With recordings dating from the Fab Fours sessions in 1963 all the way up to 1969, Martin and his son set about making a mash up album that would span the entire incredible career of The Beatles. What Martin produced would prove to the world that The Beatles were still the biggest thing to hit the earth since the meteorite that wiped out the dinosaurs. Even though they went their separate ways in April 1970, with Love, which was released in 2006, they would reach number one in the album charts in seven different countries and influence the top five in twenty five others. 

Love is ambitious. By merging together over thirty years of The Beatles studio sessions, Martin had plenty to pick from. Throughout the album there is a sense of celebration. Rather than mourn the loss of the band, Martin aims to celebrate their career, and this aim is evident from the start. Opening with the twittering of birds and the hum of insects ‘Onion’ soon develops with a stomp into ‘Get Back’. For a Beatles fan the album is full of surprises. Martin is able to collaborate licks, riffs and fills from an entire catalogue of Beatles hits that spans over their incredible career. For example, ‘Get back’ utilises the opening riff from ‘A Hard Day’s Night’, a drum solo from ‘The End’, percussion from ‘Sgr Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band’ and the orchestral swoon from ‘A Day In The Life’. The Album is a tapestry, weaving together not only the story of The Beatles, but also their development from a simple Mersey Beat band, to the sell out stadium tours and through their extraordinary studio sessions.

One of the major triumphs on this album is the medley of songs, ‘Drive My Car / the Word / What You’re Doing’. Sat in the early quarter of the album Martin starts to really throw his weight around here. He is able to move from one song to another, layering each single over one another to create a totally new different movement and feel to some well-worn records. He manages to avoid getting caught up in a specific sound. Early, late and mid Beatles here sit together in tandem, working for each other in appreciation and respect. They tug at each other, jam together and egg each other on in order to achieve more than the stand-alone singles ever could.

It isn’t only in its louder parts that this bringing together songs works; its quieter moments are just as pleasurable. ‘Blackbird / Yesterday’ applies beautiful guitar work with McCarney’s lament of love lost. Through the static field that comes from the psychedelic high that is ‘Within You Without You / Tomorrow Never Knows’ comes a stuttering drum thud. The keys struggle, finding the pace when McCartney’s bass fills the void and before you know it you’re transported to a boat of a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies.

As with all The Beatles albums, the beginning of the end starts somewhere in the middle. There is a soar as the album reaches top gear through ‘Back In the U.S.S.R’ (Martin gives those commie girls an extra swing in their sixties steps) before coming to a low swoon with ‘While my Guitar Gently Weeps’, there is a certain poignancy here as Lennon croons ‘Still my guitar gently weeps.’ We are privy with this album to snip bits, recordings of the four of them, talking, getting ready, shuffling together in preparation to play. In the intro to ‘A Day in the Life’ we hear the voice of Lennon talking to Martin:

 ‘Have the mic on the piano quite low for this, just keep it in line with my maracas you know,’

A solemn reminder of the hole he left in the musical world. And then we get to the hard stuff. ‘A Day in The Life’ followed by ‘Hey Jude’, ‘Sgt Peppers’ and finishing with ‘All You Need Is Love’. Finales don’t get much better than this. These songs on their own have been catapulted into the stratosphere. Everyone knows the words, everyone sings along. No matter your creed, culture, musical taste, cynicism or age. You cannot help but be moved. In all honesty, I find the end of this album difficult to listen to some times. Maybe its because I grew up listening to my own mother harp on about them. I grew up just on the outskirts of Liverpool, they we’re an inescapable part of the landscape.

 ‘This is Jonny Rhythm just saying good night to you all and God bless you’

The reason this album is special, the reason that it takes such a spiritual place in The Beatles discography is simple, Love. The album is stuffed full of it. Having been put together like a jigsaw, each piece of music, each pull of a violin, snap of a snare and cry of guitar has been managed and sampled out of love. What Sir George Martin has created is a Frankenstein of all The Beatles albums, and what a monster it is. McCartney himself gave the album the highest of praises ‘The album puts The Beatles back together again because suddenly there’s John and George with me and Ringo, it’s kind of magical.’

In the absence of a Soundcloud link, I’d like to point out that the EP can be streamed in full at the Hyperdub site here (and only costs a meagre £2.50 to outright own).

