Latest releases reviewed
DOVES Some Cities Heavenly ****
Their first two albums, Lost Souls and The Last Broadcast, were essential; can the majestic Manchester trio make it a hat-trick of must-have albums? 'Course they can: Some Cities is another great leap of faith for Jimi Goodwin, Jez Williams and Andy Williams, and, listening to the blizzard-swept Snowden or the darkly burning Walk In Fire, it doesn't take a great leap of the mind to imagine this as the kind of music U2 should be making now, instead of retreading safe ground. Doves aren't exactly breaking new ground here, but they've refined their vibe and sharpened their vision, and they don't sound like they're trying too hard to be, like, dead deep and tha'. Instead of reaching for the skies, they're dancing on the rooftops, and they sound right at home. There are flashbacks of Northern soul in Black And White Town and echoes of old-fashioned American FM rock on One Of These Days, which sounds a bit like Radiohead doing Hotel California. Doves are steering wide of grandiosity, but keeping their wheels firmly on rough ground. The album only has 11 songs, but at least 10 of those are well up to scratch, and at least seven are superb. That's good odds. www.doves.net
Kevin Courtney
VARIOUS Meridian 1970 Heavenly ****
Compiled by Jon Savage, author of England's Dreaming, that sharp tome on punk's filth and fury, Meridian 1970's span of folk, blues, hobo-rock, Americana and protest songs from the late 1960s and early 1970s has considerable resonance for today's parade of bluesy troubadours and twisted folkies. So much so that Meridian 1970 would have little trouble passing for a contemporary production. While there are plenty of bankable names here (including Nick Drake, Loudon Wainwright and The Byrds), it's those who've fallen through the cracks of history who spin the better tales and highlight the shapeshifting between past and present. Besides the widescreen country of Danny O'Keefe and Jesse Winchester, the world-weary folk of Traffic's Dave Mason and the shuffling, beautifully stormy ambience of Leo Kottke, it's Rod Stewart's croaking Man of Constant Sorrow and the shining ambition of a pre-Eagles Joe Walsh with The James Gang that come up trumps here. www.heavenly100.com
Jim Carroll
JOE CHESTER A Murder of Crows BARP ****
Former member of mid-1990s Dublin also-rans Sunbear and early Noughties contenders 10 Speed Racer, Joe Chester might not seem the most likely candidate for Irish Pop Star sainthood, yet with his debut solo album A Murder of Crows he shows something of a divine sense of melody and a staunchly religious approach to creating music that raises its multi-faceted head to the heavens. Dodgy ecclesiastical cliches aside, Chester shows the kind of songwriting smarts that bode well for his future royalty cheques; songs such as A Drop Of Rain, Pain, Relieve, How You Wish You Feel, and I Always Think You're Leaving Me have sumptuous yet simple arrangements and leave a trail of resignation and regret in their wake. Even a cover version - Fleetwood Mac's Lindsey Buckingham's Bleed To Love Her - is fully Chesterised in a sublime wash of pop nous and rock charm. A record so good it's downright criminal.
Tony Clayton-Lea
THE SLITSLive At The Gibus Club Sanctuary Records ***
Often erroneously dubbed the only all-girl 1970s punk band (see The Raincoats or The Castrators), The Slits' place in history isn't based on musical ability. When they toured with The Clash, Mick Jones tuned their guitars for them but their bold, bass-heavy tunes were never better than when performed live. Singer Ari-Up is just 16 as she bellows So Tough and the frantic Instant Hit. Wailing a shambolic cover of Femme Fatale, she is an Amazonian presence. Their musical output was small (two albums, some singles, a famous Peel Session) because of record company interference, but this live album best captures their unique energy. Pity it's missing their superb version of I Heard it Through The Grapevine. www.sanctuaryrecordsgroup.co.uk
Sinéad Gleeson
PAUL TIERNAN Belle Right Stuff Records ***
He's plied a trade for a decade now, gradually unpicking his identity from his previous incarnation as Flex and The Fastweather. Paul Tiernan's a singer-songwriter who's suffered from a surplus of on-stage bravado and a tendency towards effete fragility in the recording studio. His French base proves musically fortuitous: shades of accordion cast subtle shadows across the title track; an organ lends a louche introduction to Pretend, and Tiernan's voice is less mannered than before, inhabiting its own skin comfortably, at last. Belle bursts forth with childhood memories of cricket bats and grand observations on life's intermittent bursts of activity. Tiernan is gradually stripping the floorboards of his life back to the bare wood: a welcome postcard, not so much from the edge, as from the past.
[ www.paultiernan.comOpens in new window ]
Siobhán Long
MOTLEY CRüE Red, White and Crüe Island **
They were the 1980s' most excessive rockers, out-partying even Ozzy Osbourne, and making other hair-metal bands look like mummy's boys. It wasn't about the music, as another listen to this greatest hits collection confirms. It was about having a good time - all the time. The party wasn't to last, however: bassist Nikki Sixx was clinically dead for two minutes after an overdose; singer Vince Neil crashed his car while on a drunken binge, killing his passenger; drummer Tommy Lee's marriages to Heather Locklear and Pamela Anderson collapsed; and guitarist Mick Mars must be the first-ever rock star to have a hip-replacement operation (he suffers from ankylosing spondylitis - look it up). Now, the Crüe have reformed, and they insist it's not about the money, nosiree bob. Older, creakier, and far, far uglier, the band have recorded some new songs (If I Die Tomorrow, Sick Love Song and a cover of the Stones' Street Fighting Man) which sound not a jot different from classic Crüe hits Wild Side, Dr Feelgood and Girls, Girls, Girls. Instead of sneering, we should salute them - after all, they selflessly sacrificed their livers (and a lot of brain cells) in the name of decadent rock 'n' roll. We're not worthy (thank god). www.mötleycrüe.com
Kevin Courtney
EASTERN LANE The Article Rough Trade ***
Like so many bands yet to shrug free from their teens, Eastern Lane play raucous punk rock as though they're gasping for air. And, like so many more young bands, their songs make well-worn hipster pilgrimages, following a trail through The Strokes, the Rapture and Kings of Leon. But, unlike most bands, this four-piece from dreary Northumberland do it all tremendously well. Their second album flares to life with three chord stabs and brawling vocals, sudden time changes and sneering riffs. It's playful, juvenile and pretty good fun. Unexpectedly, though, it will pivot into a sparing and downcast piano ballad, or sit out on the porch for a folksy singalong, winning you over with a fistful of surprises. There are missteps, certainly, but this is a gutsy showing from a band with time on their side. www.easternlane.com
Peter Crawley
