Reed canon, but also in the entire 1970s rock repertoire. Here the Lou Reed of Transformer/Berlin revisits his Velvet Underground days in leather, black eyeliner and a studded dog collar – and a backing band potent enough to strip the paint from the walls. In order to hear the full set you need, in addition, 2003's “Extended Versions”, but the five tracks which make up the original release – and the additional few cuts from the CD remaster – are sufficient in themselves. It's certainly the most terrifying version of “Heroin” ever recorded.

Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds – Live Seeds

Remember how I suggested that it's perhaps the pragmatics that separate the “good” live albums from their cynical counterparts? Very good example, here. 1992's “Henry's Dream” is quite rightly lauded as one of Cave's finest. The man himself, however, was famously dissatisfied with its overall sound. To his gargoyle ears it apparently sounded too tame, too polished. Hence, Live Seeds.

Here the “Henry's Dream” material sounds vicious. Strings are replaced with wailing organs, guitars that twanged now crunch and the vocals – snarling and caustic as they were – are rendered somehow even more so. Cave frequently sounds livid, possessed, demonic...I defy you to not quake a little when hearing this version of “Papa Won't Leave You Henry”.

In addition, “The Mercy Seat” is howled with brutal, brooding intensity whilst “The Ship Song” is graced with heart-stopping tenderness. There's even enough room for an unreleased gem in “Plain Gold Ring”.

My Morning Jacket – Okonokos

In which, over the course of two CDs, My Morning Jacket tear and meander through a flawless setlist which flows so beautifully. After a glorious opening trio from “Z” begins the unmistakable cymbal rush opening of “One Big Holiday”. The vocals are screamed with unrestrained euphoria and, by the time we reach the solo, I like to picture the hair of every person in the audience as billowing in the face of the sheer force of nature that is this band in full swing.

This segues wonderfully into “I Will Sing You Songs” - in many ways the polar opposite of that which came before. Where the previous song charged – knocking down all in its path – this one soars languidly and seductively. Immerse yourself in the spaces between the notes; it's hypnotic.

To sum up: Spellbinding.

Hawkwind – Space Ritual

Shorn of the dangerous volumes, the stench of petrol, the intense stroboscopic lights synchronised perfectly with the pummelling bass lines and, of course, the 6ft tall topless dancer painted in day-glo – you could be mistaken for thinking that a Hawkwind live album represents a watered-down experience which would leave all lacking; wanting more. Not so. The effect is, rather, the aforementioned yearning. Would that we were there. Would that we were there.

The main attraction is, of course, the unrelenting propulsive surges of violent energy – proto-metal, proto-punk – and with all the visceral thrills of ploughing headlong through an asteroid field with only a faulty auto-pilot to guide you.

But it's when the band kick back a level that this live collection really shines. “Space Is Deep” might well be a blindingly obvious sentiment, but never has the debilitating hyper-real wonder felt when witnessing the sheer vast infinity of space been better evoked musically. Also, once you hear “Sonic Attack”, you'll never forget it. This is what all poets dream of – ominously intoning their apocalyptic verses whilst a group of stoned cosmonauts conjure an unholy racket behind you. “Think only of yourself”.

Radiohead – I Might Be Wrong: Live Recordings

Presumably this collection was released in order to shut-up all of those sad individuals who winged that Radiohead had somehow “lost it” with Kid A and Amnesiac. Ten years down the line it's easy to forget just how jarring and disquieting those two albums must have sounded on initial release. “I Might Be Wrong” was a none-too-subtle reminder that beneath the treated vocals, jazz freakouts and strange electronic sounds remained a collection of beautifully sung and played songs (yes, songs) of heartbreak, confusion and alienation.

Essentially, this collection reveals the raw humanity behind some of the best bits from their two most difficult albums. The backwards loops of “Like Spinning Plates” are replaced by an unaccompanied piano, and suddenly Radiohead at their most oblique becomes Radiohead at their most exposed.

For most everyone, though, the main draw is in “True Love Waits” - a very old unreleased number which, performed here acoustically by Thom Yorke, is, simply put, one of the most heart-rendingly beautiful love songs as ever written or recorded. Not a dry eye in the house, and all that.

Wilco – Kicking Television

In which Wilco put in a virtuoso performance and, crucially, sound as if they're having a great time. The biggest criteria in deciding the overall quality of a live album is, I realise, in the extent to which you're made to wish as though you were there. Well, with “Kicking Television”, such a yearning kicks in very early on.

Opener “Misunderstood” contains the line “You still love rock and roll”. Upon hearing this, the crowd erupts with apparent spontaneity into a loud cheer. Because they still love rock and roll. And here they are – witnessing rock and roll live – in its purest form.

Essentially, I'd love to be part of such an appreciative audience. The concert as recorded so impeccably here feels more like a religious experience. The band are tight, note perfect – and yet do not sound overtly polished. Countlessly they channel some kind of divine energy targeted directly at those hairs on the back of the neck – they're pure electricity – and I so wish I were there.

Bruce Springsteen & The E-Street Band – Live 1975-1985

One criteria by which you can judge the quality of a live release is in to what extent it can be of interest to a completist.

Completists in their very nature are, of course, going to rush out and buy absolutely everything ever released by their band or artist of choice. This is not, however, to say that they're not going to be disappointed. Not everything will afford them with something new.

This colossal collection, however, certainly will. Not only is it the only place where you'll find certain essential parts of the Springsteen canon (the rousing “Because The Night” and the desperate “Seeds”), it also contains a number of hyper charged covers (“Raise Your Hand” and “War”) and some devastatingly sparse takes on former barnstormers. The opening “Thunder Road” is heart-stopping enough, but I much prefer the acoustic rendition of “No Surrender”. A  fist-pumping celebration of friendship on “Born In The USA”, stripped-down as it is here it's a lot more powerful, a lot more affecting. Springsteen sounds genuinely wistful – as if he knows that the friendship in question is ultimately doomed.

For everyone else, though, this triple-set acts as the perfect means of witnessing the unremitting live power of The E-Street Band in their heyday. It's the same length as the marathon performances they used to put in and is blessed with exactly the same degree of intimacy that Springsteen brings to even the most massive of audiences. His long monologues between songs are painfully honest and have the potential to make every rapt member of a 10,000 strong crowd feel as though they're being addressed personally. That this feeling is replicated perfectly with the distance not just of space, but also of time, speaks volumes of his potency as a live performer. Here he's at his best. His albums subsequently sound weak by comparison.

Essentially, when compared to R.E.M's dual live-albums, this contains the best of both worlds. Like “R.E.M Live” it contains such songs that even the most casual of fans can love. And yet, it scores the same curio-appeal points and wears its heart on equally as exposed a point as does their “39 Songs”. This, then, is how to do it. Guess only Springsteen's capable, though.

Grateful Dead – Live/Dead

When, at an early age, you begin to take an interest in psychedelic music, inevitably you'll see, hear and read much concerning Grateful Dead. Then you'll hear “Truckin'” or “Workingman's Dead” and you'll think – well. It's a little bit country, isn't it? You'll be disappointed.

