Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Live

Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Shepherd's Bush Empire
Sunday April 26th

Yeah Yeah Yeahs have gone all electro? What happened to the filthy riffs and filthier vocals? Worry not, enthusiasts of Karen O's provocative gasps and Nick Zinner's distinctive solos – they're all present and correct.

Zinner doesn't even put his guitar down – an additional tour band member takes synths duties. But it isn't simply business as usual for the New York three-piece, everything is up a notch. They open with two tracks from new album It's Blitz, a tingling intro from Karen O setting up the fireworks of Runaway and Dull Life shooting off at frenetic pace.

Gold Lion's thundering opening moves the crowd, already boisterous, to rampant, before Honeybear gives the vocalist the chance to show off a sneaky shuffle as she begins to stride around the stage with the jubilant abandon of a woman clearly in her element.

Then, finally, debut album Fever To Tell gets an airing, with the set highlight Black Tongue. It's lost none of its potency, the thrilling confrontation of "boy you're just a stupid bitch and girl you're just a no good dick" ringing through the crashing, shrieking sound the band generate.

Karen O changes her outfit more times than many singers do their position on stage, adding a black leather jacket emblazoned with her initials for the fizzing intro of Zero. The single gets the frantic reaction it screams for, zipping lights and minor explosions watched over by a giant inflatable eye hanging above Brian Chase's rapidly-beaten drumset.

This is spun into a moon to mark the darkening of the mood as Cheated Hearts' more meaningful refrain heralds a lull in pace that features the pedestrian Skeletons and the emotional Maps. These lack the pizzazz of other material, but add a tension-filled grandeur to the set, stopping it collapsing into its own chaos.

The encore sees this off with giddy simplicity, Y Control spinning into view. Zinner is unable to stay facing in one direction as his instrument chugs out each monumental, purging blast, twisting to intricate angles as Chase's drums maintain a heady rhythm to complement Karen O's slippery delivery.After the pleasant surprise of Poor Song, which isn't at all as its title suggests, it is left to the raw, breathless Date With The Night to tell its tale of sex and nothing, ear-splittingly loud and still tight despite its recklessness.

As their albums get consecutively more accessible, Yeah Yeah Yeahs live show is becoming increasingly accomplished, but still maintains the persuasive, formidable electricity of their burgeoning years. What a release, what a relief.

The Camden Crawl – Review

The Camden Crawl – Review

Another year, another horde of overdressed, overwhelming devotees descends upon the streets of Camden. Even the sun has turned up, which helps make the expected crawl seem more like a stroll, the food seem that much more edible and the music that much better.

Friday night is a race from the reality of employment to the far more palatable prospect of a naked man walking across the roundabout opposite the Hawley Arms. Ah, it’s festival time again. A clever little queuing system means that people have a fair old chance of gaining entry to the Roundhouse to see The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, so that’s where we plod.

Onstage beforehand, The Virgins are an instant coffee support band – they fill a hole but don’t quite sate. Sporting a bow tie, a leather jacket and a bare chest, Donald Cumming does not have a good look for a frontman, or any kind of man, but it fits with their jaunty, unapologetic indie.Karen O and co are a different proposition – the singer dazzles in a sizzlingly silly outfit, delivering shrieking excitement early on with Gold Lion, while oldie Art Star pleases the purists with Nick Zinner effortlessly artful on guitar. It’s a bit early for the lighters aloft moment on Maps, but Zero and Date With The Night provide a shuddering finale as the festival gets an almighty kick-start.

Wandering along the high street as a band busks on the road feels fittingly festive, while chancing upon Madness playing a triumphant set aboard an open-top bus keeps things suitably surreal. It Must Be Love is sung by elated fans and perturbed passers-by alike as Suggs oversees the mayhem.

It is more subdued in Electric Ballroom - well everything seems more subdued after seeing Our House turn Camden Market into a strange and joyful street party. Nevertheless, The Big Pink fill the venue with their gloomy yet dancey sound, the highlight a brooding rendition of Velvet.Wire then arrive to recapture past glories – they inspire some outrageously jubilant dancing, but don’t quite connect, so it’s off to see some Queens of Noize-curated noise at The Black Cap after a detour to a too-packed Jazz Café. Drums of Death are theatrical and engaging, but it’s time to head down the Northern Line and prepare for tomorrow.

Watching the crowd move from wide-eyed anticipation to bleary-eyed satisfaction and back again within the space of a day is always part of the attraction at city festivals – the aid of an actual bed means those who overindulged on Friday are back fresh-faced on Saturday.

There is a whole host of musical treats to keep them entertained, as well as more obscure delights such as queuing next to the trampy-looking guy from Soccer AM. In the Hawley Arms, an unannounced set featuring The La’s legend Lee Mavers draws a crowd, while Kasabian turn up inside a tiny bus to strum an acoustic number. The atmosphere is bustling and just the right side of lairy as the high street becomes more of a throng than a thoroughfare.The Maccabees are the early evening destination – well, after Little Boots delivers an unmentionably uneventful set – and the five-piece don’t disappoint. Love You Better divides opinion, but the darling nostalgia of Lego, charmingly dedicated to an over-zealous gig-goer, is electrifying, as singer Orlando’s quaint understatement melds engagingly with guitarist Felix’s enthusiasm. Tissue Shoulders is a highlight and new tracks such as Kiss and Resolve and opener No Kind Words mix romanticism and driven intensity.

With secret gigs popping up as regularly as amusing celebrity-spots (Kate Nash and The Cribs’ Ryan Jarman canoodling outside the toilets, somebody phone the tabloids) it’s frantic as the light fades and decisions are deliberated over where to wander. Other than a few expectedly busy venues, the notorious Camden queue doesn’t materialise and it isn’t too difficult to gain entry anywhere, so The Joy Formidable’s capable but uninspired set is taken in at Electric Ballroom.Some people may not have slept for 48 hours, but The Fall’s archduke of curmudgeonly longevity Mark E Smith looks a whole lot worse than anybody else does. Still, a smiling Smith would not look right and he is suitably decrepit with a support belt around his gut while the fanboys and politely morbidly interested mingle below. Nevertheless, the current line-up sounds superb, ferociously loud and unabashed.

The vocals are often obscured but a dark energy keeps the likes of Cowboy George and The Latch Key Kid fresh and alive, which is a valid description of the festival, new music colliding with established names but all digging into Camden Crawl’s philosophy of new ideas and old-fashioned fun. It has enough one-offs to not feel formulated and a passable level of organisation. Before the festival season gets into full-swing, this is a loud, messy, sunny way to ease into it all.

