missive 159 - part 1
29-03-2008
Singled Out
Missive 159

For Kelly and Mark

A slightly extended singled out this time around which hopefully - all things being well - should be swiftly pursued by an extended my space special due to arrive sometime mid week.

Current long playing listening, liking and loving fancies - all of course highly recommended -
Chandeliers - the thrush (pickled egg)
Canadians ‘a sky and no stars’ (ghost)
Rudimentary peni ‘no more pain’ (Himalayan)
Bass communion ‘pacific codex’ (equation)
The Bordellos ‘meet the bordellos’
elliott jack ‘stay away from lonely places’
hollow blue ‘stars are crashing’
The orb ‘the dream’
Avenging force
the black fortress of Opium


Reading materials -

Current issue of the Mojo Classics series Volume 2 Issue 5 entitled ‘Blondie and the Story of New Wave’ is a 148 page celebratory publication marking the 30th Anniversary of New Wave. Inside there are interviews / features with / on all the scenes players including the Skids, Talking Heads, XTX and a rare interview with Generation X’s Bob ’Derwood’ Andrews plus archive cuttings centring on the Boomtown Rats, Police and Devo as well as an extended on Blondie.

And because we’ve gone all 1978 a few vids -

First up the Pretenders - was there anything cooler that in their singles locker than ‘kid’ -



Blondie so much to choose from - you forget how bloody good they were - Debbie Harry a 50’s throwback glamour pin up was a much needed shot in the arm to a genre so visibly anti-glamour - ‘hanging on the telephone’ edging just - ’touched by your presence’….



Okay technically 1979 but who gives a bugger ‘masquerade’ by the Skids sounded at the time as though it’d had been shipped in from a different universe and ‘scared to dance’ their debut full length is one of the ages most criminally overloaded platters of the time - here’s a well ropey video….



And years before the sappy ‘drive’ sealed their reputation there was a time when the Cars where just about the coolest thing from across the pond - in terms of ‘drive‘ time ditties ‘just what I needed’ still sounds the bollocks……



Years before Saint Bob shimmied alongside Midge Ure to set up the Live Aid franchise he was front man to the Dublin based combo Boomtown Rats, they may have dressed like Showaddywaddy with the mentality of a hyper Monkees but hell could they kick out hook laden pop nuggets for fun - second full length ’a tonic for the troops’ was essential turntable tastiness for school trekking teens though personally I was always of their critically panned latter career ’v deep’….



Finally an artist so criminally under rated that we swore he’d it all in until we spied his new album ‘rain’ - Joe it seems has also been recently embroiled in the great smoking ban debacle - you can read his thoughts in PDF essay entitled ‘the smoking issue’ via this link http://www.joejackson.com/smoking.php - for now a spot of vintage stuff….



Paul Marko ’the Roxy London WC2 - A PUNK HISTORY’ (Punk 77)

Phil Stromgman ’pretty vacant - a history of punk’ (orion)

Punk house - interiors in Anarchy (Abrahams Image)

Alex Ross ’the rest is noise - listening to the twentieth century’ (fourth estate)

Also if you have the time - and yes agreed it is non music related - try and catch the very excellent ‘Hancock and Joan’ screenplay being aired as part of BBC’s current ‘the curse of comedy’ season via their I-player on www.bbc.co.uk - based on the memoirs of Joan Le Mesurier ’lady don’t fall backwards’ and Edward Joffe’s ’Hancock’s last stand - the series that never was’ it portrays the troubled comic genius’ life fast unravelling amid the demons of insecurity and alcohol, a tragic and deeply affecting drama centring on the East Cheam’s favourite sons self destructive nature. Detailing the last few months of his life it shows Hancock as a dependant, desperate and almost pathetic shell far removed from the nations loveable fool of his defining and long running ‘Hancocks Half Hour’ radio and television series. The story picks up after he’d left the BBC and shortly before his ill fated trip to Australia Now dispensed of - his foil Sid James, his writers Galton and Simpson, his paymasters the BBC and his wife Freddie, slowly but surely Hancock has closed the door on each and everyone. His first appearance sees him convalescing in a clinic being treated for his astute chronic alcoholism - distressed, abandoned and bewildered his best friend Le Mesurier puts him up. The story is particular effecting not on from the Hancock perspective but from Le Mesurier’s part in the process, the unwitting third person in his own marriage, Hancock abuses his trust and soon embarks on a doomed and consequentially fated affair with Le Mesurier’s young wife. For those wishing to remember Hancock as the rounded loveable squire of the ramshackle Railway Cuttings always side splittingly duped by the on the make James then resist from watching at all costs. This is raw stuff, a tragic, seedy and darkly visual account of a desperate talent destroying himself from within and while it might fit within the BBC’s detailed spec of capturing the ‘curse’ - personally I think instead of making you sympathise with the protagonist it instead serves to sully the image of the great man - I mean do we really need to see Hancock having a bit or sitting on the toilet. The true curse of Hancock was his restless nature and want to move on and develop and ultimately as with most celebrated comics his need and desire to understand the logic and mechanics of humour and what made people laugh. All in all despite its shortcomings its a genuinely touching and tearfully harrowing account the performances of Ken Stott and Maxine Peak are exceptional though its Alex Jennings portrayal as the discreet and patient John Le Mesurier that steals the show.

