My Year In Lists

Every song needs a home, every record needs a song or two and every year needs a fair few records. This year, the song shelters that powered dark days and enlightened nights were, in a distinctly particular order:

20. Tarot Sport, Fuck Buttons
Tarot Sport from noisecore Bristol duo Fuck Buttons was just as relentless a listen as Street Horrrsing yet Andrew Hung and Benjamin John Power for the first time exposed frenetically beautiful melodies for the very first time.

19. Get Color, HEALTH
Similarly, Canadian noise rock titans HEALTH had often opted to neglect musical coherence previously in favour of sonic abrasion. Get Color welcomed back frantic instrumentation that concocted a visceral, layered cacophony with Die Slow sounding somewhere along the lines of Enya whacked out on acid in the Haçienda circa '95.

18. Post-Nothing, Japandroids
The debut LP from Vancouver's Japandroids channeled a similar clattering of drums and splattering of barré chords as Californian noiseniks No Age yet came out in ecstatic rashes. The Boys Are Leaving Town drips with sweat, froths at the mouth and still manages to be as delightful as a thousand birthdays.

17. The Golden Spike, Sky Larkin
Current darlings of a sedated Leeds music scene, Huw Stevens faves Sky Larkin released a spiralling snowball of a record as jagged as sabre teeth from a Dinosaur Pile-Up, as gutsy as bodies Pulled Apart By Horses. Matador was the calming red flag and indisputable highlight.

16. Chant Darling, Lawrence Arabia
New Zealander Lawrence Arabia (aka James Milne) ploughed ahead with Chant Darling whilst keeping his eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror, drawing inspiration from the likes of The Beatles and Brian Wilson whilst spinning a uniquely blissful thread throughout such divine inspiration.

15. Gorilla Manor, Local Natives
As simplistically beautiful as a Santa Monica sunset, LA Local Natives' naïvely nimble guitars and hauntingly alluring vocals made Gorilla Manor a record as thorough as Brighton rock.

14. Duke Pandemonium, Marmaduke Duke
Simon Neil of Biffy Clyro fame and fortune must have had a fair bit of pent-up disco fever awaiting an outlet prior to the unleashing of Duke Pandemonium. A schizophrenic burst of kaleidoscopic insanity bettering Only Revolutions on sheer audacity alone.

13. Wooden Arms, Patrick Watson
Wooden Arms swirled with enough woozy strings to power an Arcade Fire for years as the rustic harmonies of Watson's pots and pans made for an exasperating, timeless listen. Culminating in a Union Chapel heartstopping show in Islington, Watson somehow remains about as unheralded and unknown as desolate log cabbins in the heart of the forests of Canada.

12. Dead Man's Bones, Dead Man's Bones
Wondrously haunting sounds from actor Ryan Gosling and the prepubescent hope of the Silverlake Conservatory of Music Children's Choir, the debut S/T LP is far more terrifying than that Goosebumps episode Gosling starred in all those moons ago.

11. About Love, Plastiscines
All-female quartet Plastiscines were never going to have many problems crossing borders and escaping the claustrophobic electro-domineering of Paris, before winding up on the likes of Gossip Girl... Whilst About Love barely scratches the surface of emotion, promiscuity, indie obsession and saccharine swagger all lace an album by The Donnas it's alright to fawn over.

10. The Good Feeling Music of Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele, Dent May
Dent May, labelmate of Animal Collective, is about as far removed from their hallucinatory howls musically as he is geographically from Wagdug Futuristic Unity. Reclaiming the ukulele back from drab Youtube covers is no mean feat though and Girls on the Square reeks of delightful desperation.

9. Now We Can See, The Thermals
Far from the post-punk opus of 2006, The Body, The Blood, The Machine, Now We Can See is still infinitely superior to the KROQ krap Green Day pummel the United States of whatever with these days. And in the title track, they've finally penned their own anthem.

8. Fever Ray, Fever Ray
The Knife have proved themselves to be amongst the most innovative artists of this generation, despite wallowing in minimal electro as dark as David Lynch directing early NIN in a syringe-littered underpass. Karin Dreijer Andersson's debut solo outing was equally stirring and provides the ultimate underground soundtrack, whilst trampling all over the mainstream.