Burial, London based producer Will Bevan, has garnered critical acclaim for his distinctive take on electronic music since his debut self-titled LP released in 2006. Less concerned with reaping shock and awe on MDMA speckled dance floors, Burial’s tracks are drum led, sample-ridden beasts. Dark atmospheres come guaranteed; his tracks often feel submerged and pressurised, as if recorded on a deep seabed. Not content with keeping things stagnant however, the Kindred EP takes even those most familiar with Burial’s work on one hell of a trip.

Despite containing a sparse track list, Kindred has a runtime of over thirty minutes. It doesn’t take long for ‘Kindred’, the first eleven minute plus symphony on the EP, to get running. Starting with a funeral like ambient synth, static fuzz, muffled drums and washed out vocals soon crash in, almost disrespectfully. As ever with Bevan’s work, the drum loop is strong and crisp, urging the song forward as layers of electronic tones and altered vocals rinse over them. Just as momentum is building, everything drops out without jarring. Announced by ominous punches of throbbing electronics. The first of Burials key teachings: Silence can be just as stunning as in your face chaos. These moments creep up on you, exhale ice cold air onto your nape and disappear, phantom like. ‘Kindred’ does similar, makes its exit in a blur of muted thunder and slashing effects, the sharpening of knives.

‘Loner’ beckons it’s beginning with a sample, warning ‘there is something out there’. Once more a ambient beginning gives way to fast paced, house style drums. Twinkling synth work contradicts the gloomy haze created by the stretched out vocals and poignant background soundscapes, but the outcome is superb. Bursts of static and whispered vocals shroud the foundation rhythm of ‘Loner’ until it is distorted into another track altogether, ending with a melancholy far removed from the danceable beat loner started as. This isn’t house, your standard tamed electronic music or even dubstep. This is Burial.

Throbbing to the surface soon after, is ‘Ashtray Wasp’.  Pulsing notes threaten to break to the surface, yet somehow remain restrained under the weight of the vocals and murky chords. For eleven minutes this song evolves and develops, shifting constantly and demanding its listener pays attention, forcing reflection and thought. Around the seven minute mark, the frantic arpeggio dies out in a glorious cessation. What sounds like a windchime shimmers as the vinyl hisses and clicks back into gear, motioning more drums forward. The track crackles like a forest fire and a gorgeous, simplistic piano section, merged seamlessly with auto-tuned vocal samples, sees the song safely down the plug hole. The Hyperdub site bears the disclaimer ‘The skips and cut outs on the track ‘Ashtray Wasp’ are intentional’. I’d recommended adding ‘This song may cause awe, dribbling and a sense of euphoria’ to this.

Somewhere between the exhausting and the chilled out, between the ground we sit on and the bottom of the ocean, Burial lies dormant; blessing us on occasion, to minimal fanfare, with his epiphanies of electronic grandeur. I suspect he likes it down there.

As openers go, ‘Monoform’ is a real neck wringer. The low electronic notes throb with tension as the track clicks into motion, working up to a desperate pace before rumbling down into a deep groove. The hybrid sounds of the crisp drums and the fuzzy electronics work superbly together. Then comes the first of many surprises on the album. Everything ceases but for an electric hum, sort of like a raver with his headphones not quite in the jack. Deep drums come as a statement of intent, but nothing can prepare you for the wall of sound that hits soon after. I honestly fear divulging too much information for taking away from that wide eyed first listen (I may edit this review to incorporate spoiler tags). This song was caught and tamed, rather than conceived in a studio.

‘The Trap’ is a prime example of this albums unpredictability. Just as it feels that the track is winding down, with a slowing drum cycle and a few triumphant strums, something awakens. A snarling bass ripples up from the depths, you find yourself thrown right into the boiling pot as the pressure surges up nicely. Seconds after faking you out, the resulting crescendo of stabbing guitars hit that much harder. ‘Recur’ strikes next, with a back and forth guitar loop played at the speed of an Olympic Table Tennis match and dual vocals to boot. It’s a pleasant change of tempo for the album, less sinister and smouldering, more desperate and flowing. Once again the instrumentation is gorgeous. The outro glides into motion through the ever solid drumming and is met halfway by twinkling tremolo guitars, guaranteed to grab you by your neck hair. This three track combination will leave you reeling, as if you’d just shared the ring with Mike Tyson for 3 rounds. Jumpy and bloodied, yet awestruck.