Bob Dylan - Live

Bob Dylan
O2 Arena

"The writings on the wall, come read it, come see what it say," Dylan hisses on Thunder On The Mountain. Everybody here already has their opinion on his modern day incarnation, but is still eager to see it confirmed in the flesh, as well as catch a classic or ten in the process.

Trekking to the soulless vacuum of the O2 Arena is far from ideal, plus Dylan in 2009 is not the performer of the past – performer is the wrong word as there is no sense of a show being put on for the audience, it is more observation of an artist at work.

The differences are not subtle: he does not play guitar, talk to the audience or bow to such conventions as playing his songs as they were recorded. Yet it is still thoroughly enthralling, from the rattling, groovy din of Maggie's Farm to the gliding flow of When The Deal Goes Down.

He spans the length of his illustrious career, choosing choice cuts throughout to appease connoisseurs of all eras. Some of his reinventions are roaring successes – The Times They Are A-Changin' is reinvigorated with new passion and vitality. Others, like closer Blowin' In The Wind, sound tired despite their reworking.

Nevertheless, the playing is consistently gripping, mysterious rhythms being conjured from the accomplished players backing Bob's own nifty keyboard work, building from settled structures devised by Dylan and revised in a flash on riveting moments like Po' Boy and Things Have Changed.It is the showstoppers that lift the often confused, always curious crowd from eagerness to elation. Highway 61 Revisited is re-imagined with added bite and zest, Bob's band cutting loose as his voice curls around its timeless tale.

All Along The Watchtower is a booming encore opener, with harmonica playing from Dylan adding a dimension. Beforehand, Like A Rolling Stone lends momentous presence, delivered with shivering, understated power.

His much-debated voice revels in the newer numbers such as Workingman' Blues, its familiarity here contrasting with the sideways glances The Lonesome Ballad of Hattie Carroll provokes and generally sounding clear and endearing enough.

As he thanks his audience as "friends" and finally introduces his slick group, a willingness to interact with the vast audience throughout is longed for. But it wouldn't be Dylan if he didn't annoy, confuse and inflame as much as he thrills, shocks and comforts.

The Never Ending Tour will continue to far off lands, with subtle alterations distinguishing shows from others. Regardless, the audiences will gaze on with adoration and infuriation, Dylan satisfying his own urge to play as much as his fans' desire to watch. People would pack out venues for a glimpse of their hero even if he wasn't any good any more; thankfully, it just so happens that he is.

Bloc Party - Live

Bloc Party
Olympia, London

The boys from the Bloc have gone and got a bit big. This place looks like you could hold a giant British Union of Fascists rally here (anyone listening in history class?) let alone the homecoming gig for an indie band.

By the time Kele and company come onstage, the crowd feels full and ready for the group to confirm themselves as a proper, you know, whisper it, stadium band. Thankfully, it never looks a possibility.

This isn't through lack of songs, ability or affection. By the time they get round to playing Banquet thousands are loudly proclaiming that they too are "on fire" and Positive Tension's pay off of "so fucking useless" is gleefully dispatched. Song For Clay proves a highlight, both singalong and hymnal epic.

In addition, Kele sings with control and utter confidence, commanding without ever employing rock star clichés to entertain. On drums, Matt Tong is as innovative as ever, rousingly mathematical in his work on a pounding rendition of The Prayer.There is a refusal to conform in their attitude though, from playing in this cavernous auditorium off the beaten gig track, to refusing to drop the less crowd-pleasing moments from their set, persevering with electro-driven songs from latest album Intimacy that require more precision than can be mustered in the live arena.

It is beguiling, but a balance needs to be struck. Kele breaking the old mould by striding about stage without his guitar as the thrillingly nonsensical reverb of Mercury rings out? Fine. Bassist Gordon Moakes becoming a second drummer for the average repetition of Sunday? Not so fine. The rhythm of the set is always in danger of being lost in disjointedness in favour of pursuing new thrills and directions.

However, a pair of calmer moments penetrates more than the frenetic fervour of One Month Off and its ilk. This Modern Love is reliably soothing, while Ion Square translates into a wholesome behemoth in the flesh. This leaves the space for the novelty of Ares and sonic wizardry of Flux to finish things off satisfyingly. It could have been better, but was fittingly unfiltered and keeps Bloc Party in the upper echelons of UK music, without banishing them to the stadium graveyard.

The Rakes: Interview

The Rakes: Interview

"It is about going out, having a drink and smoking cigarettes, and there's always a girl – all universal themes of The Rakes vocabulary. Having said that, maybe it's time for a change…"

Alan Donohue, The Rakes' lead singer, is walking back across an East End pub, true to type, to pick up the Rushdie he has left on the table. He's been here all day, but is curious and engaging as he settles down aslant to explain about his band's new album, Klang. Recorded in Berlin, away from the London scene framed by Blairism and The Libertines they sprung from five years ago, it is at once a departure from aspects of their musical landscape and a return to others.

He aptly fits both definitions of rakish and is wide-eyed and animated as conversation turns to the German capital chosen to create the new record. "Do you cycle?" he enquires, ever picking at details. "Berlin is good to cycle around because the atmosphere is so comfortable and there are lots of things you would only capture that way – the best mode of transport for Berlin.

Never mind the bike lanes, how did it shape the record? "It's a bit like Amsterdam with a more subversive edge and darker history. It suited the sound of the album, but we were going that way anyway, pretty rough around the edges. We all agreed on David Bowie and Iggy Pop; the music they made in Berlin, it hasn't aged, it is just very innovative. Lyrically, I left spaces in the songs intentionally for Berlin to fill the gaps."

This predetermined move resulted in lead single 1989 as well as numerous other snippets – but did it work? "I'm glad how that turned out," Alan said. "When I'm writing a song I don't want it to turn into an essay, but it is always good to research."Yet he isn't the meticulous devourer of pop culture his lyrics of distorted city life often suggest. "I didn't read literature, non-fiction for ages. I'm forcing myself to read proper books," he admits. "You're a human, you should watch films and read books just for fun. I guess I get bored quickly. I want to know everything about something then go on to the next thing."