The records…….

The Accidental ‘knock knock’ (static caravan). This debut stirrings from the Accidental barely missed the cut on missive 157 when we revelled in the delights of both the current Static toddlers - that killer Yellow Moon Band release and the must have Ass / Blood Music split - but well worth the wait we’d like to think. A Tunng off shoot of sorts, the Accidental features the combined talents of Trunk records co founder / Memory Band member (who also feature in their ranks a certain Nancy Wallace who has been known to moonlight with the Owl Service) Stephen Cracknell and Tunng’s Sam Genders who along with Hannah Coughlin and Liam Bailey has been quietly tinkering away in a magic wood shed crafting out a sparkly full length which is slated for Easter release by those nice people (well you have to say things in order to get freebie promos - though between you, me and the garden gate we’d say that anyway cos they are) at Full Time Hobby (home of the Checks, Malcolm Middleton, Viva Voce and er - Tunng - notice a pattern forming here?). Anyhow this their debut release is a lovingly pressed up slice of 7 inches of wax of which there are only 500 copies and all of those come housed in the die cut company sleeves that hark back to the stylising of the classic era Deram ands Harvest releases. An inspired yet unusual way to make your introductions to the record racks of the most crucial vinyl emporiums in that this little cutie actually features to guest remixes of tracks that will appear on the aforementioned debut full length platter - which for arguments sake and ease we’ll call ’there were wolves’ (which strangely enough is actually what its called - see - great minds and so on). Anyhow before this extends to almost thesis proportions and we loose all three of you readers at the hands of death by boredom, this inaugural gem opens to the sounds of ’knock knock’ remixed on this occasion by -come on bet you can’t guess - Mike Lindsay - who happens to be the other half of the Tunng songsmithery (see I told a strange pattern was emerging). Dark, primitive and utterly desirable - this little slice of surreal enchantment will appeal to all those long time Tunng fans who maybe yearn for the days when Lindsay and Genders decorated the turntables with curiously odd reclaimed folk spectres drawn - or so it seemed - from the shadowy recesses of traditional based village fayre entertainment. A loose cousin in many respects to ‘willow’s song’ from the Wicker Man though obviously shed of the lust appeal yet similarly marked by that self same pulsating spell forming zeal, this mysterious cutie treads a crookedly sparse path braided with boy / girl mantras and lush with peek a boo mischief being played out by woodland inhabiting marionettes. Over on the flip ‘brave new world’ has Expanding (whose absence from our hi-fi has been duly noted - questions will be asked accompanied by way of varying forms of outlawed investigative practices) starlet Benge twiddling the dials for a spot of lunatic occupancy amid the reclining wisps of the milky way, no other way to describe this other than to say lock up all kitchen appliances for fear of comatose states as they lilt and wilt beneath the delightfully dinky robotic waltz motifs on show and best summed up by comparing it to Laurie Anderson’s ’oh superman’ replete with bucket, spade and ice cream cone chilling out on some far flung extra terrestrial glacial promenade - decks chairs optional. Buy. www.staticcaravan.org

Further reading - go to http://www.myspace.com/theaccidental for a chance to download an advance MP3 of ’illuminated red’ from the forthcoming full length which on first hearing sounds not unlike the much loved Soft Hearted Scientists.