7. The Fame (Monster), Lady Gaga
2009 may not be recalled for all that much musical revolution but pop-wise, it's belonged to Stefani Germanotta. The Fame would have gatecrashed the top ten regardless but as if it weren't impeccable enough, The Fame Monster reaffirmed her status with sledgehammer slabs of synth-heavy chart destroyers.

6. Is And Always Was, Daniel Johnston
It had been a while that cutesy cult hero Daniel Johnston had forged a studio record and Is And Always Was heralded the ideal return, filled with slurred sympathies for the superlative songsmith.

5. Telekinesis!, Telekinesis
Bespectacled Seattle power popper Michael Benjamin Lerner shocked with his debut like a bolt out of the blue. As catchy as Gaga and as emotionally charged as The Thermals on a loveless Valentines Day Telekinesis abnormally warp the musical side of your brain and fry it, laying it out in the shape of an exclamation mark on a skull-shaped plate.

4. Journal For Plague Lovers, Manic Street Preachers
Evading the mire of Radio 2 fodder the Manics have peddled over the past decade and featuring the lyrical majesty of the late (presumably), great (definitely) Richey James Edwards, the spit and shine choral blasts of Peeled Apples and Jackie Collins Existential Question Time shaved years off the veteran Valley boys and cemented their status as controversial captains of Britain.

3. In And Out Of Control, The Raveonettes
Spaghetti Western reverb-drenched guitars, stomping drums and a hefty Velvet Underground influence added a pristine sheen to the great Danish duo's ingeniuos indie amalgamation. Lyrics taking on rapists, drugs and joy riding, Sune and Sharin are maturing. Like Glastonbury cheddar rather than Glastonbury headliners though...

2. A Balloon Called Moaning, The Joy Formidable
North Wales' prime purveyors of unpredictable indie power pop conjured up a near-faultless 8-track behemoth that bettered almost every British release of the past twelve months. The contorted pop sensibilities of Cradle and The Last Drop earned the still-unsigned trio (awaiting the right label although personally I'd be on the verge of drawing together a label just to house them) lauded support slots with the likes of Editors, Passion Pit and The Temper Trap. Although they bettered the lot of them. And frontwoman Ritzy Bryan's the 34th sexiest woman in Wales.

1. No More Stories Are Told Today, I'm Sorry, They Washed Away, Mew
Dreamy melancholy that'll last for decades from Denmark's dreampop saviours. If the genre ever existed in the first place... Opener New Terrain can be played backwards as well as forwards, the jilt-funk of Introducing Palace Prayers is otherworldly and Beach is the perfect pop song Simon Cowell is sure never to aurally digest. Their Shepherds Bush Empire show provided the musical moment of the year to top it all off.

The Year That Is, The Year That Was. Musically...

Sycophantically compiling end of year lists in November's one thing. Condensing twelve musical months, or 52 weeks, or 365 days, or 8,760 hours etc into 20 commendable efforts or so ranked more or less in terms of iTunes play counts, added to the entire rejection of any other records released over the course of those 525,600 minutes, seems rather futile. Squeezing a decade into a few albums more is simply ludicrous. When this decade commenced, I was twelve. To put it into perspective, the hypocritical adoration for X Factor that's engulfed Old Blighty was merely the terminology for a certain "je ne sais quoi" in the smug-as-fuck brain cells of Simon Cowell to ambiguously describe a spark he'd presumably never seen nor understood behind the eyes of a brain-dead postman/ call centre worker/ Sky dish installer, Hear'Say had just won Popstars and The Strokes were just getting to grips with This Is It, arguably the album of the decade. Popstars and This Is It were the first records of the decade I remember buying. Times have changed. Superficially at least. Hopefully...
No Play Counts were read nor harmed in the making of this post.

Dots & Dashes Tracks of '09


20. Lust For Life, Girls

19. Love Long Distance, Gossip

18. Treat Me Like Your Mother, Dead Weather

17. Daniel, Bat For Lashes

16. Heartbreaker, MSTRKRFT

15. Burial, Miike Snow

14. Oblivion, Mastodon

13. Crystalised, The XX

12. Bodies, Robbie Williams

11. Camera Talk, Local Natives

10. Headlock, Esser

9. Punk Spirit, Wave Machines

8. Barcelona, Plastiscines

7. Peeled Apples, Manic Street Preachers

6. Wonderful Life, HURTS

5. When I Grow Up, Fever Ray

4. Billionaires, Your Twenties

3. Empire State of Mind, Jay-Z feat. Alicia Keys

2. Last Dance, The Raveonettes

1. Xtatic Truth, Crystal Fighters

Keep your apples, um, eyes peeled for the records that powered '09 in my shitty worthless opinion...