It’s a good job then that Vessels know exactly when to turn down the intensity. ‘Later Than You Think’ settles you down like a good corner-man should, then passes you onto ‘Meatman, Piano Tuner, Prostitute’ for a well-earned rest. This track lifts the weight from under you like a twinkly lilo, floating on air itself. The guest vocals from Stuart Warwick team with subtle ambient pulsations that soothe for just the right time, as another fiery outro sinks suddenly into the chugging energy of ‘Art/Choke’. ‘All Our Ends’ is perhaps the one song to really emphasise the guitar, an acoustic one at that. Early pick work shifts into this jubilant swirling outro as cymbals spark against the whirling strings.

I am convinced that this album is alive. Every click and buzz is a pulse. Each whirred note or glitch is a vital organ bubbling away. It’s all about the intricacies, the swelling background tones, the faint sound of glockenspiel, reminiscent as ever. I can’t shake the notion of this album hearing me back, baring its teeth in anticipation.

Although forming back in 2004, The Fool is their debut album, following up their Exquisite Corpse EP, released back in ’09. The band consists of Jenny Lee Lindberg (bass), Emily Kokal (guitar), Theresa Wayman (guitar) and Stella Mozgawa (drums). While Kokal picks up the majority of the vocals, every member is more than capable of nailing a note, proven in the entrancing vocal arrangements found throughout the LP.

Overall, I’d describe the sounds on The Fool as being mesmerising, even hypnotic. ‘Set Your Arms Down’ starts the album slowly. A muted bass intertwines with the vocals, which progress into a tandem harmony. The song picks up effortlessly, speeding up so gradually it’s almost unnoticeable, before fading down again. There is a real control to this track, which turns out to be in the form of restraint, as a thumping bass solo takes over to the end.

The two song blow that follows reveals just how varied this band can be. ‘Warpaint’, a murky song possessing tangible menace, with warnings of ‘water getting deeper’ and walls ‘busting open’ is followed up by lead single ‘Undertow’, a sing along track which could aptly be summarised as being ‘lovely’. Starting infatuated, ‘your brown eyes are my blue skies’ the lyrics turn triumphant and seemingly autobiographical as Kokal questions, ‘why you wanna blame me for your troubles?’. The guitars drip with a midsummer vibe, which is only enhanced by the once again enchanting vocals. You can almost smell the mown lawns and straw trilbies.

‘Living in shame's gonna haunt your sleep’

Musically and lyrically, this album is quite hard to pin down. ‘Bees’ accuses and writes off, ‘Shadows’ confesses fears and weakness. ‘Composure’ starts with a groovy guitar and a group chant before developing into a desperately fast plea for support. ‘Baby’ is a pining acoustic number, which is guaranteed to have your hairs reaching up once the overlapping vocals land. By the time that ‘Lissie’s Heart Murmur’ crashes into you, with waves of pianos and cymbals which push and pull, your senses will have been for a real ride. While I can’t help but feel this variation, particularly in the instrumentation, could make a few listeners shy away from The Fool as a whole, if they can follow it up with a more concentrated, centralised album, they could really be onto something. Regardless of this, Warpaint have produced a captivating album, at the first time of asking no less.

This magic also transfers to the stage, as I found out in The Kazimier in Liverpool, where Warpaint truly captivated me. Live, the songs transform into jams seamlessly, before merging into another track with profound grace. Their aura whilst playing has a somewhat mythical feel to it. If you get the chance, get out there and see this band. You’ll fall for them faster than a first time ice skater. If a film director decided to produce a contemporary adaptation of Odysseus’ epic travels, these girls would be more than suitable sirens. I challenge any sea bound traveller to sail past a marooned Warpaint without being lured in.

Its not often you find an album with can simultaneously soar with high end, mind cracking vocals and dive low with a heavy bass that thuds along, as if drawing the sound from somewhere deeper. Tesfaye is able to do this because he’s smart. By combining his expert grasp on what makes R&B so compelling and by sampling it with licks from ambient masters Beach House and 80’s post punk idols Siouxsie and the Banshees’s, Tesfaye creates an album that throbs with a dark, almost tangible atmosphere.