The Outside Royalty ‘Falling’ (bloody awful poetry). Quite frankly just what the doctor ordered - indeed just what the British Medical Council called for. We are so in love with this that we are thinking of asking it out for a date. Of course that’s 1). wrong 2). If not illegal then well up there on the geek radar somewhere just behind knowing things about computers, being excited about excel spreadsheets, PS3’s and train spotting 3). We don’t do dates mainly because of our witheringly shy disposition and anyway the last time we had a courting moment it was the infamous hand trapped in door incident to which a cry of ’that’s God that is’ was heard to which a pained retort along the lines of ’no it f**kin wasn’t it was the b**tard door’ was struck back for a point winning return. Blimey where are we - ah yes Outside Royalty. Another killer debut it has to be said, packing oodles of majestically pristine formed pop ’falling’ (incidentally also the debut release for the bloody awful poetry imprint) is a gloriously sugar rushing cavalcade of windswept heart pounding euphoria that’s led from the fore by a vocal that is drawn from 2 parts of the crushed resignation of Bryan Ferry and one part ’Low’ era David Bowie that’s been dipped into a aural framing that whilst in the studio couldn’t decide whether to opt for the all out up tempo new wave avenue of strutting guitars and sparring riffs or to settle for a more enriched and mellowing spectacle of tingling string corteges and instead has superbly fused the two polar opposites into a swirling collage of drama laced heraldry. Reference wise think Pulp’s ‘babies’ braided with a foot stomping storm lashed underpin whose bitter sweet angst has been tenderly coaxed and caressed by a sumptuous front line assault of tip toeing string sweeps - invigorating stuff. That said the flip side is even better - ‘voice beneath the rubble’ with its darkening noire-esque mastery and bewitching mantra like choral harmonies slowly ratchets up the tension quota whilst simultaneously positioning itself somewhere in your record collection between Mick Harvey’s ‘intoxicated man’ and Rialto‘s ‘Monday morning 5:19’. Joint single of the missive. www.bloodyawfulpoetry.com

The Thin Men ‘Demo 08’ (Glow B Recordings). We’ll feel a mite shamed in admitting to being previously unaware of the Thin Men previously. Somewhere along the line - and to much gnashing of teeth I can tell you - we’ve managed to stroll casually through life without ever stumbling upon his three album back catalogue found gracing themselves on Boy George’s more protein imprint. The Thin Men feature the multi talented Kiwi Blair Jollands who it seems has in the recent past been catching the ear of certain tabloids and national radio stations across this fair isle. Finding a temporary home on his own Glow B imprint this set features 5 nail you between the eyes nuggets of shimmying pop that reveal a restless dynamo of song talent at hand. What makes this set so perfect is the way Jollands manages to freewheel through the generic barriers to cook up a sumptuous brew of irresistible tuneage. Classy doesn’t come into it. From the silken amorphous tonalties of the succulently orbiting night time amour of the slender caress of the Beloved-esque ’Nowhere’ which opens the set - with its dinked love noted lunatic spirals and frothily seductive arrangements - think Bowie and Bono cocooned inside some mallowy mirror ball - to the crunching skinny jean winkle boot wearing parting shot ’walkin’ blues’ which anchors itself upon some natty ‘flowers’ era Will Sergeant-esque strokes as though found sparring with Ambulance LTD and then sumptuously finds itself dipped in swirls of soft shaded psyche coated with lysergic laced sugar - sassy, snazzy and kick bottom bollocking taste laced wig flipping wholesomeness that to these ears sounds like its been piped straight from the hipster heydays of the pre flowering pop mid 60’s. In a word crucial. In between these devilishly spanking bookends the strutting 50’s bubblegum pop transfused to Spector-esque fuzz power popped 60’s shimmer of the glorious Orbison like emotionally crushed ’dream of you’ can only be described as the closest thing to 3 minutes of pop heaven while the mellowing lights out thoughtfulness of ’broken line’ courts with the same chest clutching grandeur as Pete Wylie leaving last but not least the windswept and smoking ’liloette’ is invigorating and hymnal on a wide screen scale all the time peppered perfectly by dreaming spectral spires and softly unfurling chime corteges. Quite ruddy magnificent if you ask me. Joint single of the missive. www.myspace.com/thethinmen2

Eliza ‘change my name’ (lavaland / imprint). In a word - stunning. If we had posters then our listening space would be smothered with Eliza’s Icelandic features. Not wishing to jump the gun by saying so early in the year the best single of 2008 that would of course be a churlish thing of folly that said though certainly without doubt the best single to have graced these pages since that awesome and infectious overloading boot stomping debut by the Imperial Leisure at the tail end of last year. Eliza was one time face of Bellatrix (Icelandic imps, friends of Bjork, four critically acclaimed albums and so on) before calling it a day to pursue an educational itch - now back in her own right and with an album currently lurking amid the coolest record racks of underground retailers in the shape of ’empire fall’ which we’ll have to nab for ourselves. ’change my name’ hits you like an impact bomb, sounding like a dirty desire laden Kim Wilde, Eliza purrs and prowls amid a hypnotically wound sinew tightening clockwork dynamic of austere patched in post punk styled glacial death disco weariness, fraught and unrelenting possessing a head locking blankly sterile numbness, this pulsating cutie should do a fair amount of damage on the coolest underground club floors. That said nothing quite compares though to the cowering in the shadows ‘return to me’ - this crushed honey will literally destroy you from the inside out. Emotionally forlorn, wounded and set to a delicately fragile piano motif, this desolate darling slowly gathers in unnerving stature. Eliza‘s last chance saloon styled reflectively bleak emotional exorcism is as cutting as it is touching, an unrequited rapture cast amid a sensitively frail church like persona .Devastatingly beautiful - need we say more? Joint single of the missive. www.myspace.com/elizanewman

