Coming straight out of art school, Times New Viking have been surfing a wave of “critical acclaim” big enough to drown Holland this year. Part of their selling-point seems to have been their intentionally poor recording technique. Because of their methods, ‘Rip It Off’ sounds quite a bit like it’s been fed through a distortion pedal and a phone speaker. Of course, many other bands have used home-recording to make albums nowhere this abjectly noisy, so the question must be asked - is the DIY thing affected? It’s hard to see another way of explaining it off. The fuzz acts like a built-in excuse, a buffer between the band and the listener. It even makes listening to them slightly painful.So it can get annoying.

Luckily, there is an excellent album somewhere underneath. They make a very American brand of guitar-driven indie pop, as it sounded circa 1994. Names like Yo La Tengo and Guided By Voices spring to mind throughout, and while Times New Viking aren’t necessarily breaking new ground, they’ve made a really endearing album here. Every song is short and to the point, with unschooled male and female vocals bellowing hooks and unpretentious everything else backing them up. It would be eminently listenable, if it wasn’t for the dense layer of obfuscating fuzz.

Songs like My Head and Drop-Out are insistently catchy, and they can switch gears with more sprawled (though still short) tracks such as The Wait. The highlight overall, however, is probably the last twenty seconds of End Of All Things. Fourteen tracks into the album and two minutes into the song, the fuzz drops for the first and only time, leaving two voices and a guitar. It’s like a revelation, a first glimpse of something that’s been on the cusp of appearing for forty minutes. It may take a little more time to get to the rest of the music, but it’s worth it.

Some songs on MySpace. Out now on Matador Records in a record store near you.

7 Guitars With A Cloud Of Milk is the puzzlingly titled sophomore effort from slightly cracked French trio Gablé. On a self-proclaimed “luxury DIY” label from London called LOAF, Gablé’s effort doesn’t really allow itself to be judged by regular album review criteria. It is best described as a sort of lo-fi pop cabaret, with different approaches and textures flying out of the speakers briefly and then being replaced straight away with new ideas. About half of the time, the songs are sung by a man and a woman, both with French accents. Nothing surprising there. But the rest of the time, someone with a vaguely comical English accent recounts stories over the music. These are generally quite funny.

The opening track, Noone Knows Why, tells of a group of people that depopulates gradually due to unlikely methods of suicide. The only track that beats this is the closer, Drunk Fox In London, which is a dialogue between someone extolling the virtues of the fox, and a fox planning to get drunk and eat people. It ends with a glitchy electro wig-out. There are a few of those over the course of the album. Apart from electro, retro French vinyl loops and elementary piano make appearances as musical backing.

It would be an overstatement to say that 7 Guitars With A Cloud of Milk is actually good. More reasonably, it should be called “interesting”, because it is undeniably that. Around every corner is a different reason to laugh or furrow the brow. A singular way to spend an hour.

Check out some tracks here. Album’s out on the 19th May, buy it in a shop.

As Richie Egan likes to point out one day he’ll be nothing more than a dead man who played the bass from Crumlin. For this tongue-in-cheek down-to-earth attitude I admire him. But there’s no need for him to be so humble, for with Jape’s current electro-rock sound he has ascended to the throne and become King of the Irish Underground.

It may be dubious to claim that Egan is still part of the underground, after all he has been around the Dublin music scene for almost a decade now, playing with Jape and The Redneck Manifesto. But whereas contemporaries such as Glen Hansard, Damien Rice and David Kitt have all moved on to bigger things following popular interest, Egan, bar the ‘Floating’ phenomenon, has never experienced international popular acclaim.

Maybe it’s because of the type of music he creates. The Redneck Manifesto, which he leads with his bass and freewheeling aplomb, are all about instrumental barrages of riffs and tight rhythms, a sound they’ve developed over the years and which has very much become their own. In contrast Jape began as a ’stoner-folk’ side profect, acoustica tinged with electronica. Hardly then the most popular of genres. Furthermore both groups have also suffered from a wildly exuberant live sound that has failed to translate well onto record.

If you’ve ever seen The Redneck Manifesto or Jape live you’ll understand. Their shows are intense high energy affairs, which Egan directs with ineffable charm. However their albums, although technically perfect, seem flat and austere in comparison. But has the time come to address these wrongs? On June 6th (or 9th, Egan wasn’t sure) Jape will release their third full length album Ritual. With any luck it will right Egan’s track record of underperforming albums. If the show at Crawdaddy last monday is anything to go by the new material is gold.