Arabian Nights: Lawrence Arabia, Chant Darling

Lawrence Arabia, aka James Milne, aka the bestest musical Kiwi export since Flight of the Conchords and perhaps ever, doesn’t really deal in coherence and Chant Darling flits churlishly between the realms of bearded anti-folk, afrobeat and unashamed throwback rock’n’roll whimsically. Channelling disdain and despair from down-under through a similar musically nonchalant attitude towards the boundaries laid down by NME genre pigeonholing as Canada’s porcelain heroine Feist, the harmonious, heartfelt insecurities of Love Like a Fool wouldn’t be too far out of place on the umpteenth John Lennon Greatest Hits collection rushed out just in time for December 25th.. Lawrence Arabia really is that dumbfounding. The hallucinatory wafting of the choral perfections on The Undesirables swoon and swathe about whirring bass ebbs and Hammond organ flows before the sumptuous stomp of Apple Pie Bed exposes Milne’s upbeat, all-conquering façade of the beautifully bruised heart pumping emotive excellence through the veins of the record. Auckland CBD Part 2 is pre-Vampire Weekend afrobeat howled through the whickered beard of Devendra Banhart, serenading the “girl of my dreams” with a slicked-back Costello chorus, before the enticingly immature horns of Eye A and lo-fi slump of The Crew Of The Commodore delve into nostalgic reminisces of youthful times past. Lawrence Arabia experienced a troubled childhood if Fine Old Friends and The Beautiful Young Crew are anything to go by, as the Velvet Underground influence is stretched and bent to breaking point on record lowlights about as misguided as blonde highlights in winter. Yet the cracked vocals habberdashed haphazardly over the saccharine sheen of the slippery slide guitar of I’ve Smoked Too Much recuperate the varnished shine that coats an almost ideal album and the hymnal desolation of Dream Teacher is as angelic as Fleet Foxes chomping Milky Way bars outside the pearly gates of paradise. As a resident of the majestic London label Bella Union, marvel is to be expected yet Lawrence Arabia defies expectations, throwing together a knapsack filled with torn heartstrings, nostalgic divine inspiration and alluring naivety that’s impact is as heavy as any record of the past twelve months.

Live: Velvet Goldmine. The Joy Formidable & The Temper Trap

Stepping through the red velvet curtains of Ripamonti’s La Casa 139 rolls back the years to the days of glam rock parlours, as staircases spiral vertiginously, doors slide and table footballs crash unerringly on the rotting floorboards below. Tonight however, Ziggy and Bolan have little to no musical impact on the faux-falsetto of Australian now-indie powerhouses The Temper Trap and visceral darlings of Wales’ finest wailers, The Joy Formidable. Slinking on La Casa’s miniscule stage before a factious crowd composed primarily of unnervingly aggressive Australian teens, The Greatest Light Is The Greatest Shade roars out of the blocks as the abrasion of a newly-strung, expertly Tipp-Exed Strat clatters against howling, harmonic distortion and bass-drum leathering Lars Ulrich would endorse. Quite how debut EP/LP/ 8-track off-kilter alt. rock behemoth A Balloon Called Moaning sailed under the radar of many a muso begs belief and seemingly the Milan memo floated away in a postal strike. Yet heads are most certainly turned as the soothing coos of Austere cascade and collide with guitar stabs born of a battered, bruised and ultimately brutal Fender combo, and a tempestuous whirlwind hurls through the merch stand come closing time. Squeezing The Last Drop of every globule of emotion could power any number of Richard Curtis romcoms whilst Ostrich is as sinister as Luis Buñuel armed with a razor blade. As the ecclesiastical opening samples to Whirring chime, bleach-blonde Ritzy Bryan’s Kevin Shields-rivalling pedal board is whisked into overdrive in a hallucinatory haze as a frenetic few minutes of feedback extend emphatically the finale of a frantically formidable half hour. By contrast, The Temper Trap bluster onstage, beginning brazenly with a signature instrumental intro which drags like a convict behind a horse in a Spaghetti Western beating. By the time the initial falsetto faux-pas of Rest beat against adoring eardrums, the tension reaches breaking point like a boiled thermometer, as insults and insolence overpower Dougie Mandagi’s primordial howls and the reverb-soaked pristine sheen guitar frontline. The aboriginal drum stick clicks of Drum Song provide a fairly solitary highlight, alongside the manic mainstream coursing of Fader yet Fools lethargically bores the sweat-drenched cesspit that the venue’s latterly become, whilst the brooding six-string onslaught of Resurrection collapses into chaos. Nelly Furtado once lamented all good things coming to an end and unfortunately for The Temper Trap, so too must hype. If with death comes life anew, The Joy Formidable’s day may well have finally dawned.