Farthing Wood ‘Poirot, le fisc’ (self released). Last time we had the pleasure of hearing these dudes on our hi-fi was way back at Missive 93, back then they were simply called KJ - their well crafted self released three track demo proving to be one of those rarefied treats that had elements of lilting folk rubbing shoulders with melodically astute shreds of timeless twee pop. The reference markers were plain to see - everything between early Go Betweens (still happily present here just check out the rain stained numbing craft of ‘glazed eyes’ with its Hey Paulette styled casualised simplicity) and Hefner was finitely distilled and dispatched earmarking the arrival of a band to watch. Somewhere along the line a line up reshuffle, a name change and a killer 6 track debut release sees the core KJ craftsmen Lewis Doyle and David Baptiste back on track. To describe ‘Poirot, le fisc’ would be to say distressed and bruised bitter sweet power pop of the highest calibre. There’s no doubting that the line up tweaking and the time out has paid dividends, this EP bristles with confidence and maturity, each of the cuts glowing with a razor sharp upbeat fuzzed wrapped west coast vibe, the soaring ‘Orleans reinette’ - the opening cut a damaged tale of unrequited love - in particular with its bristling speaker punching pulsating pop prowess courts with a vibrant candy pop swagger and smoulder that can trace its birthright from the Boo Radleys / Speedboat / BMX Bandits all the way back to the Raspberries / db’s. the sweetly serrating jangles of the blister like bitter sweetness of ‘glazed eyes’ belies nods to the early career work of the Bluetones and the Wedding Present though we must put our hands up to saying we are much smitten with the slyly ambling and beguiling ‘37’ which had us recalling ‘durable dream’ era Moviola with its sumptuously festooned sun glazed fuzzed reverbs and melancholic tinged reflective swagger.
Elsewhere there’s the upbeat ’keep running’ which after its brief and puzzlingly odd opening sample from er - the kids cartoon ’the animals of Farthing Wood’ (though I’m seriously doubtful and reckon its more to do with a spin off serial / book series that featured a kindly farmer helping out the woodland folk - how do I know this you may worry - well hell - I used to read the books at least 10 times a day to my eldest - mind you I’m probably wrong - usually am). Anyway after the un-sourced sample the lads nuzzle down for a tasty spot of Weddoes beat pop albeit that’ll be a Weddoes fronted by a cocksure Liam Gallagher. All said and done though the EP’s best moment by far is the stripped and raw acoustically drawn (well at least for the first minute or so) ‘God said to Farthing Wood let’s have a party’ which soon powers up into action amid a deliciously vibrant cortege of shimmering see saw like riffs dimpled longingly by a cutting melodic tug and the kind of tear stained persona that would have those dudes over at Teenage Fanclub HQ bristling with envy. www.myspace.com/farthingwood

Kelman ’album advance’ (self released). Previous review featured a bass player by the name of (David) Baptiste and Baptiste is - or more rightly was - the former incarnation of Kelman. It’s now becoming a tad ridiculous that each and every review we do that features a Kelman release or recording is blotted by our bewildered distress that no one has come seeking this lot. Their debut full length - the sweetly cracked and hurting ‘loneliness has kept us alive’ deservedly won plaudits aplenty from the more considered elements of the underground press while simultaneously finding itself bending the ear of the evening airwave torchbearers Messrs Stephens and Kennedy. Within that aching platter Kelman excelled in their ability to meter out in equal portions the sparse with the stately, the exquisite with the emotional and the sensitive with the scarred. Embracing the lost art of crafting indelibly beautiful scores that once peeled revealed a hurtfully bruised core, their sweet interpretation of the silken shade wearing 60’s styled sophisticated pop can be found lying between at an unspecified point between Lee Hazlewood and the Velvets, the sounds sparsely woven are principally soulful though shot through with a cripplingly repelling detachment that weaves with mercurial magnificence between the hopeful and hopeless. Looming large on the horizon Kelman’s second full length entitled ‘I felt my sad heart soar’ is in the can awaiting release, this teaser CD features three priceless cuts from those sessions including ’is this how it ends?’ (their last single) which for those of you who take note on such matters was put under the critical microscope at missive 127. Tragic, tormented and tantalising this trio offers a glimpse of the rich tapestry sewn by Kelman - the reference points undoubtedly indebted to the aforementioned Hazlewood and the Velvets with the added tilt of the Go Betweens and Tindersticks, while of today’s breed perhaps only Clientelle spin vaguely near to the opining orbit. As to the tracks on show, ‘I this how it ends?’ is a magnificently numbing tyrant of beautifully bruised bravado that stirs from a sparse detail to assume a crushed and hurtfully wounded clarity, stature and presence. Elegantly arresting ‘Commercial Road’ - delicately daubed with a beguiling pastoral hue this cutie is a hitherto more upbeat proposition that deliciously shimmers and caresses with the same spectral charm of classic era House of Love while the parting ’shut a final door’ which we do recall hearing in its rough cut stages a little while back - still sounds to us like something approaching unreal and magnificent as well as still recalling for the best part those much missed dudes the Flaming Stars. Like we said previously the masters of pain killer pop. A tormented treat. www.kelmanband.com