Then, however, you'll start to hear things about their live show. About Dead Heads who'd follow them across their country – now that's dedication. How ace would a band have to have been live in order to induce such devotion? Well. So ace that every night would have to be different. So ace that you could see them a hundred times and, moments before they take to the stage, still find that you've no real idea as to what exactly to expect.

So you get yourself a copy of Live/Dead, and it's nothing short of a revelation. This is exactly how you wanted Grateful Dead to sound. Hell, this is exactly how you wanted music itself to sound.

For me, this is the ultimate live-album for two reasons. First of all, I'm yet to come across a piece of music more transcendent that the twenty-three spellbound languid minutes of Dark Star. No other band were able to create a sound so amorphous, so mercurial. Even after what feels like hundreds of listens, I still find myself enthralled, seduced and mesmerised by this seemingly effortless ethereal wash.

Second of all, this – like any Grateful Dead live-album – is merely the official tip of a seemingly infinite iceberg of bootlegs. Even to scrape the surface of this murky yet iridescent world is to stumble upon a passionate community which truly values the pure and redemptive qualities of music.

And it all starts here.

A Spotify Playlist of some of the above. Regrettably, the My Morning Jacket is unavailable. So too is the Spiritualized. In the case of the latter, though, I was able to substitute with something from the Royal Albert Hall album.

Steve Mason - a buyer's guide or something

Image from The Guardian

On Monday of this week, Steve Mason released an album entitled "Boys Outside", the first to be released under his own name, but by no means his first "solo album". Instantly it became the sort of album which, as soon as it's finished, I find that I've no choice but to simply hit "play" again. Already I know that each repeat listen will unveil new layers, new things to care about. At the moment, though, I feel as though I've just scratched the surface. I'm going to reserve proper judgement until I've been living with it for months, but even on the surface, this thing's very special indeed.

Well, of course it is. It's Steve Mason. I've been a fan of his work for about six years now. So, as a tribute and a celebration of Boys Outside, for what might well be the first time, I'm going to compile a "definitive buyer's guide" of his work. I place "definitive" between the old inverted commas because who the hell am I to judge?

We'll start, as is usually the case, from the beginning:

The Beta Band - The Three EPs (1998)

Often mistaken as their "debut", but the clues in the title. This isn't so much an album as a collection of the first three EPs as recorded by The Beta Band: Champion Verses (1997), The Patty Patty Sound (1998) and Los Amigos del Beta Bandidos (1998). Each EP contains four songs, and each feels like a seperate unified work. Be that as it may, over twelve songs there's a listening experience which feels cohesive and whole, in no way fragmented. This to me suggests a unity of vision which was inherent right from the outset.

Marvel as I (almost) speak of opener "Dry The Rain" without mentioning its inclusion in High Fidelity! You see, this is one of the most beautiful songs as ever recorded by any band, ever. It deserves to be so much more than "the song from High Fidelity". As a song, it's like a slowly opening curtain not just for this collection of songs, but also for the entire idiosyncratic comforting little world this band inhabits. Those dusty drum scratches and languid guitar chords slowly lull you into a very certain way of thinking, of viewing the world: one that's melancholic, slightly strange, but also wonderful in its languid pace.

It's a song of two halves. The first is soothing, but deceptively so - beyond these sweet lazily strummed chords and campfire choruses lies a world in which one is "choking on the vitamin tablets the doctor gave in the hope of saving me". However, midway through, it's as though the clouds have parted, as though a window has opened: someone's switched a light on, as the drums take on an uplifting hip-hop bent, the acoustic guitar's switched for an electric and, later, joyous trumpets join the mix. "If there's something inside that you want to say, say it out loud it will be OK". As a friend of mine once commented, there's always something to love in songs that tell you that things will be OK. And he was right.

"Dry The Rain" fades out, and it is, at this point, important to remember that we're but one song into a twelve track collection. They're just getting started. "I Know" has a scratchy, old-school hip-hop feel to it and comes across like a DJ Shadow who spent more time on the beach than he did in gloomy second hand record shops. "B+A" is an instrumental piece with a simple riff played over a reversed tape-loop. Pretty hypnotic stuff, but once the song takes off (and this song takes off), it rocks. Ho, does it rock. It's loose with its crashing cymbals and wordless chanting, but there's a vibrancy and dynamism which affords the piece with an urgency I wouldn't hesistate to describe as "life-affirming". 

"Dogs Got a Bone" ends the first EP in a wonderfully laid-back manner and could act as evidence in a case for the melodica as the perfect cure for stress and anxiety. Few instruments are more evocative of good times, I find.

The second set of songs, if the collection's treated as the EP compilation that it is, represents my favourite of the Three EPs. "Inner Meet Me" opens with strange echoing bird song and percussive bursts before the chant-like refrain comes into play, soon to be joined by the simplest of two-chord guitar strums. This song boasts an addictive urbane energy which, by the time the chorus announces itself, is enough to induce gratuitous strutting. The first time I saw them they opened with this piece. After this, they proceeded to command.

Next comes "The House Song", in which a series of looped vocal tracks are layered upon each other before a thumping bass drum and a downright funky bassline takes the song - and, indeed, the album - into marvellously hedonistic territories. Midway through Steve cuts in with what sounds like a Japanese rap - pretty bizarre, but this is, after all, The Beta Band - before we return once again to the groove - the sort of groove which, one feels, could happily go on forever. "Monolith" is a strange sound collage which manages to cram every ounce of atmosphere and otherworldliness of The Avalanches into just fifteen minutes. It feels like the sweetest insanity possible. Finally for this second EP comes "She's The One", easily my favourite of every song The Beta Band ever recorded. The first half combines a nocturnal acoustic strum with a surreal stream of consciousness quasi-rap before, as Beta Band songs tend to do, the second half takes us into another dimension entirely. With just four chords they achieve a transcendence which only the best of music makes possible.

The final EP in this collection is, perhaps, the weakest. Well, anything would have difficulty in following that which just preceded. By far it's the most melancholy collection of the bunch, with "Push It Out" and "It's Over" achieving a desolate jazzy looseness - a sound to which this band would return to some extent for their debut album proper. "Dr. Baker" was, at one point, familiar to all, appearing as it did in Trigger Happy TV. It's a beautiful little piece, reminiscent of Syd Barrett at his saddest, most disjointed. Think "Jugland Blues" combined with the second half of "Bike" as covered by Radiohead.

"Needles In My Eyes" closes the collection on a deceptively uplifting elegiac note and, at seventy six minutes and with the more muted material appearing towards the end, perhaps this collection is too much to take in one sitting. Perhaps it's best treated for what it is - a compilation of three stand-alone EPs. It acts, though, as an ideal entry point for those with anything approaching an interest in either The Beta Band or the work of Steve Mason.

The Beta Band - s/t (1999)

This eponymous offering represents their debut album proper. Steve Mason infamously described it as a "crock of shit" in a contemporary NME interview. Something about "half songs with jams in the middle", I think he said. Well, he couldn't have been more wrong. In terms of lyrical themes, bredth of style and song arrangements, this is an album of remarkable ambition and devastating poignancy. It might well be flawed, but it'll likely be one of the strangest albums you'll ever hear.