Support was provided by Robotnik who on first appearances seemed to be a karaoke act, however his set quickly developed into a boisterous electro-folk medley. Despite obvious resemblances to the headliner, Robotnik’s crowd invasion antics and his musical tale of an affair he had in prison: ‘I Found Jesus in the Year 2027′, won over most.

Jape launched straight into ‘Chirstopher and Anthony’ before steaming ahead into a set mostly made up of new material that hinged around the monumental ‘Floating’. Their sound was heavy, with a lot more electronics and rubbling bass than The Monkeys In The Zoo Have More Fun Than Me, despite the fact that Egan shunned his trademark instrument in favour of a guitar. ‘I Was a Man’ and the crowd pleasing ‘Phil Lynott’ especially stood out as future singalong favourites. The night was wrapped up with an acoustic two song encore culminating in a repeat performance of his self-professed favourite ‘Technology’.

If anything this show proved that they’ve still got the live appeal in buckets and spades. After an appearance at SXSW in 2007 Jape made some international waves for themselves. One year on hopefully Ritual will capitalise on on the recent momentum they’ve built up through shows at home and abroad. Let’s just hope that this time they can nail the album too.

Jape - myspace

For three dudes, Menomena pulled off an admirable coup in the Sugar Club on Friday night by playing a thumping good set of material drawn mostly from a complex studio recording process. Not only did they manage this, but they managed to transcend the strange physical barriers presented by the Sugar Club itself. This is not a club for a rock show. With its oppressive red drapes, ascending rows of fixed tables and stools, it is quite obviously built for crooners, comedians and cabaret performers. Its the sort of strange velvety place where Isabella Rosellini might walk out on stage, warble a song and collapse on the floor while her vocal eerily continues. Its not the sort of place you go to see three experimental young lads from Oregon play some twisted energetic indie. In my humble opinion Whelans would have suited Menomena much better as a venue.

Regardless, the show had sold out and in spite of all the jostling, those who wanted, managed to squeeze into places where they could dance and enjoy themselves. There was plenty of dancing. Maybe there was a bit of leap year craziness in the air but from the word go, the audience were lepping around as Menomena ripped into a set heavy with songs from their most recent album ‘Friend and Foe’. This was no mean feat as some serious instrument-swapping dexterity was required to tease out the various tricks and turns of tunes like ‘muscle and flo’ and ‘wet and rusting.’ It would seem that Menomena suffer for their art, judging by the steady streams of sweat lashing off the various band members, brought on no doubt by the instrument juggling. This was most notable in the case of sax player Justin Harris’s beard which looked like a hairy Niagra Falls by the time crowd-favourite ‘evil bee’ hit its crescendo. What struck me during this, is how easy it might be to mess it up, for a stray saxophone solo to fart unceremoniously over the wrong drum roll or something.

Yet, they never did mess it up, and managed to not only deliver the goods like a well oiled machine, but feel the crowd and respond to the enthusiasm in the room with a few spontaneous flourishes. And did I mention Danny Seim’s drumming? It was flippin’ breathtaking, a multi-speed acrobatic masterclass. I was watching with two members of bands who were both pretty much in awe at how Menomena pulled off their set. So Menomena then, I’d call them a musician’s band except that would make them sound technical and dry, and they managed to pull off technical proficiency with a good dollop of hard rocking fun. Shame about the venue though.

Words: Darragh McCausland
Photo: Loreana Rushe

Underworld, the era defining duo famed for their techno infused anthems, most notably their infamous Trainspotting cameo Born Slippy, return with a new release to coincide with their recent string of highly praised gigs.On this album we see them shy away from their “Lager Lager Lager” days and take a chance on some nice layering that creates broad ambient flavoured tracks like Good Morning Cockerel. In addition to this, songs like Glam Bucket certainly do the album title justice as its insistent bleeps dot its ethereal synthy climax.The inclusion of the beautifully illuminating melody of To Heal taken from the soundtrack of Danny Boyle’s Sunshine saves this album from its weaker moments such as Faxed Invitation whose organ conclusion arrives a little too late for complete redemption.For fear of neglecting their former fans, the album recalls typically sounding Underworld-esque tracks such as Crocodile and Beautiful Burnout with their trance like repetition, monotone vocals and floor shaking basslines.