Interview: I Wish The Cobwebs Would Cover Me, The Joy Formidable

Adrian Chiles is a fan. Their Balloon Called Moaning continues its ascent into the unknown. And tonight, The Joy Formidable drift whimsically over the drab, dank streets of a sodden, frayed Milan outskirt. As disgruntled, distorted bass thuds rattle the art-deco walls of La Casa 139, front woman Ritzy Bryan’s eyes glint with a restrained intensity, before they’re ignited, piercing the darkness and raptures their set duly receives minutes later. Speaking of the band’s status both as unsigned sweethearts and wandering vagabonds tracing lines on road maps from Tokyo to Turin, patrimonial abandonment and her official inauguration into the heady heights of the Fifty Sexiest Welsh Women, once these Greyhounds are in the Slips, better place those bets on the underdogs...

Dots: Musically, The Joy Formidable are bordering on unclassifiable genre-wise. Regarding bookings amongst other aspects, does not gelling with a scene or movement make things complicated?

Ritzy Bryan: Personally I really like it as I think we’re in a particularly unique position and I think it’s great that we can be put on with a band like Passion Pit and then go on to support Editors. And that’s just the support side of things, what with our own shows going on as well so I think to have that much breadth without particularly trying is amazing. It’s not a conscious thing and we just write in our own way. I would absolutely hate it to be somewhat deliberate in an attempt to extra communicate ourselves from whatever bands are in favour at a particular time but I love not being linked in any way to a scene; we’ve developed very much in our own little bubble and the beauty of that is that we don’t belong.

Dashes: Touring Europe with The Temper Trap, a band who openly admit to conscientiously simulating early U2, stylistically speaking there seems to be something of a gulf between their reverb-drenched Edgy guitars and the organic nature behind A Balloon Called Moaning, primarily born out of your relationship with Rhyddian...

Ritzy: Certainly everything we’ve written has come completely naturally in that we haven’t deliberately tried to manipulate anything and we didn’t go into it saying “we want to sound like this, or that” and I think a lot of the sounds on there came from brutal experimentation. When Rhyddian and I first started writing together, the early demos are a real mish-mash of styles, just in a vague attempt to try and find our identity so I’d find it quite strange if that weren’t the path of most bands. For me, the personal journey element’s vital, with the music becoming an extension of what surrounds you at the time.

Dots: To what extent does the relationship at the heart of The Joy Formidable, that almost motors the band, add pressures to the lives you lead currently, touring extensively?

Ritzy: Not at all; we adore being on the road, genuinely. We have done a load of touring but we’ve also holed ourselves up in the studio for fair stretches so I think the balance has been perfect. I actually feel happier on the road than anywhere else as I don’t actually feel settled anywhere; I don’t have a permanent home, my parents have recently split up and there has been that sense of feeling quite unsettled wherever I find myself and I think being on the road gives everything a bit of purpose and reason..!

Dashes: Having swapped the scenery of rural North Wales for the bustle of Brixton, effectively you do have a base as such...

Ritzy: Well, we moved to London for our old drummer Justin just to dispel the myth that we relocated to break East London, which couldn’t be further from the truth. We were looking for a drummer and the one we found was based in London so it then made no sense to be up in North Wales but we’re rarely there. We’ve got our own makeshift studio that’s there but we like writing back in Wales so there’s definitely no permanent base.

Dots: As an unsigned band, where do you stand with regard to the frenzied label rushes and flops of recent times?