Cats in Paris ‘Foxes’ / ‘Terrapins’ (Akoustik Anarkhy). Sounds so unfeasibly wrong its audaciously right. If there’s just one record your saving yourself for among the assembled motley crew featured in this particular missive then make sure its this one because quite frankly once word spreads on this and they start flying off the racks - as it’s sure to do - then believe you me you’ll be kicking your own arse like a bad ‘un from now until the end of the year. Already endeared to us for their so far impeccable roster which as though you needed reminding features Autokat, It’s a Buffalo, Islands Lost at Sea, Neil Burrell, Soft Priest and the Loungs - with each Akoustik Anarkhy release arriving at our gaff welcomed with much whooping, hollering and hanging out the party bunting Manchester’s finest (as with like minded shoestring budget imprints On the Bone and Art Goes Pop - whose latest wares feature elsewhere in these musings) just keep raising the bar whilst edging a stride or two ahead of the competition. Latest killer debut to add to those that have gone before arrives courtesy of quartet Cats in Paris. This ridiculously infectious cutie comes pressed up on a limited run of pink wax while a whole full length’s worth of bonkers fun (entitled ‘Court Case 2000’) is rumoured to be prowling the patch and ready to pounce in the summer. ‘Foxes’ is frankly impossible to describe in all fairness, all at once fried, crooked and wonky it takes you by the hand and drops you headlong down a kaleidoscopic helter skelter wherein one minute your smitten amid a deliciously schizoid cosmic opera, the next a lunatic electro psych prog fantasia that sumptuously mutates to freewheel between fragmented and lush strains of avant jazz and bachelor pad lounge. As equally informed by Dutch psychedelicists Supersister as it is by mid career Stereolab, the Cardiacs and ’SF Sorrow’ era Pretty Things, ’Foxes’ is a genius slice of freak show carnival-esque kookily crafted lysergic symphonic pop that manoeuvres with ease through a multi-generic myriad while simultaneously manages to shoehorn everything from ‘Draughtsmens Contract’ era Nyman-esque string arrangements and B-52’s Vs. They came from the Stars meets Animal Collective weirdness. In a word - breathtaking. Flip the disc for the equally errant ‘terrapins’ which ducks and dives between moments of serene promenade bliss laden beauty (rhythmic funk, twinkling bells, bird noises and a general soothing willowy-ness) and riotous slabs of cacophonic acid jazz that to these ears have something of the Bablicon and the APATT’s about it all built upon sheens of shifting widescreen backdrops. That aforementioned full length is eagerly anticipated. Joint single of the missive. www.akoustikanarkhy.co.uk

Karim Fanous ‘Sometimes’ (KNN). Culled from his debut full length ‘Stir Crazy’ which by all accounts is garnering quiet acclaim in certain circles, ‘Sometimes’ is our first (and no doubt won’t be our last) encounter with the becoming talents of young London based singer / songwriter Karim Fanous. ‘Sometimes’ is a deceptively sobering bitter sweet slice of hope fading melancholia, tenderly braided by the merest application of strings and the delicate fret board handicraft of a classically drilled acoustic guitar, despite its frail arrangements and sparsely delivered presence there’s something enigmatic and elegant sneaking through the grooves as though finding Louden Wainright III doing lovelorn Bert Bacharach symphonies on a budget scale the melodies though crestfallen, tear stained and hurting melt seductively with an innate anxious passion. Bit of a beauty really though admittedly one for the purists. www.karimfanous.com

