Singles of the Week

God stopped past for ten minutes and a swift pot.

Howling Bells

Low Happening (Liberation)

It’s easy to be cynical when a band changes name, location and image in order to pursue success in a new musical market, but the pseudo-gothic folk produced by the Howling Bells would never have made sense under the old moniker, Waikiki. After gushing reviews in their adopted UK, Howling Bells return home sounding darker and more assured. The relentless, cymbal-lite drum rumbles work in perfect unison with Juanita’s sultry vocals, the spiky, minimalist guitars of brother Joel adding a suitable sense of foreboding. The problem is, there’s also an unshakeable sense that it’s all a little too contrived, too slick, too perfect.

Love Outside Andromeda

Measuring Tape (Shock)

Measuring Tape is only three-and-a-half minutes long, but for some reason it sounds as if it drags, mainly due to the unnecessary thirty second outro of thin guitar and monotonous drums. A promising opening, highlighting at the same time the menacing and angelic components that constitute Sianna Lee’s voice, turns into a tune which sits uncomfortably in a some sort of nowhere space – not melodious enough, yet not noisy enough. The parts are all there – the voice, layers of squealy guitar – but the sum of the parts sadly falls short. They’re a better band than this.

In a flash of inspiration, the band decided on a 1970s image.

Panic! At The Disco

I Write Sins Not Tragedies (Warner)

Another one of those bands who had internet-savvy kids wetting themselves before any significant kind of physical release (do these kids search for their music by typing in exclamation marks?(!)), Panic! At The Disco still manage to transcend vocalist Brendon Urie’s nasally emo-ness with a not-so-predictable arrangement. Whilst the ‘epic’ string orchestrations add a sense of self-importance, and the band’s ‘Clockwork Orange goes burlesque’ look is rather silly, this still shits all over that other band, MyUsedFuneralSavesTheThursdayChemicalRomance. Man I hate those guys.

Jenny Lewis with The Watson Twins

You Are What You Love (Rough Trade / Shock)

The Rilo Kiley vocalist has teamed up with long-time Conor Oberst collaborator Mike Mogis on her debut album, along with white gospel singers the Watson twins. You Are What You Love is pretty and all, a folkish snapshot of Americana past, but upon concluding has you wondering what the point was. An out-of-place, fast-paced snare-drum skiffle progresses unabated throughout a track which would work far better if it were driven by the vocal harmonies.

The man wrote his Logie Award acceptance speech on the wrong side of his hand.

The Sleepy Jackson

God Lead Your Soul (Capitol)

I fear Luke Steele is consciously wrapping himself in an aura of pop mysticism in his attempt to become the modern-day Brian Wilson, despite the fact that his vision is all rather admirable. God Lead Your Soul is roughly three steps removed from the organic alt-country and gothic pop which defined much of the Lovers debut, as Steele attempts his ascent to a higher sonic plane. In parts ethereal and heavenly, the track takes a sassy gospel-infused turn, with some sweet ’70s horns’n’strings sending the track into celebratory mode. The verses float in between, with the background vocal harmonies sounding like the ghost of those in Vampire Racecourse. The problem, however, lies in the production. It’s completely and utterly overdone – even the acoustic guitars sound as if they’ve been fed through half-a-dozen processors. Worse, you’re ultimately left with the sense that he’s just trying too hard to be the Luke his ego tells him he is.

SINGLE OF THE WEEK

TV On The Radio

Wolf Like Me (Remote Control)

New Yorkers TV On The Radio fucking own their sound. 2004’s Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes album brought together genres as disparate as post-punk, jazz and gospel (all delivered through an aesthetic of indie grit), and with Wolf Like Me, the band show no sign of becoming either complacent or intentionally difficult. Vocalist Tunde Adebimpe still sounds like a soul singer reared on Fugazi, and here his smooth drawl is enveloped by a relentless wash of malfunctioning guitars, which implode only to leave space-dust, a scattering of chimes and ominous synths. The outro is propelled by the relentless ‘we’re howling, forever’ vocal, as the track races down a rabbit hole, into a dimension inhabited only by itself and an assortment of nocturnal creatures.