Opening "The Beta Band Rap" tells the story so far of the band. Reprasentative, perhaps, of their idiosyncratic attitude towards composition or, more likely, their supremely diverse range of influences, the song courses through three completely different styles in less than five minutes. Starting with a chirpy syrupy fifties choral sort of sound - think "Mr. Sandman" - the song soon morphs into a narcotic hip-hop mumble before shifting once again into a Chuck Berry rock'n'roll outro to take us to its juddering conclusion. Scene duly set, mood effectively established, enter "It's Not Too Beautiful". Containing a brooding chugging guitar riff which was totally stolen by Eminem for his "Lose Yourself", this song exudes a very real sense of unease. All cohesion is lost completely come the chorus - where a spooky, sinister string loop (from Disney's "The Black Hole", no less!) is coupled with a pair of layered vocal refrains - "It's not too beautiful now" is slurred over a barely audible "every time I lose my mind I bombom bom bom bombom". Something doesn't quite feel right.

These first two tracks induce a feeling that one is slowly losing their grasp on their sanity. The brilliant "Round The Bend" continues this theme. On the surface it sounds like the sort of jaunty folk-rock that the likes of Gorky's Zygotic Mynci were, at the time, producing quite marvellously. To listen to the lyrics, though, it becomes clear that we're in the company of a most unhealthy mind. Speaking of being ninety degrees to the rest of the world ("Not a lot of fun you can take it from me"), there's also talk of not wanting to see anyone, (not even your best friend), and of disappearing and never being bothered ever again. Amongst this are discussions of the relative merits of various Beach Boys albums ("Wild Honey - not the best album but it's still pretty good.") All told, these are the restless ramblings of a seriously ill-at-ease mind - one that feels completely at odds with everyone and everything. One that doesn't want to be bothered. Steve Mason would lately make public his struggles with depression. However, we didn't need to know this for this particular song to have a devastating impact.

The remainder of the album dabbles in an extraordinary array of styles and genres. In "Dance O'er The Border" we've fractured, unhinged Paul's Boutique style hip-hop, "Number 15" is a sort of sun-drenched trip-hop, whereas "Smiling" is the sort of joyous big-beat dance song that, were it not for the high-pitched speeded-up vocals, could have been a club hit, of sorts. The final two tracks, brooding epic "The Hard One" and the elegiac "The Cow's Wrong", are a return to the dark, loose, almost jazzy feel briefly visited towards the end of the Three EPs collection.

At times this album is frustratingly obtuse - and truly there are moments when it feels as though they're taking the piss. However, it's worth persevering - there's very real depth here, and some of the strangest songs to have ever been recorded. Early indications that "troubled genius" would soon be an apt description.

King Biscuit Time - No Style (2000)

Steve Mason's first widely-available solo release - combining four new songs with the "Sings Nelly Foggit's Blues in 'Me And The Pharaohs'" EP as was first released in 1999. For this it's worth paying any amount of money as it contains a certain little song called "I Walk The Earth". This vibrant, uplifting piece has a very real movement to it and contains what is perhaps the best chorus Mr. Mason would ever write. "Catchy" doesn't even begin to describe it. 

The seven remaining songs are of interest beyond that of completists, but often feel like half-baked ideas and experiments rather than fully-formed works. Interestingly, though, his Fife/Fence Collective roots would never shine stronger than on such quasi-ambience as "Little White" and on such madness as "Eye O' The Dug".

This release, though, is fascinating in that it hints slightly as to where he would go next. In "Fatheriver" and "Niggling Discrepency", we can see that the cold electronic roots of 2008's The Black Affair run pretty deep. Indeed, the vocal rants of the former would be partially revisited in the closing track of said album. A curio indeed.

The Beta Band - Hot Shots II (2001)

Their masterpiece. There once was a point in my life where, every single night, I would put this on at a slight volume in order to help me drift away. So enticingly hazy and languid are these compositions that I was usually gone by the fourth track - called, quite fittingly, "Gone". It soon got to be the case that I simply couldn't sleep without the soothing allure of this album. Guess you could say that, for a while, I depended upon it.

Sustained over ten perfect tracks is a wonderfully chilled nocturnal feel - it creates an aural universe which one doesn't want to leave. It also, of course, contains some of their finest and most beloved of songs. "Squares", unfortunately released at the same time as an I Monster song which invoked exactly the same sample; and "Broke". Both would eventually become live favourites. In their recorded form they're comparatively muted, but were they granted the fireworks inherent in their live incarnations, they'd only break the perfect dusty-late night feel otherwise achieved.

I'd identify "Dragon" as my personal favourite, though. Along with "Al Sharpe's" gregorian chant denouncement of idiot politics and "Life's" painful assessment of pointless cycles of violence, "Dragon" contains some of the most overtly political lyrics on the album: "How the west was won/It's a lie, but it's made to sound like fun" is chanted over an ominous drone - desolation, inevitability - this is a dark place indeed.

It's not all doom and gloom, though. I don't think I've got the old synesthesia, but I defy anyone to describe the drums in "Quiet" as anything other than "delicious". And the closing mini-epic "Eclipse" - well, it might be one big joke, complete with a punchline ("so no pizza for them"), but somewhere in this campfire strum might lie the meaning of life, the universe and everything. The whole "people with the answers/people with the questions" thing I also happen to find utterly adorable.

The most poignant moment, though, would prove to be in the aforementioned "Gone". "Will you think of me when I'm gone?" is the plaintive croon over the muted sorrowful guitar and piano chords. With this band now sadly departed, my answer is a pained "yes. Every day."

The Beta Band - Heroes To Zeroes (2004)

If treated as an album by The Beta Band, this one will disappoint. Such as it did for me, when I first approached it having binged for endless months on all that had come before. It's only recently that I've been able to appreciate it for what it truly is - a collection of solid, brilliant songwriting - four brilliant musicians very much in their prime, playing with love, with finality.

In "Lion Thief" and "Space Beatle", we have what feels almost like filler. That said, though, lesser bands would kill for that which amounts to "filler" for these guys. And that which lies beyond more than makes up.

In "Assessment" you have what may amount to the definitve Beta Band statement. It's all there - the chiming, driving riff, the creative use of samples, the propulsive drums and the uplifting second half which raises the song to another plane entirely - complete with trumpets! Similar things can be said of "Out-Side" -  a powerful surge of a call-to-arms which contains perhaps the best deployment of a dogs-bark since Jane's Addiction's "Been Caught Stealing" and the kind of dreamy meandering coda for which we came to love these guys.

This album will always be worth owning for those two songs alone. However, by quite a degree the main event will always be "Simple" - a soaring rock epic drenched in strings in which they seem to predict their own demise. "I tried to do my own thing by the trouble with your own thing is you end up on your own" sings Steve, before the music takes a step-back and he is, indeed, left alone. He would later hint that it was his erratic behaviour - as well as his increasingly political agenda, that served to break apart the band. Once again, the song matures over the years and takes on a whole new life - not to mention a whole new level of poignancy.

