Strong Garbage vibes here. No bad thing. It's not going to win any Ivor Novello awards for songwriting. But the sweeping chord changes built into the melodies are pleasing. It probably plays well in the gym.
Goofy US college art rock shit that actually isn't very funny. It reminded me of the 'skits' on US chat shows. They're crap as well. Ha, bloody ha. Jonathan Richman has some half decent jokes in his back catalogue, along with the songs to match. AJJ has neither.
The fourth album in a six-act story? Blimey. I may have missed the first three, but there's no way I'm going to binge on a catch up. The final two acts can do one, as well. I'm being harsh. This wasn't the rock opera shit I was expecting. It's almost soft rock, sounding like an album from 1979, not 2015. One for the committed.
There's a tremendous amount of energy on this album. It's not exactly bedtime listening. It kicks you up the arse and offers up a rallying call. I'm not quite sure what the message is, but it sounds like fun. It's also quite a messy album as it progresses. It descends into music hall nonsense. That's where I gave up.
Short and sweet - which was a blessing as that was all that I could tolerate. Indie shite doesn't speak to me. How the chuff are you expected to dance to this nonsense? Some of the Pixies bass line pricked up my interest. But that was about it I'm afraid.
Indie schmindie miserablists.
There's a fresh energy to this album, mixed in with an innocence and a sense of fragility. Bollocks. That sounds wanky. How a bloody good mix of electronic music that actually has a soul to it? I could imagine myself dancing to this naked at an end of the Century rave on an iceberg. Now there's an image. Lovely music.
I thought the band name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. A little online digging and oh - it’s them, that lot from Leicester. I was on the fringes of this scene when I rocked up in the City of Death late ‘93. I must have seen Prolapse at The Charlotte, and probably heard some of the singles. But they didn’t leave a mark on me, thirty odd years later. I have no memory of this music. The Italian Flag was unfamiliar. It filled a gap on a working morning. But I have no interest in returning to this scene, let alone the City of Death.
This is completely new on me. I rather liked it. Inoffensive, sweet, soulful. Disco folk? Possibly. It's music for middle aged arses like me, who still want to dance, but don't want a bloody racket messing up my morning.
I've not really got an opinion on this album. It started, it ended. I didn't bail. I struggled to think of anything meaningful to write. It didn't annoy me, it didn't inspire me to try and pick up a cheapo copy online. If I heard it again then I wouldn't mind. But I've got more exciting music to explore.
AI could churn this out with an 80's fused with Latino prompt. SO 1980's, and not in a good way. It could be the soundtrack to any of those trashy coming of age movies. I felt that I should be wearing leg warmers whilst listening. Bailed after three tracks.
An album recorded by Committee, Chaired by pop bots.
Well this is an angry group of young men. It makes a change from the recent pop crap served up over recent days. It also makes a bloody racket. Strong punk Yoko vibes. I can't work out if this is a musical masterpiece, or total shit. Not exactly bedroom music to drift off to.
This was a pleasant surprise. I was expecting macho posturing and profanities. Never judge an album by its cover, etc. This is a very thoughtful album. There's shades of Loyle Carner, plus also The Good, The Bad and The Queen. Mustafa has a self-awareness throughout, along with a relevance to modern living. I like this.
A thoughtful album, and perfect morning music as I got to grips with the world. I made a mental note to buy a cheapo copy online after the first three tracks. Half a dozen more tracks in and I decided to ditch the idea. It's not a bad album - in fact it's really quite enjoyable. But it's also a little bland, all a little more of the same. I felt like I had binged on some bland cheddar, rather than a few slices of Stilton.
This was a new one for me. It's a haunting album, with mantras, rather than traditional lyrics. It builds up a decent atmosphere as the tracks progress. I fell into an accidental trance whilst this drifted over me. I wish I had a bath in which to soak up and enjoy this.
Birdhouse In Your Soul is brilliant, but it also kinda gets on yet tits. A bit like much of this album tbh. It's US college goof. I wonder if the Americans view Ian Dury through a similar cultural lens?
The list of influences for Gaelle on the wiki page was impressive - Cocteau's, Prince, Trevor Horn. My kinda girl, I thought. Sadly I heard none of the above throughout the album. It's pleasant enough as the chords sweep over you. She's got a half decent voice to match. But sadly not for me.
aka Rio outtakes. That's harsh.
I dismissed this initially as horrid metal turge. But wait! What's this? There's actually some half-forced tunes in there. Blimey. I wouldn't buy it, obvs. I wouldn't even dance to it. I don't think that you can dance to ISIS. But it did hold my attention for more than fifteen minutes - a rarity with some of the metal shit on this list.
I'm a sucker for prog shit. Except this is 80's prog, with even elements of funk coming through. The songs slide all over the place as the scales change continuously. It's quite an unsettling experience. Unsettling is good when it comes to music. You should never feel too comfortable.
A delight to listen to, from start to finish. The thing with any Lee Perry album is that you think you already know it, even those most of the tunes are fresh. No one makes a sound like him, stretching out every note, yet still holding the rhythm. This music works best when the sun is shining and you have optimism for what is ahead. Monday was one of those mornings. Aye.
Fuck this shit. Seriously.
I had no idea T Bone Burnett was involved in this. It's still bloody whiny in places. Mr Jones remains a delight. It's one of those albums that I think I'm suppose to take seriously. But sometimes I just don't give a shit and want to listen to something that bounces along and makes me want to bop. Counting Crows aren't that band.
A new one for me. I wouldn't describe this as country, despite what Wiki tries to tell you. It's more in the tradition of Steve Earle. It's the kind of music Alabama 3 might be making if they came from, erm, Alabama and not Brixton. I could have done without the talky talky bits. Otherwise a very classy alt Americana album.
Never judge a book... But I bailed before even giving this metal shit a listen. Not music.
He's so London, he's so South, etc. Transpontine soul floats all over geography. There's no mistaking where this album was recorded, despite the generic Geography title. It's laid back S ldn, and not the SHOUTY SHOUTY version that sometimes boils over in the summer. A half decent spring moment captured, ahead of the more livelier days ahead. Enjoyable, if a little bland.
I never really got the whole ska punk thing. Slapstick does little to convince me otherwise. I love ska, I love punk. But only in their purest forms. You're better off listening to Sandinista! from start to finish. So there
Live albums rarely work. I want to hear the music, not the whooping. Once the audience gets settled, My Morning Jacket have some cracking tunes. It sounds like the melodies however are cranked up for the live crowd. I would have preferred an unplugged format for this album. It worked for Nirvana - probably the best and only decent live album.
This is a real mixed bag. The opening Salty Dog track is quite a statement. What then follows is some genre hopping taking in rock opera, the blues and sea shanties. I have no idea what it's all about but I quite enjoyed the grandness to it all.
Refused to listen. Not my shit.