Ritzy: I don’t think we dwell on it all that much, although we get questioned pretty frequently about our unsigned status as it were but we’re really happy with the position we’re in. We’ve got all the control that we’ve always wanted to maintain and have worked with everyone we’ve wanted to when it comes to releases, particularly with decent indie labels through which we get stuff out there and back it. We’re certainly not anti-deals and labels and all that but if we were offered something that felt right then perhaps things would be different. That said, we’ve got all the right people around us, and the same as we’d have were we with a label and it’s working.

Dashes: In the UK currently, there does seem to be something of a resurgence in the D.I.Y. ethic, with unsigned bands like The Chapman Family hitting all the right critical acclaim notes. Following the post-Libertines depression it seems to be a movement that could prove to be expansively beneficial for British music...

Ritzy: Unfortunately, I think most bands still see getting signed as the holy grail and the be-all and end-all of their careers and therefore react to accommodate for that. Things are gradually changing but the goal will always be to get signed, rather than just to make great music which, ultimately, should be the vital ingredient. If you find a home that’s right for you then that’s great but at the end of the day, it should all come down to your craft rather than getting too involved with any of the industry shit...

Dots: With the Welsh music scene in tatters, caught in a tangled shambles of American accents and individualism, is it disheartening to see the legacy of Tom Jones and Shirley Bassey circling the drain?

Ritzy: Being in North Wales, it’d have been impossible to incorporate ourselves into any form of scene, what with there being only a handful of bands to come out of there but I actually think that where you come from is fairly irrelevant. Obviously it’s relevant when it comes to writing records, offering inspiration and resonating with the local voice that you’ve developed but ultimately these days, I don’t think you have to contrive all music into clusters, now that the internet’s become so powerful. Having said that, I do think it’s important that every area does have an identity musically and local venues etc and North Wales is trying harder now than ever, as is the rest of Wales what with Cardiff’s Swn Festival amongst other things and it’s going to take a while to rebuild a musical heritage as it’s basically starting from scratch again but things are moving in the right direction...

Dashes: Neighbouring North Wales just over the border is Chester, the birthplace of Mansun. How did you manage to drag Paul Draper out of the closet for Greyhounds in the Slips?

Ritzy: It’s a weird one, this. It had nothing to do with the proximity but we were sat in a pub with some friends, talking about vocalists when one of us piped up and said “I fucking love Paul Draper’s voice” and somebody had met him recently, and had his number. Something happened on Myspace, I think he added us so we thought “fuck it” and asked him if he wanted to sing on something. He did, and it turned out he’d been listening to us for quite some time so it was again quite a natural coming together, as I think all collaborations should be.

Dots: Down to the live show, it’s becoming increasingly more make-or-break, do-or-die as practically anyone can lay down tracks in a bedroom and unleash them on the internet, along the lines of Passion Pit. However, live they fall flat whereas the live experience of The Joy Formidable adds an entirely alien element to the EP. How much emphasis have you put on the show aspect of things?

Ritzy: For me the live set’s always been vital. I grew up going to a lot of shows with my parents, my first being Elvis Costello and the Attractions when I must have been about seven so I suppose live shows became an integral part of my childhood really. My parents were big bootleggers, always going to concerts and I think that’s presumably where my desire to be in a band developed from, rather than listening extensively to records and certainly the type of gigs I used to go to emphasised heavily on the spectacle side in the old-school way of long sets, primarily Springsteen and Elvis Costello so going into it, I knew exactly the type of live show I wanted to purvey. Fortunately, I think we all share the same mindset. It’s a really exciting medium and it’s the spontaneity of things going wrong that makes it.

Dashes: As far as current musical controversy goes, bootlegging and file sharing is a particularly sore topic, to which every band seems to react differently. What’s your stance?

Ritzy: I absolutely love it when people e-mail me, telling me they’ve just discovered a bootleg of ours but when albums leak prematurely, I’m not going to condone that because it must feel pretty degrading. The live side though I think is up for grabs and we’ve met I think all of our bootleggers..! But they’re completely different media and the live show is something that people feel they’re a part of, that can be shared around whilst still desperate to hear the full-on recorded take.

Dots: Finally, how did you react to being named alongside the likes of X-Factor reject Lucie Jones and Carol Vorderman amongst the top fifty sexiest women in Wales?