It was to be their last album and will, by process of elimination alone, always perhaps be viewed as their weakest. Should they ever reform, however, I imagine that in the live environment these songs would finally be greeted with the love they've always deserved.

The Beta Band - The Best of The Beta Band (Music)

The "Music" in the title is there because it was also possible to buy a DVD collection called "Film", which contained all of their videos to date. Unusually for a "best-of" collection, as well as offering all manner of joys for the newcomer, it's also utterly essential for the hardcore fan.

A two disc collection. With inevitable omissions, the first disc contains strong cuts from all of their releases to date (including an edited version of "Smiling" which is just begging to be dropped into a DJ set) as well as standalone single "To You Alone" - worth the price of entry alone.

It's the second disc, though, which offers the most joy for long-term fans and newcomers alike. A live recording from their last ever show, it acts as a reminder that, whilst they enthralled on record, live, they dominated. Most of the songs take on an entirely new light in the live setting. Opener "It's Not Too Beautiful", regrettably the only selection from their eponymous album, sounds dangerously loose and even more deranged when played live. "Squares" boasts a long, mercurial spaced-out guitar solo whereas "Dr. Baker", played at three times the speed and in a higher key, sounds like a different song entirely.

"Broke" and "The House Song", though, offer the most fireworks. Both end in elaborate drum solos - dualistic in "Broke" it's impressive enough, but "The House Song" ends with all four members taking to percussion - a tumultuous pneumatic dangerous wall of blistering sound played with a desperate intensity fitting for what would prove to be the last song they'd ever play live.

King Biscuit Time - Black Gold (2006)

Out of the ashes of The Beta Band came a number of musical projects. Whilst it was lovely to see the resurgence of Lone Pigeon fronting The Aliens, for me the continued work of Steve Mason has always been of the greatest interest. This, his first release since the split of 2004, was so long awaited that, initially, failing to live up to my immense anticipation, it could do nothing but disappoint. Over the years, though, it's grown and grown to the point that I now recognise it for what it is - exactly what I always wanted for it to be.

With it being apparent that his political agenda was a factor in his previous band's split, it was perhaps to be expected that his first solo album would open with the most overtly political song he'd ever written. "C I Am 15" is a dancehall Bush-baiting smash, with the war-mongering puppet idiot denounced with such rhetoric as "I've got friends in places that I can't spell". Towards the end, Topcat spits a rap which serves to hammer home the point rather explicitly - an altogether brash yet energising opening to the album.

The best moments, though, would be those written in a more personal vein. "Impossible Ride" I'd readily identify as one of the finest songs of his career. An arrangement of strange mechanical percussion and washes of organ and melodica create an almost Zen-like ambiance over which a heartbroken sounding Mason desperately seeks resolution with a woman: "If you think it's impossible that we're through," he pleads, before detailing the extreme lengths to which he'd go just to ensure that "I can be we". Like a lot of songs in his canon, if sampled in the right frame of mind, it can be devastating.

I caught him live sometime before the albums release supporting I Am Kloot in Manchester. Had I known that this appearence as King Biscuit Time would be a rare appearence indeed (the tour in support of the album would be cancelled as Mason mysteriously "disappeared") - well, I don't know. Perhaps I'd've treated it as something approaching a religious experience. He'd probably hate to be treated in such a way, but I can't help the impact his music's had on me, can I?

Live, these songs had an energy and a groove not quite lacking on the album, but it was such to suggest that his strengths lie more in live performance than in recording. He also played two Beta Band songs acoustically ("Dr. Baker" and "Simple") and closed with "I Walk The Earth" from the No Style EP. For this last one, he even had something amounting to a dance routine.

This album now seems pretty hard to get hold of. It's about £25 second hand on Amazon, £11.50 (and rising) on eBay and doesn't seem to have been released digitally. Perhaps it's destined to become one of those "lost albums"? If so, make efforts to hear it as soon as possible. That way, you can say that you've been there from the start.

The Black Affair - Pleasure Pressure Point (2008)

If he continues to write, record and release music for decades to come (and, dear god, I really hope that he does), this, I feel, will always be viewed as a true oddity. A shame really, as whilst stylistically it may differ from everything which came before, at the same time the quality of the song-writing is as strong as ever.

I remember various statements at the time being made to the effect that, in Japan, he'd undergone some kind of operation which allowed for him to see the world from a girl's point of view. This music represented the fruits of this new found perspective.

Overall its mood is dark and claustraphobic. And, in a move which must have upset a lot of fans, there's not a guitar in sight. Rather, all songs are arranged for synth and drum machine. Live, they apparently performed as a duo - Steve on vocals accompanied by a bassist and, presumably, some kind of laptop. For the first time in his career, he'd crafted an album with which it was possible to dance to every single song.

Of course, "to dance" is quite a loose verb. Luckily, Steve seemingly took it upon himself to cater for every style he could think of - at least in a club setting. The opening four tracks are grimy, sleazy, filthy - perfect, then, for lusty writhing and grinding. "Japanese Happening" is a propulsive industrial drone of a song - the sort for which leaning against a wall, arms folded, pouting, nodding head - would readily constitute as "dancing". "Will She Come" is the "slowy" - for that close, slow dance towards the end of the evening. It's always reminded me of lounging in the sun at a poolside - a looming white tower of a Miami hotel in the background.

There are, though, the sort of songs which can induce the moving, the grooving, and the shaking in the most joyous way possible. "Tak! Attack!" and "Mute Me", coupled with strobe lightings, could get a whole room jumping and shouting along to the choruses. My favourite, though, always has been and always will be "Sweet". With an uplifting, driving bassline and a vocoder chorus which sounds a lot like the "keep away from the guy with the funny eye" song from Brasseye, this track is every bit as uplifting as any of the finest Beta Band cuts. The ending, too, provides the sort of ambient washes in which it's possible, should you try hard enough, to lose yourself - as was possible with certain King Biscuit Time songs. Initially ill-at-ease with this new sound, it was "Sweet" which eventually made me come round to the idea of The Black Affair. It simply couldn't be anyone else.

Regrettably, I never got to see any of this live. I tried. Ho, I tried. We even had him booked to play at a festival in which we had a say in the lineup, at one point. It never came to pass, but this would have entailed that not only would I have been able to see The Black Affair live, I also would have been able to meet the man himself. Now, of course, should I ever meet him, there exists the danger that I'll be remembered as the prick who botched the festival line-up. I just hope that he hadn't bought train tickets...

---------------

So, there you go. A Steve Mason "buyer's guide" or something. Perhaps my favourite singer-songwriter, and the artist I'm most looking forward to seeing at Glastonbury. I can't wait to see as to what features in his set-lists. I'm hoping that they'll be real career retrospectives. Heavy on the Boys Outside stuff, of course, but also featuring much in the way King Biscuit Time, The Black Affair and, if there's a god, The Beta Band.

