Poundsign
Underneath The Marquee CD
Fantastic. fantastic 016.
by Keith Mclachlan.
April 28, 2002.
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Alicia from Aislers Set's other band is the new
official designation for Poundsign. Of course that is
unfair cause she doesn't even do much in Poundsign any
more, here she is only given space for three of her
songs, songs that which if it were that fate was
truly benevolent would be saved for Aislers Set
records allowing those Track Star songs to find their
true place on Track Star records and restore a bit of
entropic karmic balance to the universe. But, Wyatt's
hairline aside Poundsign are actually kinda great,
which comes as a surprise to me because when I saw
them live a couple of times they always seemed a bit
too librarian to be interesting and their music was
anastethised (see near death) but maybe the fear of
losing Alicia (one of pop's cutest figures if you can
pardon my shallowness) to the set full-time has
encouraged them to straighten up and fly straight. It
starts off a bit show tune-esque and rather brilliantly
with 'Matinee Sunday' and continues to
Alicia's dreamy number 'The Best Day' to some more
generic indiepop fare and through the second side
where the songs are longer and more
psychedelic (slightly psychedelic still qualifies as
psychedelic). Becky Barron's voice takes some getting
used to, she's no Alicia then, and when the boys reach
for those notes it gets a bit tenuous but still this
is a fantastic time on Fantastic records and a worthy
expense for anyone wanting some joy or at least a
possibly obscure tax deduction in their life, you
could claim that you are contributing to the save
Alicia's songs fund.
Nosotrash
Popemas CD
Elefant. er1091.
by Keith Mclachlan.
April 28, 2002.
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I tired to translate the name Nosoträsh using Alta
Vista's translator and came up empty and so I will
attempt my own translation by breaking the word down
into its key components. No- this prefix is obviously
an allusion to the New Order to which Nosoträsh bear
absolutely no resemblance, especially current model
Hook and Sumner, no bloated bearded faces and weak
guitar solos or disappointing Peter Saville artwork,
nope just acoustic guitars and bouncey songs whose
subjects elude me since I never took Spanish. Ok then
on to part two -so- this clearly means so as in 'so
groovy' the music may be simple and minimal and the
language indecipherable but the sprit is purely spun,
made to make the soul go all a twitter ven if when you
sing along you sound like an ugly American. Part
three -träsh this is obviously not a reference of
formerly awesome New Zealand band that was led by he
of the two-dot u Bruce Blücher (a German in keeping
with the continentalisms) but rather an emphasis,
especially placed abaft as it is, that everything that
comes after this record is trash! Confidence is a
good thing, these girls probably graduated at the top
of their Dale Carnegie courses and also in the top of
the special edition Le Mans version of Trivial
Pursuit. It is reminiscent of Le Mans for sure, one of
them produces the record, but also I think of Marine
Girls and I think of Adventures in Stereo and I think
of any other great band currently in existence. This
is like a storybook filled with novellas like an album
full of 'La Fanfarlos' and it is splendid, gorgeous
and am unpretentious delight.
Hefner
The Hefner Brain CD
Too Pure. pure 125cds.
by Keith Mclachlan.
April 28, 2002.
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This is an ep or even a mini-lp, depending on which
source consulted, that neatly demonstrates the radical
shift in Hefner philosophy that has occurred in the
last year or so. The first three songs are fantastic,
reflecting the brightness of attitude that came with
the discovery of a new set of bubbly, analogue tools
and a fresh outlook on pop music that has resulted in
the fantastic first three numbers including a lightly
revamped verion of 'When the Angels Play Their Drum
Machines' and the outstandingly awesome 'Dark Hearted
Discos' and the still great but slightly less
fantastic 'Baggage Reclaim Song'. These songs
represent the new Hefner being full of synthesized
sounds and drum machined beats and a Numan-esque
narrative on relationships often nostalgically echoing
the 1980s. 'Dark Hearted Discos' in particular may
actually turn out to be the best song Hefner has ever
produced. But then comes the last two numbers and the
timewarp has a temporal shift back to 1998 when Hefner
were writing Violent Femmes (granted vastly superior
efforts to those of Gordon's gang) and so we are left
on our farewell a couple of plodding numbers with loads
of steel guitar and authenticness that try to get by
on the charm of Darren's lyrics but don't seem to
reach the same levels of excitement as the first three
songs. So the conclusion in my heart is that they
need to make a clean break with the past, in my
opinion, more 'Dark Hearted Discos' and 'Alan Beans'
and if need be sack the steel guitar player and the
drummer (which would mean more Ant records woo hoo!)
and join the synthpop revival full-time.
Saloon
(This Is) What We Call Progress CD
Darla. DRL-124.
by Keith Mclachlan.
April 28, 2002.