Perhaps this lack of patience results in the snappy, concise nature of The Rakes music – Klang clocks in under half an hour. "Yeah, maybe," he nods, uttering words softly, but canny and incisive in his speech. "That could be why they're a bit stripped, not massive monologues. You won't find massive solos. We all keep an eye on each other to make sure we don't get self-indulgent."

Nevertheless, it must be tempting for Alan to show off, elaborate to illustrate that he is more than another indie singer, that he has points to make. "I enjoy talking about myself. It tricks you into thinking you're getting noticed, a false sense of importance. It's better than not being noticed." Still, he explains he "wanted to make the album even shorter if anything – it's only 29 minutes as it is".

There is a noticeable slide away from the rat race lifestyle that informed the likes of 22 Grand Job on their debut record, as well as the post-terrorism paranoia that hovered around their sophomore effort. Yet images of one night stands and drinking sessions are still conjured, was there a plan to this? "We write about normal, mundane things and give them an angle. Bloke who lives next door, Tuesday afternoon, at work – not that exciting. But is there something else there? It's mundane reality mixed with escapism, but we screw things up, chuck a few spanners in, take it up a notch."The Rakes do have real ideas, so it seems strange to see them sustain their direction - there must be grander plans, lyrically at least? "This album might be it for trying to write normal, working life," Alan ponders. "Maybe it's time for a change. Though, what would I write about? Arcade Fire, apocalyptic, Bible-bashing? I don't know what else to write about - maybe a leopard can't change its spots."

Many fans of the group will be pleased to hear they aren't changing tack too drastically; observation of the extraordinary in the ordinary is still Alan's focus. He hasn't even had time to ponder what he wants from Klang. "I haven't thought about expectations for the album. Our job is to write the songs – I don't know how to answer that. I hope anyone interested in hearing it gets to."

People who are keen to listen to it may also want to take in some advice from The Rakes, who, as Alan admits, "are veterans now, three albums in. "Advice to the young whippersnappers? There's a book on the web by called How Music Really Works by someone called Wayne Chase – funny name, I don't know his qualifications. That was interesting. Read that."

The Maccabees - Live

The Maccabees
Barfly, London
Thursday, 5th March 2009

"Dear friend of mine is/testing his body/tempting disaster, testing water." The Maccabees are back in London to put their cards on the table. It's been a long time since they captured affection with their tales of childhood camaraderie and local anthems. Well, it's clear from the moment they walk onstage, it's all on the line; a new album in the offing, songs to try out, minds to readjust, friends to reacquaint. Things have changed.

Orlando Weeks, the lead singer, would look faintly ridiculous with his new heavily gelled hair if he didn't appear so piercingly driven. His glazed focus blazes below the mic in his steely grip, claiming ownership of the song as No Kind Words begins. It sounds so utterly his, a change of direction to a darker climate, cold and unforgiving and more than a mere splash in a swimming pool.

The Maccabees were already a good group, but this is a statement of intent to leave that behind, to become a great band. The other members simply look delighted to be back on stage, guitarist Felix White guffawing and leaping with glee as the sparse lyricism surrounds him.

It's an atypical setup as they progress though a couple of new tracks, Orlando donning a guitar more than usual to make a three-pronged attack and the five-piece adding some frivolity to the intensity. The release is evident after their lengthy break and the crowd is happy to share it.

What they are really waiting for is something to scream back at the band and it arrives with X-Ray. Weeks sings it with disdain but the audience are oblivious, moving the creaky upstairs floorboards of Barfly in a prolonged surge of energy.

As they continue the oldies with Precious Time and Lego, the atmosphere is charged and looks of happy abandon abound, a marked divergence from the mix of scorn and smiles on stage, Orlando dismissing the pay off line of Lego with a grin.

Young Lions is another broodier newbie, though there is room for harmonies and whoops in other songs from upcoming album Wall of Arms. The altered course they have taken is an intelligent one, not dismissing their old material but breaking through it with refreshed outlooks and loftier intentions.

As First Love is followed by a similar new closer that usurps it momentarily, full of heroically minor, sharp romanticism, The Maccabees depart. It has only been half hour, but 30 breathless, intriguing minutes have confirmed them as, with an album and five years already behind them, the best new band in the country right now.

One Eskimo – Interview

One Eskimo – Interview

Kristian Leontiou is the man behind One Eskimo, a band that maps its musical landscapes in animated form and accompanies their gigs with an overhead projector displaying Japanese-inspired cartoon stories. Working with the people behind Gorillaz and Faithless, they take on the form of various animals and, of course, One Eskimo. But before this move into creative freedom, Leontiou was a chart-conquering solo artist on a major label. We caught up with him to find out how it all came about and why on earth a giraffe is playing percussion…

Greg Rose: Right, so you're an Eskimo, and the rest of the band is made up of a giraffe, a monkey and a penguin. Explain?

Kristian Leontiou: It stated off just as a logo and developed into a character. It felt like we needed to be a band, it was nice to show our different personalities. Some of the animals match the band members well, especially visually – it's nice to have a giraffe in the Arctic!

GR: So what can people expect onstage from this animal band?

KL: It's a loose setup we have. We have lots of little triggers, but everything is live and everyone is multitasking. We're going to carry on adding to that sonically and visually.

GR: So where does the animation come into it all?

KL: The Snowman was the idea, the inspiration – it feels like the 2009 version of The Snowman. It's got this dreamy feel to it, it really worked. We worked with the Gorillaz creators, though we'd already developed some characters ourselves by then and got a British Animation Awad for one on a shoestring budget. That got the attention of the investors.

GR: How does the visual side affect the music though?

KL: The Snowman feel definitely comes into the music. It's very live, but has electro, filmic sounds – it's all purposely geared to one vision.

GR: You were on a major label and marketed to a pop audience as a male Dido. How is it now having more freedom?

KL: This is weird for me. You know what, I'm such a stubborn person and I know what I want. It was so hard the first time, it's nice to have people on board that care this time. Everyone involved in One Eskimo is here because they get it, not for a paycheck.

GR: Looking back, are you glad you gave being a major label solo star a go?

KL: I'm glad I did it as an experience, but while I was doing it I hated it. It was a horrible time, but it's all worked out now. I can step back from it all and know how it works. It's been an uphill struggle but its made it all come together.

GR: You work with Rollo Armstrong from Faithless on the album – how did that come about?

KL: He's a friend of mine, he's a magical person, working with him was an amazing experience. We have a track with him on the last Faithless album too. He's an influence not just for the sound, for everything, my outlook on things.

GR: Are you all for collaboration between musicians then?