Ritzy: Fuck- our manager, Joel, texted me with “Hello thirty-fourth sexiest woman in Wales!” I suppose I should feel complimented but with these polls, they’re kind of cool, they’re fine. I find the “sexy” bit slightly trite if I’m honest. It’s fine if they’ve got a male equivalent and we can see where Rhyddian scores in that but it’s pretty shit really. I think I might start signing off my e-mails as “Ritzy. Thirty-fourth sexiest woman in Wales.” It’s better than being name the thirty-fourth stupidest woman in Wales, it’s not that big a deal.

Soon to be a big deal, The Joy Formidable...

Every Prison Has An Open Door: Billy Talent, Magazzini Generali

Exceeding the bounds of a mere band, Canadian quartet Billy Talent have, without a shadow of a doubt, transformed into something of a cult. Seemingly, half of Milan’s sub-20 population has withstood the sacrilegious scarring of their smouldering pop-punk iron, wearing the heart of Benjamin Kowalewicz and co on their sleeves, or recently-purchased extortionate t-shirts doused in saliva of phonetically-blurted lyrics after a mere matter of minutes in the swirling pits of Devil In A Midnight Mass...

Yet tonight, sprawling before the dove-splattered backdrop to their inspirationally-entitled third LP Billy Talent III, the troupe veer haphazardly close to the pit of caricature and no return. As This Suffering flails limply, it takes the abrasive shrieks and boy band vox of old school shocker Line & Sinker to jolt tonight into the land of the living, before the down-tempo slump of Rusted From The Rain dampens spirits within the throng of sweat-soaked disciples on a drab Thursday amongst the smog-ridden outskirts of Italy’s monstrous metropolis. The ‘Talent shot through the clouds of relative obscurity into the paradisiacal realms of the mainstream a handful of years ago with their seminal power-rock opus Billy Talent II, largely disregarded tonight in favour of the somewhat formulaically convoluted, contrived cackles of LP3 and as such, lose about as many strings from their bow as a male tribute to the Plasticines. The swathing balladry of Surrender lulls the swaying masses into a saccharine-sweet sense of soothing before the crunching Strat strums of River Below drown wandering thoughts, before the haunting bass pulsations and cascading guitars ripped straight from the cold, beating heart of Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas lurch from the open grave of The Dead Can’t Testify. Kowalewicz quips incessantly about the feminine sector of the Milanese population in his now-trademark banal pre-pubescent squeaking and squawking before the bratty brutality of The Ex, occasionally muttering the odd vaguely recognisable Italian slur, yet it’s the razor quiff of pencil-fingered Ian D’sa and the wandering wrists of Aaron Solowoniuk that steal the bones of the show away from the drooling jaws of their front man. Turn Your Back is the glistening blade that strings you up from your ribcage on a tantalisingly catchy choral hook more or less reminiscent of the visceral spits of The Ramones, whilst Try Honesty is still as heartfelt as a rom-com bereft of resolution. Returning triumphantly to a rapturous reception, Devil On My Shoulder and Fallen Leaves pile drive bass-hefty riffs into the sturdiest of skulls before Red Flag unceremoniously drills their banner into the now-viscous decks of Magazzini Generali. Disappearing discreetly, an evident sense of prominence prevails yet where Billy Talent once beat supreme at the bruised heart of punk, they’re now endangering themselves through emotionally vacuous inanity and comical choruses. Their heart’s now scrounging for its amputated scribble-soaked soul...

Reaping Fruitful Rewards: Late Of The Pier

Musically as untamed as wild fruits splurging out of fallen leaves in Sherwood Forest, Late Of The Pier have wormed their way back into the subconscious apple of the electro-pop eye. Blueberry blooms as perhaps the first fruit-inspired hyperballad since the spinning top that is this Earth found its axis. Lyrically simplistic when set against the crazed, contorted crashing synths of debut LP Fantasy Black Channel, Blueberry boasts a verse reminiscent of nostalgic mid-nineties Capital FM drive time before erupting into flowing, magmatic vocal cascades as haunting as deserted Donnington mansions. Blending the lines between the Lighthouse Family and disconcerting guitar squeals never seemed as seamless.

Blueberry is set to be released over the digital space waves on 17th December...