Isosceles ‘Kitch bitch’ (Art Goes Pop). And am I right in thinking that we hinted at a little Art Goes Pop action earlier on this very missive. Would we lie to you? This lot last appeared in these pages courtesy of their to die for debut ‘get your hands of’ (see missive 130). Several months down the line and up pops the follow up release just proving to the naysayer faction that lightning does indeed strike twice in the same place. ‘kitch bitch’ features two more slabs of unadulterated rampant record player rogering rumbles from Glasgow’s new breed, the reference markers clearly laid out on their debut are all apparent again and cutely so - think ‘Fame’ era Mr Bowie fused with a pre war paint, feathers and pantomime era Adam and the Ants kicking out Modern Lovers riffs for fun. As previously barely touching the sub thee minute tape with plenty of room to spare this contagious cutie is festooned with all manner of skewif driven corkscrewing twang, pulsating pizzazz and the ability to kick your ass big time just for having the nerve to be in the same room as it. Well cool. Flip the disc for what is in our humbled opinion the better of the twin set. ‘Watertight’ with its dance floor friendly jauntily fleet of foot shoe shuffling angulated white funk manoeuvres this breezy little slice of summery shimmer pop had us recalling a particular kookily chilled out Pavement replete with all their crooked accoutrements going head to head with a rather wired out Super Furry Animals which I’m sure you’ll agree makes it an absolute must have pop platter. www.myspace.com/artgoespop

Dave Cloud ‘Puff rider’ (Fire). Bitchin’ boogie of the highest calibre. Mr Cloud last featured in passing through these very pagers at missive 87 when we briefly name checked his split Matthew Bayot as part of Fire’s ‘Keep Mother’ series. This Nashville based dude has already been hogging the in house hi-fi of late with his highly recommended forthcoming long player ‘pleasure before business’ as well as mixing up the reactions of all who hear him and his dusty hobo side kicks the Gospel of Power (incidentally featuring members of Lambchop) from confounded and desperately confused to undying critical affection. Culled from his last album (2006’s ‘Napoleon of Temperance’) and pressed up on limited quantities of 7” wax ‘Puff Rider’ is given a radically smoking overhaul by XL’s mash up marauders Various Productions (Adam Phillips and Ian Carter of Campag Velocet fame). Left in their hands ‘Puff Rider’ is treated to a deliciously warped 80’s styled old skool electrified mutant funk groove that takes its cue from early scene leaders Afrika Bambaata, Tom Tom Club and Grandmaster Flash and wires into the matrix a deliriously fat bass grind that frankly wouldn’t look to out of place sitting amid the grooves of a Wagon Christ platter. Over on the flip lurks the original mix which despite all Various Productions routing on their re-calibration still sounds the most sinister of the two. This mooching bastard sounds like some devil’s crossroad pairing of a preacher styled Captain Beefheart and RL Burnside, bad assed fractured floor throbbing hoochie coochie that frankly spanks the young bands of today operating in the same sonic solar system. File under ultra f**king cool. www.firerecords.com

Grammatics ‘D.I.L.E.M.M.A.’ (Dance to the Radio). I know we shouldn’t admit to this but what the hell - this literally dropped through the mail box and while the press release made all the right noises it was the mere fact that it was on the Leeds based imprint Dance to the Radio that had us nearly busting our neck to bang it on the hi-fi. The labels enviable back catalogue already stocked with goodies from the likes of the Pigeon Detectives, Sky Larkin whilst playing host to early sightings from forward, Russia and the Wallbirds. Latest release sees the second outing (we sadly missed their debut ‘shadow committee‘ causing much gnashing of teeth and deep grunted grumbles) for relocated (to Leeds) York quartet. In short ’d.i.l.e.m.m.a‘ is a pop colossus - two versions feature here the radio edit and the full on extended original - a swift eye poking dash of effervescent sugar rushing pop grandeur is what you get - his beauty hotwires itself directly into your adrenalin receptors and rogers the life out of the blighters. Exuding an icy glamour ‘dilemma‘ is a sweetly honed fractured cauldron of maddening anxiety laced intensity and passion crushed and crippled amid a sonic landscape of soul stripping tempestuous rock classicism that spirals untamed between the dark, the brooding and the gripping all the time building to a soaring finale drowning in a whirlpool of glorious cacophonic chorus’ of heart breaking crest fallen awe. Thankfully ‘polar swelling’ takes its foot of the gas - if it hadn’t - then frankly we’d have feared our heart would have stopped dead in its tracks. Monochrome, melancholic and reflective this bitter sweet slice of ache arcs and pines deliciously amid the shimmying grandiose waltzing cortege of cello led hurtfully stabbing Nyman-esque arrangements loosely orbiting around the cosmos occupied by Stereolab‘s ‘Cybele‘s Reverie‘ - exquisite, enchanting and utterly bruised from the inside - not a dry in the house. Pressed up on 10 inch of wax as though you needed any further prods. www.dancetotheradio.com