How To Have A Long Career In Music

The Rolling Stones. Image found at clashmusic.com

Look, Jerry Garcia famously said that if you stick around for long enough, you become respectable. Well, this is what I reckon: I reckon that it's possible to identify seven different models for long musical careers. I've attempted to fit existing bands into these molds whilst, simultaneously, I've speculated as to where the careers of "relatively new" bands might go. Of course, it's not exhaustive. This isn't "the ultimate" list. Of course it's not definitive. What do I look like to you? A Pitchfork journalist? Jesus...

As is usually the case with this blog, there are a number of disclaimers to get out of the way first. Primarily, I feel the need to once more point out that my view is somewhat limited to Western musicians who dabble in that which can loosely be categorised as "rock and pop". Look, I'll be the first to decry my blinkered view of the world, but excuse me for only listening to that which I enjoy. Secondly, it must be noted that all perspectives are from today - the right here, right now. I look at the career of bands like The Beatles and The Rolling Stones with the benefit of hindsight, whereas careers such as those of Muse and Coldplay are still subject to change. To put it bluntly - all of this is purely speculative and in no way academic. OK? OK.

Allow me, then, to share my musings. Ladies and gentlemen, a loose selection of long term musical career models:

1. The Steady Formation of an Intimidating Back Catalogue of Almost Unwavering Quality - The CRITICAL DARLING MODEL.

(Image: contactmusic.com)

The ultimate example of this model would, I think, be Dylan. Frankly, it's incredible that an artist can still produce a startling trilogy of albums (Time Out Of Mind, Love & Theft, Modern Times) after fifty years or so of restless creativity. This model, though, is identifiable by virtue of the fact that even ignoring greatest hits collections, it remains easy for a newcomer to the artist's music to start listening. Out of Dylan's thirty four (thirty four!) studio albums, for instance, it's obvious that you'll start with Highway 61, Blood On The Tracks or Bringing It All Back Home and just take it from there.

More contemporary examples of this career model are everywhere. I'm not, you understand, proclaiming for any of the following to be "the new Dylan". Rather, I just feel that their ratios of length of career vs. quality of output are comparable. Also, it's still possible for newcomers to make that all important "headway". I speak of Sonic Youth (starting with Daydream Nation, Goo, Dirty), The Flaming Lips (Soft Bulletin, Yoshimi etc), Yo La Tengo (I Can Hear The Heart..., I Am Not Afraid of You... or even last year's Popular Songs) and Stereolab (Emperor Tomato Ketchup or any of the Switched On compilations).

The Super Furry Animals and The Animal Collective seem well on their way to fitting within this model and, having heard the marvellous Congratulations, I am hoping against hope that it's here where we will one day be able to place MGMT. I know it's only their second album, buy my GOD is it good.

2. The Rapid Formation of an Intimidating, Uncompromising Body Of Work in which Newcomers are Left to Flounder - The MARK E SMITH MODEL

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This one can be summed up pretty succintly with a simple question: Where in God's name are you supposed to begin with The Fall?! Producing, as they do, about an album a year; and with live shows which seem to disregard anything more than five years old, it's almost as if they're adverse to the idea of "the casual fan".

Similar things can be said of the work of Frank Zappa. Although one could, in theory, start with Hot Rats or a Mothers of Invention album, in practice anything from his canon is but the tip of an almighty iceberg of satirical music-hall burlesque and seemingly hundreds of exploratory live albums.

Put simply, these are artists whose very productivity is at once their greatest strength and their greatest weakness. It endears them to a few but alienates them from many, many more. In this category I'm afraid we'll one day be able to slot Ryan Adams, Bonnie "Prince" Billy and, should he ever get over his current crises of confidence, Sufjan Stevens.

3. The Mystery, the Seldom Releasing of Albums, the Legions of Followers, the Complete Creative Control - The TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE MODEL

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These are bands and musicians who seem to exist in their own little world - only sporadically releasing albums, yet still managing to retain always their status as one of the biggest bands on the planet. The reigns are long, the respect unwavering. People don't seem to lose interest in them whilst they're gone. Rather, they pine - they pine for their return, and tell themselves that there's a very good reason for their not being here - they're at work on their next masterpiece!

It might be a controversial move to place Radiohead in this category, but I honestly can never see their reign coming to an end. The same can be said of Tool, in many ways their metallic counterparts. Years in the wilderness and albums on which, you get the impression, they're allowed to do whatever they want with little to no major label interference. It may have taken them a while to get to where they are now - and it might be the case that they had to crawl through several rivers of shit to get there - but, once arrived, there's no leaving.

And it's in this model that I really hope that we'll be able to one day fit, with confidence, Elbow. Think about it. With all four of their albums the acclaim has been almost universal. With 2008's Leader's of the Free World, the acclaim seemed finally to translate into mass adoration with some gargantuan live shows and, of course, the winning of the Mercury Prize. Unless, for whatever reason, they just disappear, where can they go next but here?

4. The Repeated Failure to Recapture the Glory Days and Loss of Artistic Integrity Coupled with Being the Biggest Band in the World - the POISONED CHALICE MODEL

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From here, it looks as though the only escape from The Rolling Stones is death. Their glory days are long, long, long behind them. And yet, they continue to record, release and tour. Over and over and over - each subsequent record, release and tour a further tarnishing of the legacy.

The same can be said of U2. Who'd want to be in U2? They'll probably never stop being the biggest band in the world, but still, the pressure's on - each tour must be bigger than the last. Meanwhile, in attempting to capture exactly that which made people love them in the first place, each successive album becomes blander, less exciting, than that which it follows.

These are bands who will probably never be "cool" again, but will always be huge. Curiously, though, the bigger they get, the less serious it seems they are taken by their peers. But of course, if that many people like them, they can't be any good, right? Who'd be in U2...

This is exactly the path down which Oasis had been heading since about 1995 before they did the sensible thing and split up. I fear, though, that my beloved Coldplay and Muse will one day descend down this slippery slope.

5. The Sad Disbanding of Everybody's Favourites Out Of Whose Ashes Emerge Such Fruit, Such Joy - the EVERY CLOUD MODEL

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How did the world react when The Beatles decided to call it a day? If young girls everywhere burst into inconsolable tears at the initial disbanding of Take That, are we to infer that mass suicides occured when the original Fab Four parted ways? I hope not. Surely the prospect of fruitful careers from 3/4 of the band's lineup would, ultimately, have served to ease the pain.

Yes, these are beloved bands whose disbandment sparks no end of joyous side-projects and solo careers. For contemporary examples, look to At The Drive-In; who, upon disbanding, became Sparta and The Mars Volta and also paved the way for the impossibly prolific output of Omar Rodriguez-Lopez (whose repertoire is now sliding into Category 2). Similarly, I was most distraught when The Beta Band split in 2004. However, I'd've been considerably less so had I known that this would lead to the resurgence of Lone Pigeon, two excellent albums by The Aliens and the ever-exciting solo work of Steve Mason.