The Pyramids consist of Sam Windett and Mark Cleveland of the Archie Bronson Outfit. The intention of Windett and Cleveland was to recapture the energy of 60s American Garage bands like The Sonics and the Monks, and in this they have succeeded to a degree. The music was largely written over the course of one weekend and recorded in two sessions in a barn with overhanging microphones catching Windett and Cleveland running through their newly written songs, often for the second or third time. There is an immediacy and enthusiasm perceptible on the album that is refreshing.”Manitou” hints at a monochrome White Stripes, but eventually through repetition and drone ends up sounding more like early Doors. Debut single “Hunch Your Body, Love Somebody” is an exception, recalling the Stooges at their height. Its tune buried under the wall of guitar noise and the desperation of Windett’s vocals renders almost it catchy. It’s unfortunately not enough to save The Pyramids this time around.

Steve Reid, a veteran improvisational jazz drummer collaborates with seven other artists on this new release, which was recorded over three days in Africa. The ensemble also features Steve Reid’s self-confessed soul mate Kieran Hebden (Four Tet), who has already enjoyed successful collaborations with Reid.

The album opens with the cheerful melody of the appropriately named Welcome a song that allows the warm vocals of Isa Kouyate to melt over the rhythm.
Other tracks like Dabronxxar entertain; with its bass heavy, keyboard prominent riff and Steve Reid’s emphatic drumming. Don’t Look Back, the album’s concluding song allows Kieran Hebden to exercise his aptitude for all things electronica, which except for the echoing indulgence of Jiggy Jiggy is kept to a subdued minimum.

Daxaar is an album a lot more accessible then Steve Reid and Keiran Hebden’s previously released volumes of The Exchange Sessions and will appeal to a wider market then perhaps those of the Experimental, Free Jazz orientated.

Herman Melville wrote “it’s better to fail in originality than to succeed in imitation”.  After a minute of listening to First You Live it is crystal clear that Dusty Rhodes and the River Band have never read any Melville. However, lack of originality hasn’t held back most of today’s successful bands, so why should it hold back Dusty Rhodes and the River Band? Because their singer sounds like a South Park imitation of Kings Of Leon’s singer, in short. First You Live’s first forty seconds are wholly promising, with lavish instrumentation and a short pub singalong. Then the title track’s vocals kick in. Dustin Apodaca’s voice is one that belongs in snot-nosed skater punk, and all The River Band’s lush Band-esque layers of guitar, violin and keys cannot save this album of well-worn gospel-folk clichés (there’s something terribly unconvincing about the line “I can’t wait to be free, oh I can’t wait to leave Tennessee” when it’s coming from a Californian).

A self-titled third album was always going to be a return to basics. That’s what self-titled albums are for. Two Gallants seem to like playing up their Southern blues and folk influences, but in reality what they make is blanched alt-country. The album is more in the tradition of Conor Oberst than of Robert Johnson or Woody Guthrie. This isn’t at all surprising considering their berth on Saddle Creek. Most of the songs float by without much to distinguish them. The highlight is the opening track, The Dealer which has a certain discordance, and tinges of Malkmus. Other than this, even piling on the emotion on Fly Low Carrion Crow or picking up the beat on Despite What You’ve Been Told can’t save the album from blending into standard Saddle Creek fare. Nothing new or original is provided. There’s a sense that they don’t particularly want to provide anything new or original either. And that’s fine. It’s not that Two Gallants aren’t enjoyable - they’re just no effort.

The Clientele are a band which have no bad songs, but no outstanding ones. For such an outfit, albums are capitally important. Luckily for them God Save The Clientele is a pretty strong one.
Their lyrics are poetic, wistful and consciously pretty, and their lush music somewhere between dream and twee pop, incorporating psychadelia without ever raising the suspicion that any band member has ever ingested narcotics. Ever.
Choruses never rise into giddy stratospheres; songs flow smoothly from one to the next. To look for stand-out strong points is to miss the purpose of the album. The Clientele are trying to take you into their universe of forests trails, sedate seasides and, most importantly, safety. If you spend time with this album they are sure to succeed. God Save The Clientele is a perfectly timed release- it’s one for winter evenings in front of log fires, and sleepy Sunday mornings.