Roebeck ‘1000 miles’ (69db). More returning thought ‘missing in action’ one time regulars to these very pages. In fact last time we had the pleasure of this multi talented mood arranging collective was hen their delicious ’2 seconds’ hit our decks (see missive 100) - an album was promised that somehow didn’t materialise - the collective fizzed, popped and momentarily disappeared dispatched to the four corners of the earth in pursuit of UFO’s and ties (takes all sorts - rock ‘n’ roll huh!). Obviously these dudes are well aware of our inept mastery at misplacing CD and press releases and have taken the opportunity to staple said items together - ha ha - nice one. 18 months on they’re back to woo your decks into the realms of delirium with this sumptuously twin set. Those much enchanted by Italian duo Musetta and Shortwave Set will fall headlong in love with this dreamscaping beauty, the entrancing lounge library music like ’1000 miles’ is touched with a curvaceous nocturnal noire-ish aspect that nods to the early 90’s Bristol scene, think chilled Massive Attack smoozing with an amorously jazz smoked and exotic and ethereal inclined Portishead. The cinematic textures dizzyingly trippy and mallowy are dashed and scratched by shimmering snow bursts of binary white noise the end result deceptively lilting and lulling - a bit of a beauty for the romantically attached. That said we are quite smitten with the silken and irresistible flip cut ’Sirens’, more organically toned and blessed with a devilishly distracting arabesque motif that sweetly snake charms amid lush cosmic corteges of longing pastoral washes dimpled with Latino florets and spectrally down tempo informed BBC Radiophonic applications and promenade pirouetting early 70’s electronics featuring unless I’m very much mistaken the rarely heard theremin which alone does it for us. Simply gorgeous. www.myspace.com/roebeck

The Hustle ‘These days’ (self released). Hells bells another release that’s a bit of a corker and admittedly slightly removed from the kind of stuff that we usually have howling from the hi-fi of the ramshackle losing today record shed. The Hustle - previously unknown to us - are a South Wales based (Caerphilly to be precise) quintet who to date have managed to sneak out a self released EP entitled ’good intentions’ which annoyingly has appeared to pass our affectionate gaze. Alas - still we have this pretty nifty one track release with which to console ourselves with. Finding itself poking just over the accepted and recognised classically trimmed sub three minute chassis in terms of pop sensibilities ’these days’ pretty much shoehorns in all the textbook manoeuvres - crisply radiating melodies, a pulsating buzz drawn and smouldering power pop dialect, a lightly tip toeing and refreshingly memorable chorus - the type of which will take some form of brain surgery to remove and a kind of silky soft airy amour that’s made for a day time radio (Walker / Ross styled) show. Possessing an unerring sense of immediacy and innocence, ’these days’ fizzes and throbs amid an anxious haze of heel snapping punctuated riffs jabs that deliciously unfurl into effervescent spirals of power driven west coast tinted pop - think the Rembrandts with a touch of early career James meets ’durable dream’ era Moviola loaded with a middle bit that cheekily sounds like ’lonely boy’ by Andrew Gold. Tasty stuff. www.myspace.com/thehustlerock

The Domino State ‘What’s the Question?’ (Club AC30). Last featured in these very pages at Missive 135 when we fell headlong for their debut outing ‘Iron Mask’. Several months on from that long since sold out release the band are busily beavering away putting the finishing touches to their debut full length platter due to touch down in the Autumn. For now though this superb twin set should act as a pre teaser taster as to the shimmering shoe gaze storm that this London based quintet are admirably orchestrating. ’What’s the Question?’ is a quietly chest beating affair, all at once crestfallen, euphoric and drenched in stratospheric halos of caressing shimmer laden dream pop motifs, the front line armoured three guitar artillery harness the same statuesque and cavernous plateaus as were once the domain of the criminally underrated Chameleons and bleed and bathe them with the heavens piercing evaporating effervescence of the equally lost Kitchens of Distinction. The result a glorious carnival of crystalline coalescing cosmic corteges entwined in sugar bursts of radiantly reflective spectral symphonies. Stunning to be quite frank with you. Flip the disc for the effects laden ‘big six wheel’ - basking in glazes of white noise feedback this tripped out babe is sumptuously threaded with fringe re-arranging atmospherics and a recognisable shade wearing 60’s psyche pop underpin all subtly invested with a stately cathedral-esque presence that to these ears loosely reminded us of MBV revisiting the Doors back catalogue. A class apart. www.clubac30.com