KL: This is London, it can be a very supportive place, people get involved, it just has that sort of atmosphere.

GR: What has had an influence on One Eskimo then?KL: I really like the Whitest Boy Alive at the moment, and Four Tet. I listen to Bonobo, The Fugees back when. It's a mixture, where my head is. I really love animation, not even the gory ones, the beautiful ones. Japanese animations, they've got real magic, it's a big influence.

GR: What do you think about music videos being taken of YouTube?

KL: What? No way! I hadn't heard about that, that's terrible. The whole idea is to support artists, with downloads as well, I think if people want to hear your music, let them hear it, I don't care how. We had 50,000 hits on YouTube, without that things would be harder.

GR: You're quite innovative in the use of an animated story to accompany your music. Do you embrace technology in other ways?

KL: Of course, but I don't really blog. I find it difficult. I don't thing there should be a gap between artists and fans, but I struggle to open up on a daily basis. I say what I want to say on songs.

GR: So what do you want to say in your songs?

KL: I spend time not making it too obvious. It's taken me a lot of time, lyrically, to get it together. It's personal, but it's there for people to interpret how they want to.

GR: You seem pretty content with it all at the moment, like this is exactly what you want to be doing – is that accurate?

KL: Life is full of ups and downs all the time. I feel like there is a lot right at the moment. I feel like I've been allowed to do what I want, like a kid. It's brilliant, sometimes I feel like a kid, sometimes like I'm 45. But I guess everyone gets like that. All I know is I am proud of what we are doing.

Emmy The Great - Live

Emmy The Great - Live
ULU, London

A peculiar prospect, is Emmy The Great. While rejecting any labels that come her way, she attracts them by the bucket load: new folk starlet, next big thing, anti-anti-folk singer. She seems to have been around for so long that it's about time she settled down into a pigeon-hole and was done with it. But no, tonight's gig is a mish-mash of directions and inflections, some thrilling, some wayward and almost all entertaining.

First off, she can sing – even better than the sometimes passive, worryingly calm tones she reveals on record. Her vocals soar, lifting dark songs from the doldrums and dragging heart into brighter moments. But it was her wry, crafty lyrics that first hooked the attention and on these her show hinges.

In the main, the playful delivery of Bad Things Coming, We Are Safe and its fellow up-tempo jigs is countered pleasantly by thoughtfully youthful ballads, such as Everything Reminds Me Of You, which break up the set. It never settles, gathering a momentum and rhythm that adds meaning to City Song and a heady hurtle to Dylan. She's genuinely funny, smart couplets regularly raising smiles.

Still, when she misses it is no close cut thing – the classically crass lines "I thought romance was pretty / Then you went and spoiled it / Every time that I think of you / I have to go to the toilet" still stick out of The Hypnotist's Son like the gawky kid in a school picture. First Love's Leonard Cohen inspired rhymes are another blip that provoke as much cringing as cheering.
But these moments of almost-mocking dreadfulness are sweetly countered by the generally distinguished level of musicianship on display from both Emmy and her band, keeping the platform level from which dips and raises in mood and rhythm can be launched.

On the Museum Island is one occasion when the many facets of the performance mix faultlessly. The wispy, yearning lyricism twists around a dainty, but prevailing, melody and Emmy's voice rises above it all with clarity, capturing the essence of the song. MIA is another highlight, again the death-tinted sadness of the tune being brought to life by its delivery.

There are more hits and misses before the gig is through, a corny Carpenters cover and a classy War among them. But the prevailing feeling is that there is real flair here, as well as a smattering of good intentions and effort to paper over any misjudgements. This tentative, driven, unassuming talent could well have taken another step towards the big time tonight – whether she wants to get there or not is another issue.

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour - Live

The Asteroids Galaxy Tour
Cargo, London

There's something very Scooby Doo about The Asteroids Galaxy Tour. They come onstage looking like they have only the slightest of attention spans, dressed like over-zealous nine-year-olds let loose in a dress up box after consuming a few too many Panda Pops. It's all very cutesy and exciting in a juvenile way, but by the end they have solved the mystery, which in this case is how to entertain a Shoreditch crowd just waiting to be disappointed.

They are blessed with a singer who exudes the necessary qualities of a pop frontwoman; bolshie, pretty, kooky and more than a little like Blondie, Mette Lindberg is a star in waiting. If Lady GaGa and Katy Perry can do it, give me strength, it's an open market. Ms Lindberg nails the attitude of her tracks, a little warped, a touch of cabaret but always going somewhere.

Her Copenhagen accent is more pronounced in person and compliments the bouncy beats of opener Hero, a hint of ska and squeaky beats dominating. Once the focus of their visually startling stance dims though, it's hard to find much going on. Sure, there's a horn section and a solid if basic topless drummer, but it's all a bit corny in the musical department, with Bad Fever and its ilk doing little but pass time.Tracks with lines rhyming crazy/mad with hazy/sad are as annoying as they sound, while even Debbie Harry-aping Rapture dance moves cannot appease forever. There is a distinct lack of substance, the feeling that this would all be better off neatly packaged into three minute bursts rather than hour sets. However, in these little snippets, such as the iPod advert adorning Around The Bend, the audience is absolutely smitten.

The only other song competing in the catchiness stakes is The Sun Ain't Shining No More, which begins with a smooth Motown feel that Lindberg cavorts over with glee. It's a tad darker, less throwaway and nails what this band should really be doing. There's potential here, hits to be hit, but the whole cheesy cartoon act needs to be toned down. They aren't mad, crazy kids – but they have a few bright ideas and a top singer. We'll be hearing a lot more from this group – it's still up to them to decide whether it's any good or not.

First Aid Kit - Live

First Aid Kit
The Enterprise, London
23rd February 2009

Watching bands at the Enterprise can feel often feel like chancing upon something a bit unusual. Maybe it is the climb up the narrow, creaky stairway to escape the Britpop blast of the downstairs soundsystem, or the hole in the toilet wall, or the pokey stage with just enough elevation to perform. But it all suits First Aid Kit, the daintily elusive duo in town tonight.

Most individuals in the crowd are older than the combined age of the youthful talents in front of them, but they lap up each track with infatuated applause. You're Not Coming Home is aired early, the impossible innocence of a song written by Klara Söderberg when she was just 14 coming through in its simple structure.

Tangerine is an eloquent tale of misjudged devotion and the dizzy harmonising brings it gentle grace. Compared to their last performance in London at the back end of last year, a controlled aggression is smouldering beneath the surface now.