See also, The Smiths, out of which came Morrissey's intriguing solo career and a number of interesting Johnny Marr colloborations. You could also, I suppose, lump in Uncle Tupelo, from whom we get Son Volt, Wilco and every other Jeff Tweedy project. Finally, we have Spacemen 3 to thank for Spectrum, Sonic Boom and the almighty Spiritualized.

As far as this model's concerned, though, there always exists the possibility of reformation. In such circumstances, there's the danger of...

6. Post Solo-Work and Side-Projects, the Reformation of Initial Band for Nostalgia, Money etc. - the CASH COW MODEL.

What happened to The Pixies? They used to be cool. When they reformed circa 2004, I, like everyone, was so excited. And they were electric when I saw them. But, recently, Frank Black went on record in saying that they were now only in it for the money. Well, fair enough, a man's got to eat, and you could in some way justify this in saying that the more money they make, the more we get to hear from his solo output and from Kim Deal's The Breeders - in these two pursuits their hearts seem truly to lie. But, c'mon, how is anybody supposed to connect with their live shows now that we know that they're treating it as a day in the office?

Still, could be worse. At least they're not John Lydon.

In this slot I was afraid that the reunions of The Verve and Blur would represent moves into pasteurs greener. However, with The Verve having disappeared again (and with an incoming Richard Ashcroft solo album), I suppose they're safe. As for Blur, their performance of Tender at Glastonbury last year quenches any cynical notions I might ever have harboured. Concurrently, Graham Coxon has his solo career, Damon Albarn just headlined Coachella with Gorillaz, Alex has his cheese, Dave his constituency and clients... 

The Velvet Underground briefly flitted with this model in 1993. Now, however, John Cale appears to loathe Lou Reed once more. All, therefore, is right in the universe again.

As for future entries into this model, well - we'll all have to keep our eyes on Suede, won't we? Personally, I'll reserve all criticism until after I've had my spellbound live experience.

7. The Cult Fanbase, the Steady Production of New Material, the Fevrent Live Shows, the Notion that You'll Never Transcend This - the CRUSTY MODEL

(Image: raveandroll.files.wordpress.com)

There exists a large number of bands who just don't give up, ever. They might once have been cool, they might once have been huge, but those days are gone - long gone. Nevertheless, they plough on. Either this is because they're those restless creative types and they're simply incapable of doing anything else, or because they feel they owe a debt to whomever still "dares" call themselves a fan.

These bands are demonised by such fickle sources such as NME and Pitchfork, and a lot of them can be found on the Glastonbury line-up year after year. For me, it represents an ideal, of sorts. Imagine being in a state whereby you're readily able to recognise that people really do appreciate your work whilst retaining your right to privacy, your ability to walk down the street unmolested! Also, not featuring in any "tastemaker" publications, you'll be able to safely say that anybody who calls themselves a fan does so out of genuine love for your music rather than out of a fickle notion of "indie cool". In many ways, not being cool is a blessing.

Bands of this ilk seem to exist on three scales: Small, Medium and Large. On the small scale you can find such heroes as British Sea Power, Oceansize, I Am Kloot and The Electric Soft Parade. In the middle you'll find such luminaries as The Waterboys, The Coral, Doves and The Levellers. Finally, in the big league are your Stereophonics, your Snow Patrols, your Simple Minds...

Bands like Athlete, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and Starsailor - I really hope that they recognise their fan-bases and their apparent love for making music and plough on. I really, really hope that they do. The notion of still being able to count on them in ten years or so is genuinely endearing.

Ten Really Exciting Pieces of Music

Blitzkrieg Bop by The Ramones. God Save The Queen by The Sex Pistols. Faster by The Manic Street Preachers. Something by The Prodigy. And Pendulum. Possibly Hadouken!, too, I don't know. Caught By The Fuzz.

Exciting, energising music that never lets up. The furious downward strummed barre-chords and relentless bass of The Ramones and, of course, the rallying cry of "hey, ho, let's go" - in certain circumstances and at certain volumes, it can be so exhilarating that it's hard not to fall over. When such vitriolic intent is coupled with furious "social commentary" - as is the case with "The Pistols" and "The Manics" - well, you start to get the impression that anything's possible.

Today, however, I'm looking for music that's exciting in a slightly different way. Those songs as listed above would happily soundtrack a riot - think of burning flags, crumbling banks, molotov cocktails - or, if you're feeling in any way less anarchic, just imagine jumping over your garden wall and, without the slightest break in your step, running full pelt down the street to the cornershop where you scream your order of Red Bull and Pro-Plus.

Today, however, I'm looking for songs that are exciting in ways that the human brain might fail to grasp to the point that initial reactions range from vomiting through to hysteria via paralysis. 

Of course, these songs being but the product of the human brain itself, few have any real hope of coming close to this hyper-reality for which I'm striving. Be that as it may, some of these songs are the products of very special human brains. 

These songs are urgent. They're intense. The overall feel is rousing. The only reason I didn't use "Ten Rousing Pieces of Music" as a title is that, in such a context, "rousing" might be taken to refer to some kind of knees-up. "Exciting", though, is a lot more elastic a term. If you were to hear of an asteroid making its inexorable progress Earthward, you'd be terrified to incapacity. However, a part of you would also be deeply, deeply excited.

These songs are exciting in that I don't think they'd be at all out of place blaring through the headphones of the four horsemen. Surprisingly, though, there's not really much in the way of metal. You think there would be, really, but there you go. Also, as is usually the case with me, things are limited to a Western perspective and are almost without exception from the past ten years or so.

So, like with absolutely everything else in the world, mind-numbingly tedious criticisms can be levied this way. But, give the list a listen (Spotify playlist at the end) and, I think you'll agree, it's bloody exciting stuff.

10. The Flaming Lips - Silver Trembling Hands

In its live incarnation its sang from the shoulders of a gorilla to a backdrop of a retina-burning purple vortex. Heard in the context of the almighty Embryonic album, it causes such a ruckus that an extra track is required afterwards just to let the dust settle. All these, though, are but bells and whistles. As heard in isolation, it's like a head exploding in extreme slow motion again and again and again. 

Opening with a scream - not of pain, not of rage - of what? - before that relentless fuzzy bassline kicks in coupled with those propulsive drums and Wayne Coyne's singing as if he's distanced from us by at least two galaxies - "Dagger/Night flight/Tomorrow/She forgets about the fear/When she's high". 

And then, stability is achieved and we're allowed to just happily float in space for a few bars, transcendence very much achieved - before, with another sky-shattering scream, we're plunged back into chaos.

09. Radiohead - There There

Pounding tribal drums and droning feedback with a few snare fills to keep it together before Thom Yorke's loosest, swampiest riff perfectly captures the disquieting feel of walking alone through a dark forest. There's hints of broken branches, sirens, shipwrecks, unseen forces - either you're being watched or you're being followed. Either way, something's not quite right.

This is one of those songs which perhaps works best in the live context. Live Radiohead veterans will always know it's coming. Two huge tom-toms are brought to the stage whilst Ed O'Brien and Jonny Greenwood down their guitars in favour of drum-sticks and Thom Yorke crouches over his amp for those deep rumbling drones. 