This dense fog of seedy corridors and ill lit alleyway’s is evident from the outset. ‘High For This’ is a statement of intent that carries such an abundance of bravado and confidence that is as infectious as it is admirable. Tesfaye’s angelic wailing bids you to ‘open your hand, take a breath don’t be scared I’m right here’. Although Tesfaye’s voice is the obvious building blocks for ‘House of Balloons’, the precision of the production of this record is nothing to be scoffed at. More often than not each individual track will be split into sections from the sleek and sultry beginnings to all out grime as the hoods come up and the bright lights flicker. ‘Wicked Game’ follows the wandering eyes of an adulterous fiend while ‘House of Balloons/Wicked Game’ begins with a triumphant

soar but then plummets to earth as quickly as it peaked with the influence of a ‘hand full of pills, no chasers.’ ‘The Party & the After Party’ peaks the album, with an slick nod to the main riffs creators, Beach House, Tesfaye takes a slow and melodic single and turns the funk up to create a ballad of delicacy and tenderness. Try to imagine what would happen if Usher finally took his head out of his ass and wrote himself an R&B song, and you’re almost there.  A true innovator and emerging force in the world of R&B, The Weeknd’s album is still available to download for free as well as his new release ‘Thursday’. With the voice of an angel and lyrics with the stinging resonance of a cigarette burn, The Weeknd’s atmospheric presence and swagger is something  to be reckoned with.

www.the-weeknd.com

The closest this album gets to its predecessors, the Young Mountain EP and the self-titled debut LP, is the first notes of the opener, ‘Little Smoke’. The ambient beginning feels like the first few steps taken up a mountain, while whirring notes whisper in the background. The track soon awakens from this slumber and detonates. The band merge their instruments into one unified muddy sound so thick you can almost grab it. It’s soon apparent that the band has once again progressed, and that droning expanses of sound are now at the forefront. ‘Little Smoke’ comes to sound like the epicentre of a burning hospital as modified screams layer into the drone. There is a real feeling of desolation created, it sits you on-board an ocean bound plane with no power to the engines and it hits, hard.

The sounds on this album are so incredibly dense that they threatens to compress your speakers down into a black hole. ‘Communal Blood’ swells into a glorious crescendo which surely sent cymbals flying in every direction. Through a controlled quiet opening section ‘Black Dunes’ seethes, paces back and forth before finally being unleashed. This is heavy in terms of its sheer weight and it leaves you feeling as if you’re standing underneath a lead waterfall. The tracks ‘Glass Realms’, ‘Reprise’ and ‘Osario’ are much gentler, perhaps allowing the listener to get their head back above the water for a few gulps of air.

There is one track that sticks out though, and while ‘Killed the Lord, Left for the New World’ skips along merrily, it simply does not fit. For starters, it’s light, even joyous. Sounds reminiscent of wind chimes accompany the stomped drum beat, and in case that wasn’t happy enough, they even added in the audio of some children playing. Out of place, maybe, but it’s still a pleasant track, a pit stop from the otherwise challenging and demanding album. ‘Powdered Hand’ also experiments with samples, new field for TWDY and enough to suggest that their style will differ once again come their next release.

Admittedly, this isn’t an album for everyone. Your great Aunt Judith is unlikely to appreciate the cymbal work. This isn’t an album for any time. Insisting on giving your limited printing LP a spin during a wedding or dinner party would probably go down about as well as a speech from your honorary guest, Gary Glitter. For me, this is an album to listen to within yourself, outside of potentially unforgiving outside contexts (or aunties) and just let it wash over you.

It’s very dark, ‘Little Smoke’ particularly borders on the harrowing, but who knows, you just might survive. After all, one person’s noise is another’s music.

The song ‘Civilian’ grabbed me instantly. Rich and soulful, even rambling, the song moves along nicely, right on the rails. Then there’s the rub. As with all great fiction, a twist stirs the song into a great piece, derailing the direction the track seemed to be going in with a great satisfaction. Drums come from behind muted guitar notes and then erupt into a stomping verse, almost like a reprise of the opening. Wailing, tapped guitar bursts in and really steals the show, showing this band can not only ponder and write catchy verses but rock out in equal measures.