This comes to the fore in Jagadamba, You Might; Johanna's backing vocals see her pressed against the mic, biting out barbed lines with passionate intensity. Their songs always feel not fully formed, being cajoled by Klara's cavernous voice and Johanna's sparse autoharp. This unrefined nature lends far greater interest and sincerity than a perfectly polished performance could.
However, their choice of covers is not so accomplished. As headliners, they are called upon to stretch the set and don't yet have the depth of material to comfortably do so. Instead, three covers are played. Fleet Foxes' Tiger Mountain Peasant Song is touching, filled with courtesy and clarity, and especially juicy due to the bearded band playing across the road at the Roundhouse the very same night.

But a version of Bob Dylan's It Ain't Me Babe, though passable, adds little, while Johnny Cash's I Walk The Line seems hollow – both lack inspiration and trigger karaoke comparisons. A new song, Hard Believer, is corny and forgettable too. Nevertheless, the blip is obliterated by I Met Up With The King. Desperate, deep vocals from Clara are complimented by sparse accompaniment and the warped insight is back.

There's an awful lot of talent yet to come out of First Aid Kit and plenty of time for it to do so. Some bands never recapture the vitality and audacity of their fledgling shows, but this pair has a style that suggests improvement with experience. They are interesting now, but could be irresistible in the future.

The name game: The Soft Pack interview

The name game: The Soft Pack interview


"WE'RE not good looking. We don't dress cool. We don't have Rod Stewart hair. We're just four normal guys whose fucking songs are catchy."

Well, let's see about that. The Soft Pack, formerly The Muslims, are one of 2009's most in demand bands, tipped by the great and good for success. The Velvet Underground, Iggy & The Stooges, The Strokes - if they are American and amazing, this band have been compared to them.

But this doesn't seem to have gone to their head. Watching them soundcheck upstairs at an East End pub, an amp blows up, so we take the chance to grab guitarist Matty McLoughlin for a chat on the fire escape stairs. He is open, honest, but pretty disinterested to begin with. Having just jumped off a plane and headed straight here, he doesn't even know what day it is.

"Why do people like us? I don't know, it's definitely to do with luck, but we like the songs we write," he says, droll and understated. "We sound a lot better if everyone's drunk, ten times better if you've been drinking."

So if there is nothing special here, where do the comparisons come from? "I don't mind it," he admits. "Velvet Underground? I love them. Then, people say The Strokes, which I don't really get. If I was to describe our band to, say, my dentist, I would say 'Oh, we sound like The Strokes, rock music, clean guitars'. But if you actually listen to music, you can definitely hear deeper things than The Strokes."

The way those particular New Yorkers suavely wandered to the heights of cool at the start of the millennium was based on hype and haircuts as much as music, but they did produce the songs to back it up. The Soft Pack have picked up a similar buzz, so can they do the same? "Each song we write becomes like my favourite song, I feel like we're progressing as a band," he nods, animated.

"We've had a rotating cast, four drummers and four or five bassists. Now, with these guys everything just clicked. They are really good musicians and me and (singer Matt Lamkin) are not that good, so they hold it down and we can screw around a little bit."

This lax attitude to their talent is repeated when the subject of their name change from - shock, horror - The Muslims comes up. "We expect to get asked about it. Every interview we've ever done, it's been the first question. We don't really care about it, I don't understand why it's controversial."

Changing the name has got more press than keeping it, so was it all a PR stunt? "Oh, sure, we're going to start changing it, every three months," he smirks. "We've got a new stunt, we've got things up our sleeve, we're gonna hit it hard. The name and image aren't that important. If you have good songs, you'll be ok."

Onstage tonight, this is confirmed. They don't even air breakthrough single Nightlife, but Parasites' clashing riffs sound suitably filthy and Extinction is filled with bite and verve. Without being unaccomplished, they play with refreshingly unfussy roughness, cajoling the crowd with their charge and craft rather than charisma.

Matty is right though, they don't have that undistinguishable, but succinct, quality of simple coolness. "There is a bit of a backlash against trying too hard," he dismisses. "Pretending to be some fucking dude you read about in a book, leather jacket cool, cocaine, it's fucking false anyway."

"The only thing we expect of ourselves is to make good records and tour. You can't kid anybody, we aren't good enough to, we just have to play with sincerity.

So, with the time ripe for an assault on the wider consciousness of what's next for the band? "Touring, more touring, festivals, then we're aiming to have the album out in September. It will be all new songs, except we've re-recorded Parasites.

It could, of course, all go wrong before then. Hype bands are as rare as drizzle and what if internal implosions occur? "No, We're all friends, we've set rules out, and learnt how to do it. Our first tour was a fucking mess. Everyone knows how it works now. We're gonna keep doing it regardless of how well we do." That attitude could be the key to doing well – even if they do think Rod Stewart's cool.

The National Interview - Dark Was The Night

Interview: The National - Dark Was The Night

When The National’s sibling guitarists, Aaron and Bryce Dessner, decided to make a compilation album for commendable AIDS charity Red Hot, they asked their friends to get involved. It just so happens that The National’s friends include the Arcade Fire, Bon Iver, Beirut, Cat Power, Jose Gonzalez, Conor Oberst, Sufjan Stevens and the rest of indie music’s burgeoning royalty. We caught up with Aaron to find out how they managed to make Dark Was The Night and what’s next for The National.

Greg Rose: Hi Aaron, so you’ve just came from the studio? What have you been up to?

Aaron Dessner: Hi there. A couple of the artists from the album were playing songs in a loft in Brooklyn, I had too much to drink so today I’m feeling bad. We had Dirty Projectors and Yeasayer and The National and Beirut all doing some songs, some great stuff.GR: Have a lot of the artists hung out as the album has gone along?

AD: It’s weird, a lot these artists live in New York and we’ve became friends. We all have a lot in common, it makes it nice, and easy to get them to do things like this, because you can just stalk them.

GR: Is there anybody you wanted to get that you couldn’t?

AD: There’s a few that we would have loved to have: Animal Collective, LCD Soundsystem, Joanna Newsom, but we just didn’t have time. It ended up being such a long list that it feels inclusive and complete.

GR: How was the cutting process? Did you let everybody do whatever they wanted to?