About halfway through, Jonny again picks up his guitar and adds some tight, spidery arpeggios to Thom's murky lead. "Why so green and lonely?", he cries. "Heaven sent you to me", he trills; and again. And again. The tension is almost unbearable, and then it snaps: Jonny's solo wailing like banshees on windswept moors. "We are accidents waiting to happen." And, at this point, anybody who finds that the hair on the back of their neck isn't standing on end is either not listening hard enough or not listening loud enough.

Live, at this point, without missing a beat and with his guitar still slung over his shoulders, Jonny again starts attacking those tom-toms with furious abandon. This is just to remind anyone that, apart from anything else, Radiohead kick ass.

 08. Boards of Canada - Davyan Cowboy

A song of  two halves, and the only Boards of Canada composition for which they've ever made an official video. The first half features an impossibly high sky-dive - like, from the cusp of the atmosphere itself. The second half contains footage of a surfer in his element - some of which is captured from within the waves themselves.

The two feats as depicted - when coupled with those chiming guitar chords and the most stirring of strings - makes for music every bit as rousing and inspirational as Rocky's bloody "Eye Of The Tiger" - and then some. I've always found the music of Boards of Canada to be of the most transcendent music being created today. It took this video to suggest that the otherworldliness as inherent of every bar of every composition they've ever released can be channeled into seemingly superhuman achievements. This music, then, is suggestive of endless possibilities.

The Trans Canada Highway EP on which the song featured framed it as the start of an aural road-trip across Canada. Again it's presented as the start of something very big indeed. However, by the time we reach the ten minute Odd Nodsdam remix, we're once again in the realms of the sublime.

07. Sigur Ros - Glosoli

It means "glowing sun", I think. The resonance and grounding as created by the twangy bass and the stomp/clomp/clomp of the drums create a marching feel - this is a journey! A journey, indeed, which might take some time. However, Jonsi's plaintive, celestial vocals are a comfort and an encouragement that, in the end, all will be worthwhile.

And worthwhile it is indeed. As ever, Jonsi's vocals serve to raise the song from the "devastatingly beautiful" to the realms of "worldly divine". There comes a point where the stomping drums and resonant bass increase somewhat in their speed - it feels as though we're breaking into a run, gearing for take-off. Remarkably, at this point Jonsi's vocals somehow attain a stirring angelic quality of an intensity rare even for him. It builds and builds. And builds. When it can't seemingly build any more it builds some more. Everyone's waiting for a release. For take-off.

And when it comes, it comes. For any other band to go from "floaty ambience" to "crunching guitas" would be a tired, hackneyed quiet-loud post-rock-by-numbers moment. Sigur Ros, though, aren't just any band. It feels trite and lazy to describe them as a "force of nature", but when that chiming wave of pure sonic incandescence kicks in, I for one feel like a mole or cave fish being blinded by my first burning sight of sunlight.

06. Stereolab - Metronomic Underground

Like all the best Stereolab songs, it starts off sounding like a field recording from some 1950s vision of a futuristic laboratory. We're in raygun sci-fi territory as test-tubes bubble and strange machines rattle, beep and emit multi-coloured puffs of smoke.

Then comes that bassline and that vocal refrain and you're reminded of why they call such features "hooks". In an instant, you're very much hooked. 

Stereolab were, apparently, one of the first bands to be described as "post-rock". Be that as it may, however, all the traditional facets of post-rock are almost entirely absent from their music. And thank god they are. Their tone is playful and optimistic rather than dour and muted. Their themes are focused and concise rather than pretentious and obtuse. Most tellingly, however, is the manner in which they structure a song. Layer upon layer is added to the composition before, almost without realising it, the transition from "quiet and mysterious" to "loud and fuck yes" has been achieved seamlessly. 

The majority of post-rock seems to be about slow builds, texture, sudden shifts in dynamics. When songs kick into life, its a crescendo, a release. With Stereolab, it's more like a descent into a hot bath - or madness. Gradual but, ultimately, a lot more rewarding. And nowhere is it better exemplified than here.

05. The Hold Steady - The Swish

Damon Albarn, in reference to the film adaptation of Trainspotting, described it as a film that made him want to "get up and do things". I know exactly what he means, and I feel exactly the same way about The Hold Steady. And this acted as my introduction to their visceral yet remarkably literate world.

The guitars commence by jarring and churning in an angular post-punk manner before soaring and chiming triumphantly - it's an overture in miniature, setting the stage perfectly for Craig Finn's mercurial barking growls.

"Pills and powder baby/powder and pills/we spent last night down in Beverly Hills" - As opening lines go, I'm hard pressed to think of anything more instantly suggestive of an entire world - a statement of intent - it's a constant, furious party - though so intense is the delivery that immediately we know that these are desperate people, their parties nothing but self-destructive. 

To listen to The Hold Steady is to remind yourself that there's a whole world out there and that - whilst it might be dark, terrifying, cruel and dangerous - at the same time it's very, very exciting. The best part is where the music pulls back for a rousing, triumphant shout of "Hold Steady!"

04. ...And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead - Ode To Isis/Will You Smile Again?

The Ode To Isis section is a gathering storm, a rapidly descending darkness complete with apocalyptic choirs, thunderous drums and downright demented screams. It all comes to a furious staccato climax before all is drowned out by an anguished scream. Then, from one channel to another - "And you will know us/by the trail of dead".

And, of course, they're just getting started. It takes a very special grasp of the big, the dramatic, the operatic - to make a song explode once again even after such an overblown opening. But it manages to achieve exactly that, and it does so with little more than the standard guitars, drums and bass. It sounds like the sort of music Wagner might want to listen to when in need of a shot to the arm.

Some music sounds as though it was written with a very specific time and place in mind. It's hard not to picture sweaty London boozers when hearing The Libertines, for instance; and even the most low-key of Springsteen compositions was seemingly written with nothing smaller than a cavernous stadium in mind.

Trail of Dead, however, never seem to make music for anything less devastating than the second coming.

03. The Flaming Lips - Race For The Prize

Presuming, of course, that people are, in fact, reading this - the only people who'd ever question the logic behind including two Flaming Lips songs in the same list will be those who haven't witnessed the life-affirming religious experience that is their live show.

They've apparently long-since realised that nothing in their canon ever can - or ever will - act as a worthier opening to their set. With a "One, two - one, two three four" - explosions of smoke, confetti - desperate, soaring, bittersweet synths and the biggest drums that ever were - all at ear bleeding volumes, cohorts of dancing rabbits, aliens, santas - Wayne Coyne swirls a neon light over his head - as if from nowhere balloons cascade over the audience - and nowhere is anybody wearing anything less than the broadest of grins on their faces. Suddenly, life is worth living, and all problems are rendered meaningless in the face of joy that's such that it's almost unbearable. 

The sheer poignant desperation behind the song - two scientists furiously and selflessly working for the salvation of the human race instead - only serves to intensify further that which was already dangerously intense.