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It is all very Yo La Tengo which makes my enjoyment of
Saloon somewhat unsettling. It is Yo La Tengo simply
because not very much at all happens in these songs
which is the sort of rut/music the tengo specializes
in. They don't appear all that competent musically
and so they tend to drone on with the same set of two
or three notes for 6 or 7 minutes (here's a recipe for
success for future would be pop bands don't write any
songs over 3 minutes) and the singer sounding
something like the ultra feminized version of Ira
Kaplan, who himself was never the most hoary among us,
never inflecting, never emoting rather just floating
or more accurately coasting on her naturally twee
tones. Andrew from Mahogany produced the record or
mastered it or did something and it isn't entirely
removed from his work but where Mahogany songs often
have dramatic flourishes or dramatic pauses or even a
nice little thing called tension this record is all
fluffy and actually mostly charming. The first song
does vaguely resemble 'Super-Electric' era Stereolab
and the rest is more the aforementioned 'twee' drone
than beat you on the head senseless because we're
artsy tuneless interminability. I do wish the singer
had a personality, I do wish the words meant something
and I wish the EQ levels varied somewhat more but I
still find my mind reclaiming bit of the melody and a
sense of serenity overcoming me while listening, and
that isn't just a pleasant way to describe how boring
the record is. It truly is something I would describe
as mostly lovely.
Ballboy
All The Records On The Radio Are Shite CD
SL.
by Keith Mclachlan.
April 28, 2002.
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Ballboy have a way with a title and, fortunately for
them, with a song as well which spares them the rod
often applied to bands like the Beta Band. Ballboy
seem the less effortless, harder working cousins of
Belle and Sebastian who they believing themselves
betters and believe their kin aspire to their level of
feyness actually wish they were the Wedding Present
instead. Gordon Macintyre seems more than willing to
brandish his opinions in a brash, literate manner
allowing a love song to double as commentary on
current popular music even though he is surely to be
lambasted as being some sort of culutral luddite or
elitist out of touch vagrant who can't appreciate the
genius of the Neptunes due to his own overarching
conservatism. But not all music is created for the
same purpose. All of this R'n'B that so tittilates
the ironic hipsters is somewhat reminiscent of the
rush back in the mid 90s between Intel and AMD to
create faster and faster chips for the same set of
plodding instructions (see bloated or see Microsoft)
the technological revolution lacked the spark of
innovation and so computers today do roughly the same
as 20 years ago and so too then a good deal of current
popular music has downplayed the importance of melody
and songs choosing instead to worship the beat which
is the current metaphor for technological progress.
But it seems making a beat that moves one physically
is much more elementary than creating a melody that
moves the heart, sure some will chime in on the
obviousness of the e minor chord changes, but Ballboy
move me and whether it be the frantic tromblone blasts
that thrill or the all too predictable pauses in the
title track that provide short moments of elation or
the pathetic self-loathing in the final number that
cause the reluctant among us to relate. Ballboy are
smart and they do not pander and they write
wonderfully catchy songs that deserve all the praise
they receive from terminally unhip sources such as
John Peel.
Various Artists
The Sound Of Leamington Spa, Volume 2 CD
Firestation Tower. FST 040.
by Keith Mclachlan.
April 28, 2002.
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Firestation Tower has seemingly found its niche and
this is releasing songs already released by someone
else a long time ago, no great crime since the current
great label of the moment LTM also has the same
proclivities. While their (FT's) releases from current
bands are often lacking and colourless their
Leamington Spa comps and other reissues (Desert Wolves,
Ambitious Beggars) are wholly genius. Maybe it is
just that they have great record collections and are
perfectly adept at creating what are essentially mix
tapes for the indiepop masses but this cd is even
better than the impossible brilliant volume one. And
better yet in that in this case I really have no idea
who any of these people are but boy am I glad that I
have finally heard a Phil Wilson song and boy can I
hardly wait for the June Brides/Phil Wilson reissues
he promises in the liner notes are in the pipeline
because his song 'Better Days' is truly and utterly
magnificent. There are only two bands I had even
heard of before getting this record and those were the
previously cited Ambitious Beggars who come off a bit
Trash Can Sinatras but with the unfortunate inclusion
of saxophone in their otherwise nimble number and the
mostly dire Groove Farm though pleasantly mediocre
here and who were known to me by various Subway
records compilations from the past. Everything else
is a revelation then, and the best of these
revelations aside from Mr. Wilson is Benny Profane,
Friends, Harbour Boy and Fat and Frantic all coming
off something similar to the Housemartins (variety is
not often the adjective reached for in describing the
music here) which seems to be par for the course for
most jangly, earnest, loved by Alistair Fitchett bands
of the mid 80s likely shooting for Morrissey/Marr and
landing in Paul Heaton's grumpy garden instead. No
matter, it is all glorious and not the slightest whiff
of nostalgia in my direction as it is all
fantastically new and impressive to my ears.