AD: We described the project and asked people their opinion of what they can do. We didn’t want a theme album, there are so many compilations that feel like that. Bob Dylan is my favourite artist of all time but I don’t like listening to tributes to him, I’d rather just listen to Bob Dylan play Bob Dylan songs, unless it’s something really rare. We felt like it would be a good idea to let artists choose what they wanted to do.

GR: How strange was that approach, relinquishing the control and intricate planning that you have in The National?

AD: You can’t decline anyone’s charity. Fortunately, we really loved everything people did. A few times we had to go back and remix things, or suggest something, but generally we trusted people’s intuition.

GR: How different was it from making a National album?

AD: It’s a totally different thing. National albums are so hands-on and obsessive. There’s a lot of friction in the National’s creative process, which is what gives us that specific, subtle thing that we do, which is kind of awkward and gets us where we want to be. We could have made this more hands-on, but it would be impossible, as these artists live all over the place and everybody’s always touring.

GR: The album has themes running through it as cohesive undercurrents; it doesn’t just feel like a random collection of songs. How did you achieve that?

AD: We were shocked when we finished it to find that cohesion that is there, that shared sensibility that runs through it. It feels natural – I’m not sure how that happened, we just tried to make it flow. There’s an attention to detail and craftsmanship that is shared on a lot of the songs. It was a happy accident. It could have easily been a train wreck, it wasn’t our ingenuity that produced that.

GR: How did your track with Bon Iver come about?

AD: I’d never met him and just got in touch with him on MySpace. He wrote back and was incredibly enthusiastic. I record things all the time and sent to him a really rough thing that was a crappy old piano in my house with the microphone on the floor because it wouldn’t reach across the room. He loved it and made the song Big Red Machine out of it. It was just one of those moments when I was really happy to do what I do. I felt like music had been born again.

GR: Lots of the artists on the album haven’t had new material out in a while – did you catch people in the right creative mindset to make these songs?

AD: Everyone is in different places. It was great to be able to make songs without the context of being on an album, for the National especially. So Far Around The Bend is just, musically, shuffle, and I hate shuffle – but in this case I love the shuffle. We worked with a composer, Nico Muhly, he said we have to “get Blondie (Matt Berninger, the National’s singer) out of the mud,” so we wrote a really frolicking, orchestral arrangement that really works. This was a chance to do something you can’t do usually, something different.GR: What are The National up to at the moment?

AD: We recently built a recording studio in my garage and we are working on the next record. I’ve been writing a lot of music and Matt has probably 30 things he’s working on. It takes us a long time to finish a record. We’re on the way, it will probably be done in early 2010. We throw away a lot of things. We’re writing so quickly, it’s like when we first started the band. We record a bunch of ideas, Matt writes the lyrics in the week then we meet and find out what he’s done.

GR: How is it working with your brother? Is there lots of sibling rivalry?

AD: Sometimes, we taunt each other into doing things. I got Feist, so then it was like ‘Who are you going to get?’ and it just went back and forth like that. He got the Arcade Fire at the last minute and we were just taunting each other like that. We’re just typical brothers – people think we hate each other, but we just have a non-verbal thing, we’re often rude to each other, but that’s the way brothers are.

GR: Is it fair to say this album is a definitive representation of this period in indie music?

AD: I don’t like labeling it, because there’s so much great music about. Certainly, it’s a document of independent music at the moment, but that wasn’t our intent. It’s just people we know and have access to. For fans, this will be a great way to discover new artists and I hope people will delve further.
GR: Last summer, I spotted you at a festival reading the Sun newspaper – what did you think of it?

AD: Page three and whatever? I have been totally amused and bemused by it. Someone sent me a YouTube clip of Lily Allen and I’ve found myself listening to it on repeat, so I like that kind of thing sometimes.

GR: Do you wish Lily was on the album?

AD: Erm… Haha. It would have been good for sales I guess.

GR: Have you thought of organising a show to play the album live?

AD: We’re actually doing that. We’re going to do a big show in May in New York City. I’d love to do one in London too and hope that can happen also.

GR: What are your hopes for the record in terms of what it can do for Red Hot? Do you believe music can really make a difference?

AD: This record can help raise a lot of money to fight the AIDS epidemic and that is the goal. We have such a good opportunity as musicians to help such an important cause. Red Hot has a great track record and the only goal is to raise money and awareness to fight HIV. If the album is successful critically and helps the artists, then that’s great too.

http://www.myspace.com/darkwasthenight
http://www.myspace.com/thenational

Howling Bells - Live

Howling Bells
Islington Academy
Monday, 9th February 2009

Howling Bells covering Britney Spears sounds like a lazy journalist's attempt at defining the latest electro-rock-pop, one-woman amalgamation. It isn't though, it's tonight's encore. Howling Bells are back with their second album and are clearly fixated on it outdoing their first smouldering triumph.

As they saunter onstage to face a sold-out crowd tonight, there is the tangible feeling they are after success; the kind that gets you on the end of talk shows and the start of charts. Not that there is anything wrong with that, as long as the tunes remain as creakingly, broodingly brilliant as before. Opening with oldie Blessed Night is an overdue welcome back to their fans, the chugging riff and sultry elusiveness of singer Juanita Stein stomping back into view.

Then it is into the new stuff, with sophomore record Radio Wars showcased solidly. It is certainly broader, the sonic scope of Cities Burning Down contrasting with the pop tart shimmer of Digital Hearts. However, despite the wider range, it lacks the focus of its predecessor in the live arena. When Wishing Stone is bludgeoned into action it’s a hearty relief.

Juanita is as enticingly as ever, her wispy, dreamy stage presence and infiltrating vocals holding the mood. Nevertheless, the chat between songs is grating, a feeling that annoying technical problems on Setting Sun only exacerbate. The slow-burning, creeper nature of their old sound never fully flourishes at this sold-out show, with flops such as the wet electro of Golden Web breaking it up.Regardless, there are highlights, not least the breezy single Into The Chaos. Former darkness forgotten, it is smothered in a pleasing, toe-tapping glitz. This new direction is aptly illustrated by the choice of encore. Rather than returning to former singles such as Broken Bones, Toxic is tackled. Juanita pulls off Britney's energetic playfulness well and its unexpected nature adds novelty, but there is little musically to match the original.

They have been away for quite a while, came back bigger than they ever were, but misplaced the nagging, blustery feel that made their music so alluring. Still, the textured nature of their new sound may be another grower and a repeat of this gig by spring could be transformed. There's just enough sprinklings of imagination to ensure most stick around to find out, but this is not quite the night their Radio Wars are won.