02. The Foo Fighters - All My Life

I've realised that the key to harnessing such emotions that are contained within the songs in this list is the careful and effective treatment of tension and its eventual release. The release, when it occurs, must occur at the point where to contain it for even a second longer would have been an act of cruelty. That which follows after the release must, of course, be such that it eclipses even the satisfaction of letting go.

With this - another song apparently written with the express intention of kicking off live shows - for a while things proceed pretty standardly. Those chugging power chords and growly vocals are intense - they're certainly urgent, we're certainly going places - and that chorus - as desperate, angry, soaring as anything. But, so far, so...standard.

Soon, however, things start to build. The vocals and the lyrics take on a restless tone, with shouts of "done" and "onto the next" - this is transcience, this is self-destruction - is this addiction? And how does it feel? 

Then comes the release. Heard out of context it's nothing more than staccato guitar chugging. However, coming after all the emotions and frustrations of that build up, it's furious, it's resigned, it's so, so satisfying.

In the video - and, indeed, in the live setting - this moment is coupled with blinding red lights - the band reduced to black silhouettes crouched over their instruments. It's nothing more than a bit of creative lighting, and yet it serves to perfectly summate the feel of the moment - it's one of the most perfectly matched synergies of music and visuals that has ever been achieved. The triumphant chorus that follows - coupled, in the video, with the unveiling of gigantic flags bearing their logo - must be impossible to sing and play without an immense grin on your face. You wonder how they manage it.

01. Muse - Take A Bow

Apocalypse Please. Citizen Erased. Microcuts. Butterflies and Hurricaines. Space Dementia. Knights of Cydonia. Showbiz. Starlight. Exogenesis. Megalomania. Stockholme Syndrome. Hysteria. Muse could have filled this list twice over. Their music's so grandiose, apocalyptic and overblown that, when they play, dark clouds don't just gather, they explode.

Take A Bow, though, perhaps represents their greatest achievement to date in doing that which Muse do best - that is, in containing all the devastating, soul destroying drama of five hours worth of Gotterdammerung into five minutes or so of concise, virtuoso hypercharged rock music.

No less than three times does this song build and build and build and release - and each release is more intense and - yes - satisfying than the last. First is the point at which the swirling synths and stately colossal bass makes way for a thumping drumbeat. Then comes the moment at which Matt Bellamy's cry of the track's title is looped and echoed and the synths get higher and faster and louder and higher and faster and louder - and that bass! - and higher and faster and higher again before - drums! - and the fuzzy searing guitar cuts through everything - this section is so wallowing in earth-shattering doom that it was used to perfect, dazzling, pants-wetting effect on the initial trailers for The Watchmen.

Then comes the third and final build and release - Matt Bellamy, with terrifying fervour, screams demonically that his prey will "burn in hell" - and then comes that chord - coupled, as it is, with a choral uproar that's such that the song seems to collapse in on itself, leaving us with nothing but feedback and, you imagine, smoking craters. Fittingly, at this point in their show, flames usually erupt from the stage.

God, I can't wait for Glastonbury.

Click here for this entire list as a Spotify playlist! *

* There's very little Boards of Canada on Spotify. Davyan Cowboy reluctantly substituted with Roygbiv.

 

All Is Right In The World

The empire has fallen, and all feels right in the world. How am I celebrating? By obsessively making lists. As usual.

Ladies and gentlemen, here, truncated, is my Top 25 albums of 2009:

25. Orphan Fairytale - Ladybird Labyrinth
24. Zero 7 - Yeah Ghost
23. Broadcast - Broadcast and the Focus Group Investigate the Witch Cults of the Radio Age
22. Blk Jks - After Robots
21. A Broken Consort - Box of Birch
20. Passion Pit - Manners
19. Years - s/t
18. Jonsi & Alex - Riceboy Sleeps
17. Dead Man's Bones - s/t
16. Girls - Album
15. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - s/t
14. Bat For Lashes - Two Suns
13. Doves - Kingdom of Rust
12. Mew - No More Stories...
11. Yo La Tengo - Popular Songs
10. The Flaming Lips - Embryonic
9. Anthony & The Johnsons - The Crying Light
8. Engineers - Three Fact Fader
7. The Field - Yesterday and Today
6. Andrew Bird - Noble Beast
5. Ducktails - s/t
4. Various - Dark Was The Night
3. Wild Beasts - Two Dancers
2. Dan Deacon - Bromst
1. Animal Collective - Meriweather Post Pavilion


Loses all meaning when not accompanied by a glut of impassioned/aimlessly purple prose, don't you think?


The fun doesn't stop there. Every year I allow for my listening habits to be utterly dictated by the notion that, come the end of the year, I'll put all of my favourite tracks of the year together on a "best of the year" mix CD. I've done the same this year. I'd like to say that this represents a comprehensive "best tracks of 2009", but it doesn't. Favoured tracks are often omitted/suplanted for the sake of running time and/or order. So, here's a mix CD I entitled 2009 - it's not at all available for streaming or download, so I'm just wasting everybody's time, really.

1. The Pains of Being Pure At Heart - Stay Alive
2.  Ducktails - Pizza Time
3.  Girls - Lust For Life
4. Wild Beasts - Empty Nest
5. Passion Pit - Sleepyhead
6.  The Field - The More That I Do
7.  Dan Deacon - Build Voice
8. Animal Collective - In The Flowers
9. Years - The Major Lift
10.  Doves - Winter Hill
11.  Intricate Machines - Wooden Roof
12.  Yo La Tengo - More Stars Than There Are In Heaven
13.  Andrew Bird - Anonanimal
14.  Anthony & The Johnsons - Another World
15.  Bat For Lashes - Siren Song
16.  Zero 7 - All of Us

It flows beautifully, you know.

Finally, we shall bring this cavalcade of dull to a dusty flumping close with an approximation of my favourite albums of the noughties. With two exceptions they're all guitar driven. Aside from a couple of starring roles, they're dominated by male. And, with no exceptions, they're white, western. This does not make me a racist chauvinist, but it may make me a twat. I don't know. I'm reluctant to expand my horizons for the sake of expansion. That way madness - and ridicule - lies. So, the best of the noughties, then, in pure, unadulterated list form, for I don't have the time for "in depth", nobody will read it anyway and oh god it's all so droll and crass and predictable: 

1. Radiohead - Kid A
2. Boards of Canada - Geogaddi
3. Animal Collective - Feels
4. Badly Drawn Boy - Hour of Bewilderbeast
5. Super Furry Animals - Rings Around The World
6. Broken Social Scene - You Forgot it in People
7. Arcade Fire - Funeral
8. Grandaddy - The Sophtware Slump
9. Sufjan Stevens - Come On Feel The Illinoise
10. Lou Reed - The Raven
11. The Delgados - The Great Eastern
12. Sigur Ros - ( )
13. The Hold Steady - Boys and Girls In America
14. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus
15. The Beta Band - Hot Shots II
16. Blur - Think Tank
17. The Field - From Here We Go Sublime
18. Guillemots - Through The Window Pane
19. Yo La Tengo - And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out
20. British Sea Power - Do You Like Rock Music


Up next - who cares?