The Heartstrings ‘Jose Fernandez’ (Grandpa Stan). Heart stopping stuff. The Heartstrings occupy a secret world invisible to the naked eye - safe and far removed from the maddening hustle and bustle of modern day music. Their world isn’t tainted, touched or twisted by a desire to be the next big thing or jump on whatever passing bandwagon that happens to whiz by. Instead their song craft is not so much informed by fashion, style or genre but rather more by the ethereal, the elegant and the enchanting. With a restless desire for the old ways of melody their compositions are teasingly crestfallen, timeless and so utterly removed from the snapshot execution of today’s for the here and now consumerist market. Etched with a desire laced classicism that almost smoulders with musical hall opulence the Heartstrings craft shyly amorphous picture book tales of superheroes, romance and wounded melancholia of such touching calibre that its hard to escape their amorous advances. First appearing on our radar way back at missive 75 wherein we were literally enwrapped by their gem like self release ’try fly blue sky’ - there has since been a full length (same title) featuring all the cuts from that uber limited outing. ’Jose Fernandez (the world’s greatest high flying trapeze artist)’ marks their official debut single - graceful, prickly and longing - with its big top presence this deliciously distracting beauty tip toes delicately high wiring precariously amid a sweetly arresting braiding of waltzing symphonies and drama festooned keys, the flirtatious feat is breathtaking applied with honeyed harmonies that mirror step by step the mix of the dazzling and the dangerous - sumptuous stuff. Flip the disc for the adorable ’I hope it doesn’t come my way’ with its sweetly melting boy / girl vocals, tinkling ivories and sparsely angelic setting this frail and fragile bleakly beautified cutie pokes, peels and pierces its way beneath your skin to work tenderly on your defences breached emotions to work its bewitching majesty. Gorgeous stuff. www.theheartstrings.com

Kila ’half eight’ (Kila). Culled from their latest album ‘Gamblers Ballet’, the Dublin based collective Kila have been honing their mercurial craft for the best part of twenty years now in that time they‘ve continually basked in critical acclaim whilst simultaneously building an enviable reputation amid the world and purist / traditional Irish folk communities. ’half eight’ or to give it its proper Gaelic title ’leath ina dhiadh a hocht’ is a deliriously foot tapping treat cultivated throughout with breezy flute florets and whirling flotillas of fiddles all temptingly crafted across a floor rumbling bed of energetic and impossibly skedaddled time signatures whose bloodline can be traced directly back to the Supremes ‘you can’t hurry love’ (though ostensibly on this occasion racked up a notch or five) and touched with a deliciously devilish good to be alive celebratory like call to arms throb that unless our ears deceive we can’t help but strangely hearing some weird meeting of Youssou N’Dour and Donovan’s ’hurdy gurdy man’. One things for certain once the lids off this cask here’s no stopping the impishly infectious gene inside. An unexpected and inspired classy treat. www.kila.ie

The Favours ‘One up on you’ (Stone Trax). Bloody hell just where are all these killer records coming from - first to say the letter box gets the infamous withering turn to stone stare. No sooner do we dispatch one prickly perfect platter into the ‘done’ pile then another quickly assumes its place in our affections. The Favours hail from Hull - (and no we won’t mention the House martins - oh bollocks now we’ll have to put ten bob in the swear box) - three boys fronted by the purring lead vocal of Sara Sanchez who to date have tucked firmly under their collective belts a self released full length in the shape of ‘Magpie’s Revenge’ and since signing on the dotted line to Stone Trax a brace of quietly acclaimed singles (all of which we have to say to much disappointment we appear to be slightly light of). Single number thee has all the honeycombed hallmarks of a daytime radio rotation cutie. Once in earshot ’one up on you’ proves itself to be an irresistible force dallying as it does with a softly curbed 60’s accented pristine pop persona. Searing over the classically honed three minute ticker tape this babe is lacerated with a coalescing crunching chassis of lunging speaker punching prowess that swerves, swoops and swaggers with potent intent to draw together the pre defining rough around the edges ’plastic letters’ era Blondie blended with their silken polished latter career ’eat to the beat’ incarnation whilst devilishly dipping into the Brit pop mindset and streamlined throb of Echobelly. Best cut of the twin set features over on the flip - ‘bad intentions‘ is a shimmying Shangri-La‘s laced with a delirious sugar coated pop motif and a heart stopping warmly radiating effervescent chorus hook to die for - imagine a wired and purring psyche tinged vintage new wave re-styled Go Go’s - stunning. www.myspace.com/thefavours