We Have Band - Live

We Have Band
Fabric, London
Friday, 23rd January 2009

With most bands that suddenly appear and are hyped within an inch of their lives for a fortnight, they don't actually turn out to be all that special. However, with We Have Band – ok, that is absolutely true. This is rehashed and restyled but the same old stuff; far from awful yet further from awesome, if you didn't come to see them tonight you wouldn't remember you did.

In their defence, playing to a crowd that isn't really there to watch live music is quite an obstacle for any group. This is Fabric, it has speakers in every dancefloor, substances in every pocket and favour for beats over bands. Still, We Have Band are more inclined to succeed here than most, with their rickety, disco-laden electro feel, and they do hold the attention.

The buzz about the band of former EMI workers is enough to attract a sizeable gathering to the clammy, crammed room that holds the gig. The trio manages to make them move with a blend of rolling bass and bleeping keys, but Dede's backing vocals get more than a smidge overawed.

Nevertheless, it sounds suitably messy and gladly doesn't place a 2007 glowstick gloss on the rougher elements of the mixture. Hear It In The Cans carries real momentum, kick-starting the set and revealing hints of charisma to come in singing/drumming/synthesizing Darren Dancroft.Then breakthrough track Oh is aired. With grating, monosyllabic repetitiveness, it could work in the sticky confines of a gig, but not the wider surroundings of a superclub. A cover of The Pet Shop Boys' West End Boys is cheesy enough to be cool and brings renewed vigour to a momentarily sapped crowd, but their rhythm cannot be recaptured.

There is potential, especially if the momentary sizzling moments can be stretched and the monotonous minutes minimised. While it is far too early to write them off, it is certainly not worth seeing them out of their comfort zone yet. The problem is there are dozens of breaking bands with synths, singles and stylish singers, so why should these stand out? The generic nature of their name doesn't seem so wry after watching DJs set the same room ablaze with flailing arms and happy faces. We have band have work to do.

Franz Ferdinand, Of Montreal - Live

Franz Ferdinand, Of Montreal
Heaven, London
Tuesday, 20th January 2009

The strangely sanitized-smelling setting of Heaven nightclub welcomes Franz Ferdinand back into the fold – and it's soon business as usual for the returning arch art pop act.

Before the hordes of Franz Fucking Ferdinand t-shirt wearers can catch a glimpse of their heroes, the considerable prospect of Of Montreal is on show. Show is an apt description for this colourful troupe, the visual aspects of their performance more than matching their musical meanderings.

They open with thundering guitars and tight, rigid drumming, the indie Barney Rubble on guitar and the wonderfully unglamourously-named Kevin Barnes exuding outrage and cool on vocals. It's sonically confused, flitting from sparkly disco to flailing solos, but engaging nonetheless.

However, concentrating on the experimentation in the sound is difficult due to the controlled carnage occurring behind, with actors in pigs masks and leotards performing intermittently. Many miss the drums being dismantled as Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider's rhythm reverberates– giant alien heads can be distracting.

After a while, it's hard to work out what they are, with numerous identities hurtling together into one set. Nevertheless, they did themselves no harm tonight and many will have been converted to their cheerful contradictions.

When Franz Ferdinand arrive, their punctuality fitting the tightness of their jeans and riffs, their intentions are clear. New tracks zip snugly into the set, with opener No You Girls getting toes squiggling as well as Do You Want To manages. There is quirky dancing, elastic drumming and pinging guitars – it's like they never left.

Then, hang on, what's this – the rumours of a more synth-driven sound are true. Turn It On grooves on a sleek bass, but it's the finger twiddling on the keys, plus the stark absence of two guitars that dominates. It suits them as well as the sweaty surroundings, adding a danceable funk to their teeth-grindingly taut sound and making the tracks with competing axe work sound all the more vital.
Alex Kapranos is as enticing as ever, geeky but supremely confident, sipping red wine after gasping at his inhaler. His lithe moves and suggestive delivery keeps oldies like Michael and the impossibly stompable Take Me Out sounding fresh, while he revels in the sensual mystery of What She Came For.

The drum-fest of Outsiders works better in an intimate venue, while Ulysses is more anthemic live. It's 40' that brings the showman out of Kapranos, call and response working a treat, before the happiness of balloons descends on the masses for closer This Fire.

It still sounds like Franz, as fast and fun as it is superfluous - but there's room in music for that. As one drunken punter melodramatically exclaims outside, balloon in hand: "Screw the credit crunch, that's the first time I've been happy in ages".

Golden Silvers - Live

Golden Silvers
The Macbeth
Friday, 16th January 2009

When a band doesn't come onstage until 11.30 pm, it can mean one of two things: the crowd is so pissed at having to wait all night that the band is slated, or the crowd is simply so pissed that the crowd is elated. It appears the latter is the case here, as Golden Silvers bring their musical mish-mash to the Macbeth.

They are a spangled, glamorous 80s throwback that demand dancing and care not a jot for credibility. No, wait, they want to be Talking Heads. Hang on, this is cheesy silliness that requires a moustache and shoulder pads to even contemplate. Arrows of Eros is almost the Holloways, almost Earth Wind and Fire – and nobody wants that. OK, we don't know what it is, but neither do they, so maybe that's a good thing.

Magic Touch draws an ebullient response from a venue usually far too concerned with looking cool to remember to have fun. It's jerky and poppy, its bounciness in a similar vein to the much-maligned chart fodder of The Wombats, but with enough going on to remain interesting. Another recalls The Animals doing Dylan and shows a more subtle side, the three boys revealing signs of a knack for melody among the melee they make.
It's hard not to make Elvis Costello references to Gwylim Gold's nasal, gooey voice. He sings at odds to the hotchpotch assortment of sounds the band conjure, sometimes entering darker territory before dragging back pop sensibilities with a squeak and a screech. Psychedelic solos race around intermittently, along with lulls that crave more instrumentation but make do with pub feedback.

There is no time to reach conclusions. They crash and tumble into the set and depart 30 minutes later, leaving many with an impression that they could be one of the bands of 2009. But a worry persists that it may be all sass over substance. It's great to be eclectic, it's even better to provoke Hoxton questionables to dance, but is it enough to make a great group? Golden Silvers haven't decided themselves yet, but it's worth watching them work it out.

