Death to PromoAren’t blogs great? All the music you could possibly want at the click of a button? And then you don’t even need to stay on t’internet to play them all back, Spotify. Grand. Faced with an Everest of promo singles (and a solitary full record) the merit of dishing out endless plastic discs throughout the UK and even the world is waning. With today’s release of Coldplay’s live album ‘Left Right Left Right Left’ recorded God-knows-where, it’s about the last thing we need and the title’s about as original as its conception yet at least its only available as a download for the time being. That is until they thrust a copy into the clasping hands of every Coldplay fan (if such a thing does in fact exist) that attends one of their September enormodome shows. In the shadow of the mountain at base camp lie the tired, dated releases from The All-American Rejects (‘I Wanna’) and The Rumble Strips (‘Not the Only Person’). The former regurgitate their formulaic repetition over power chords with the added pandemonium induced by arpeggiated synths whilst the ‘Strips’ Charlie Waller’s monotonous baritone howl can’t be grasped from the hands of nothingness even with the orchestration of Final Fantasy’s Owen Pallett, the production of (the straight) Ronson and the mixing of Rich Costey. Yet more hours needed on the Tavistock leisure centre climbing wall or we’ll never make mountaineers out of these chancers. Up next is perhaps the worst sleeve since Hard-Fi decided artwork no longer constituted a fundamental part of musical production and a desecrating Blondie cover to match; In This Moment’s ‘Call Me’ encompasses everything that has been, and still is hideous about glammed-up pop. Promo CDs are often said to function fairly well as coasters. In my youth, I would shoot crap CDs with my brother’s BB-Gun. This would have been time to lock’n’load.
At a somewhat higher altitude half-way up the mountain Mike Snow’s reggae-infused, light-hearted electro soother ‘Animal’. Whilst there’s not a single ferocious edginess to this one future releases may well witness him scaling mountains and charts alike. If anyone’s still bothered in the slightest by singles. One band who certainly seem bothered are those West London toffs, lingering in the shadows posing like Interpol in the early hours in the Old Blue Last White Lies. Perhaps they’re getting a bonus lolly for every time they release melodramatic juggernaut ‘Death’. Alternatively it’s one of few decent songs they’ve penned within the hurricane of hype they’ve generated. Following the heady heights scaled by Noisettes and their insistence on not upsetting the rhythm, they return with their polished Motown-esque crooning of ‘Never Forget You’. Certainly a step up from their rough’n’ready debut record, it seems unlikely that this’ll scratch its name into ‘the fabric of this world’ alongside The Temptations and The Supremes. Likely to be forgotten this time in two weeks. Boy Crisis’ ‘Dressed to Digress’ over-indulges on witticism and cheap blips. Dubious artwork and a free transferable tattoo however may come in handy. Eugene McGuinness has been lurking in the doldrums for far too long. 'Wendy Wonders' is Western enough to soundtrack a bottle brawl in down-the-back-of-the-sofa America and then throws in a gospel choir for good measure. How lovely. ‘Tabasco Sole’ is, by any stretch of the imagination, a ridiculous moniker to crop up even on The Flaming Lips’ proposed double CD currently in production. Yet The Voluntary Butler Scheme’s twee-as-you-like vocal ping pong could play behind CITV and regain the odd shard of dignity. Rationality gets substituted with the surreal yet in an age of feminine electro it’s a welcome break from dubious crew cuts, Princess Roux-Roux.
Fashion faux-pas aside, The Virgins ooze such sleaze and slick in equal measure that while ‘One Week of Danger’ isn’t their most venomous offering, its dwindling falsetto and macho-smeared bolshiness is rather refreshing. Not that Casablancas & co should go abdicating their Brooklyn crown of slur just yet. Whilst Empire of the Sun may have been swept into the shade by the emerging talent of fellow Aussies The Temper Trap, ‘We Are The People’ is a slab of melancholic acoustica glittering enough to ignite eyes, ears and hearts alike. Remember Silversun Pickups? The Californian quartet who menacingly threatened to pick up Smashing Pumpkins’ mantle of lo-fi, low-slung guitar masterings once Corgan’s toys went out the pram? They’ve returned with anthemic ‘Panic Switch’ with sonic landscapes that roll over crests of crushing bass and androgynous vocals. Sublime. Paris’ adopted Londoner Dan Black shines up the diamond in the rough, buried, evidently, under six feet of glacial ice. ‘Symphonies’ layers sumptuous strings and ambient vocals reminiscent of The Postal Service over the hi-hat tisch of Rihanna’s ‘Unbrella’ and it’s wonderful. We ought claim this one back from les Français. The artwork to The Mars Volta’s latest, ‘Cotopaxi’, depicting Mount Cotopaxi ought suffice to elevate the chaotically organised duo towards the top of the pile. The trace of a song in their space-funk confirms this concretely. Mind-manglingly maddening. If Mystery Jets’ ‘Twenty One’ were teleported forward around a decade the result may well sound something akin to Flashguns. Whilst their brand of disjointedly enlightening indie may enchant, they put forward a Vice DON’T on the relationship front in ‘I Don’t Not Love You’. Buy, don’t try this at home. And the single album proper amongst all that? Marmaduke Duke’s ‘Duke Pandemonium’, which I’ve already given a grilling. In a positive George Forman way though...
So, if you’ve ever considered tackling an assault on Everest perhaps you’ll discard the idea right this second as if trawling through so much new music is that challenging, it’s hopeless. Unlike the mountain however, the CDs have now been flattened and await an undecided fate. If any tickle any fancies, answers on a postcard please.