Emmy The Great – First Love

Emmy The Great – First Love

The title of this album could not be more fitting. Emmy The Great's first record strives to capture that magical, muddled debut attempt at meaningful connection. It is a startlingly intimate, patchy record that is not destined or designed to be adored forever. Yet, while it lasts, it is easy to kid yourself that it is surprisingly wonderful, for all of its blemishes and imperfections.

It is unashamedly stark in its subject matter, with Emmy's young heart laid on the line from its opening and tied there until its end. Simple arrangements tangle around her lines of loss, affection, despondency and humour. There is little inflection from the theme, but the likes of We Almost Had A Baby and Dylan are delivered with sincerity and manage to cajole fondness for their singer.

References are sewn throughout, from the aforementioned Zimmerman nod to the title track, which picks at Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah with at least more invention than a certain X Factor winner. The highlight of these artist allusions, though, is MIA, a delicate acoustic strum playing with the tapestry of an innocuous conversation concerning the singer.

Emmy's voice is unspectacular, but this fits the sparse sound by never overpowering it, such as on Everything Reminds Me Of You. It allows the lines to shine more, which betrays her immaturity as a writer, but also showcases the standout lines. Also, for those who enjoy the soap-style relations between the whole new-folk scene, there is plenty of scope for speculation about the subjects of lyrics.

One song that should have been cut is 24, a hackneyed hash that loosely hangs upon the foundations of the hit US television show and is neither clever nor interesting. But the misses are rare, Emmy's dreamy style just about carrying off numerous corny moments, such as grating references to 13th century Italian literature and the shipping news.

Regardless, On The Museum Island makes up for these. As she focuses on friendship, clarity flows out of lines of a Berlin escape filled with renewal and remembrance. If it wasn't so dainty it would be harrowing, such is the unrelenting emotional nature of the content.

The album triumphs through its honesty more than anything, its personal nature – self released, funded and produced - validating this. There isn't a throwaway happy folk jig in sight, even the throwaways deal with heartache. But this is fitting, creating a record filled with substance despite its prettiness, which makes it hard to forget, like your very own first one that got away.

Fee Fie Foe Fum

Festive Fun with Mumford and Sons at Fee Fie Foe Fum

Fi Fie Foe Fum is an office party like no other. Everyone is dressed impeccably, the drink is flowing and people are dancing with abandon. But there are no po-faced managers or giggling secretaries in sight, just the elite of the UK's new-folk scene all in one room. This is a festive celebration of all the twee talents who have started making inroads into the musical landscape in the past year.

Cargo is already bustling as Jay Jay Pistolet plays his doleful, melancholy music. The understated singer-songwriter divides opinion with his nonchalant use of effects on his microphone. He conjures a tone similar to that produced on a creaking gramophone, but his songs have a depth and tenderness to match the antiquity of the sound. When he claims he has never heard any of the rest of the bill, but suggests the crowd enjoy them anyway, this masks the closeness of the artists on display.

Most of this bunch have been touring, recording and dating each other and there's an easy familiarity between the audience and artists too, a cosy, celebratory feel that culminates in Mumford & Sons' performance. While half of the four-piece are usually in Laura Marling's backing band, tonight they lay claim to the gig's most entertaining set, despite two acts being higher on the bill.

Singer Marcus has the giddy look of a man confident in his songs and his setting, blasting into the jostling folk of White Blank Page with aplomb. However, the swerving, cantering nature of Banjolin Song epitomises their performance, its soaring harmonies pitch perfect and snatching a jubilant moment from the raucous venue. They are strident but playful, clearly enjoying themselves utterly. As they depart after a set that is far too short, the wait for their debut album seems suddenly too long.

Laura Marling rightly receives adulation for her Mercury-nominated first record, but tonight she is content to play four songs solo, the first of which, No Hope In The Air, is new. There is a disconcerting rowdiness to her performance that isn't quite natural, the crowd roaring back delicate lyrics with endearing devotion, but stealing poise from them simultaneously. She is demanded back for an encore of My Manic & I, which has no chorus but becomes a terrace chant regardless. Well, it is Christmas.

Johnny Flynn manages to round the night up in jolly fashion, his boyish good looks and regular changing of instruments keeping the hordes swaying until the early hours. Next year could see one or more of these acts penetrating the mainstream, but for now, those present are glad to be in on the secret.

The Kinks - Picture Book

The Kinks - Picture Book

"And now, meet The Kinks, five more representatives of the…shaggy set." As soon as Brian Matthew provides this delightful introduction, Picture Book begins to paint a complete image of one of the UK's most irrepressible acts. Ever since they burst into England's pop consciousness over 40 years ago, their hooks have been nagging at the minds of consecutive generations.

In this collection, all of the hits are present and correct, along with everything else the band ever did. With 138 tracks over six discs, it seems every time Ray Davies ever opened his mouth someone pressed record. However, even connoisseurs of The Kinks will be pleasantly bemused by the rarities present, which show a craftier edge than the pop perfection of the likes of Long Tall Sally and 20th Century Man.

The ubiquitous 60s feel of the band does wander at times, but the most memorable moments remain those that are glued in the decade when the group crafted their youthful tales of twisted love. Dedicated Follower of Fashion still hops along daintily, while Days manages to provoke memories of an old Tetley advert yet still sound fresh. The track-listing, albeit extensive, is interesting, deciding to flit in and out of moods and periods rather than follow chronologically.

An extra dimension is added by numerous live tracks, the pick of which is a misty rendition of Alcohol, complete with a clap-trap, likely lad introduction and a shaky organ. Such is the depth of the collection that it is impossible to maintain the polished sheen of their singles. This is a definite advantage, as even Lola begins to grate after countless listens.

Instead, alternative renditions such as a piano-led Face In The Crowd, taking on a solemn, lonelier feel, leave a more lasting impression. After all, it's only superfans that this collection will appeal to, due to its magnitude and price, so the uncommon gems it unearths are where it reveals its worth. Those looking for signposts to the music that dominates the modern age will enjoy picking out the blueprints for many songs in even the Davies brothers and friends' most throwaway moments, such as The Moneygoround.

Regardless, everyone with ears still loves Waterloo Sunset. Forever incisive and grittily clinging to British eccentricity and melancholy throughout, at its core this anthology is a remnant of a past age. It is packaged beautifully and lovingly to boot, with the vital factor of Ray Davies' approval and official contribution another bonus. Nobody is ever going to get through it all unless they have already, but it is certainly worth giving it a go while waiting for that possible reunion tour.