Despite my instant warmth towards the track, the album laid dormant on my hard drive for weeks. Briefly showing its face every time I glanced at my ‘recently added’, or left the W section of my iTunes playing, recklessly. It’s an album I avoided, even dodged. I don’t know why, there is no stigma with female ‘frontmen’, maybe the title track of the album being the first I heard lead me to believe I’d experienced the best? But when I finally plugged into the album, let it have its wicked way with me, I was ensnared, asking ‘Wye didn’t I listen to this sooner!?’ (…I know)

‘I wanted to give you everything / but I still stand in awe of superficial things’

The album opens with ‘Two Small Deaths’ a song that just goes and goes and goes. I get the feeling that if it was 12 minutes long it’d still feel like it was expanding, growing. The delicate changes of tone between the verse and chorus are a great example of the albums dream pop qualities. Next up is ‘The Alter’, a song that claims ‘our nature is at fault / so cut it at the source’. Its reflective lyrics team with shuddering bass before fuzzing out into the shimmering clangy guitars of ‘Holy Holy’. Going from shuddering to shimmering successfully is no mean feat. The guitars constantly build and fade, yet another compliment I can play this album is that they know when to end a song. Nothing gets stale or repetitive.

‘Dogs Eyes’ soon stapled itself to my favourites list. Starting off with a guitar loop straight from the 80s, Wasner soon envelopes the song in a startling sludgy riff. In come the big drums, sounding like they were recorded in the core of the earth, yet just as the song threatens to go into meltdown they show surprising restraint to bring it down, cool it off. Later, distortion warns you that the riff is coming back in, but it hits twice as hard, crashing in on your ears like your head is inside their amp. ‘Plains’ later on the album pulls a similar trick, it is a sullen song that marches slowly before suddenly erupting into a wall of sound that concludes before you know it, returning to the trudge.

Civilian as an album is actually quite astonishing. It swims on the border between the beautiful and the destructive, delving into each with consummate ease. It’s an album you really have to jump into, much as the album art depicts.

‘Yellow Belly’ starts the album with a roar. Consistent with their latter releases, the guitars ooze experience and control. The rhythm section drive the song with ease, while Dustin Kensrue’s vocals are always right on the mark.  The riff scrapes off the drums and clashes with the jaw clenched vocals in a mesh of noise which marches at you, armed to the teeth. The song slows with gorgeous tremolo work and closes the door shut with a sing-along ending, before opening it back up, sticking you with one last lick.

Following the ballsy opener is ‘Promises’ which continues the themes of marriage and adultery found on the last album ‘Beggars’. The instrumentation is once again really strong. The slightly off tapped guitar clicks into motion as Dustin Kensrue croons ‘O, we promise pretty things / And we pledge with diamond rings’ before questioning if love really holds any weight nowadays. The drums snap with each hit, as this blues rock hybrid almost preaches, pleads with humanity to assess themselves. ‘Blinded’ has a similar feel, as it expands from that blues tinted form with dramatic frantically strummed tremolo parts. It’s another solid track no doubt, but it undoubtedly creates a Déjà vu feeling.

‘We are cowards and thieves / Will we never turn to grieve the damage done? / Never see, never quake with rage at what we have become’

The problem with this record is that, while the tracks are consistent, they rarely reach levels I believe Thrice are capable of. The placing of the track ‘Blur’, for me, highlights the albums overall deficiencies. The torso of this record has passed by; the five songs groove by nicely enough, with some nice guitar-laden interludes, but are barely distinguishable from each other. It is almost as if the band realise this, attempting to wake up a listener (who may well have engaged cruise control) with a crash and bang track that feels out of place.

‘Words in the Water’ initially struck me as an album highlight. Less rigid than its predecessors, the opening ambience flows into a driving rhythm. The guitar tones once again are really spot on, complimenting Kensrue’s vocals and creating a dark, moody feel. Yet, just as I was prepared to label the song ‘a beauty’ the somewhat jarring chorus connected with my ear drums. It cuts the feeling that was building, that mood I was tapping into and washes over it, creating a flat wasteland. It’s a chorus straight from their older album ‘Artist in the Ambulance’, minus the angsty tuning.

Between now and the release Thrice have announced that they are going on Hiatus, a decision which perhaps, at least musically, makes sense. Maybe time will rekindle their creativity. Nostalgia though, in music particularly, is a romance that rarely dies. That said, it is impossible to not smile while hearing ‘Anthology’ play the album off; the references to previous works tactically placed in the lyrics create something of a joyous quiz, “I know that line, it’s from [insert song here]!”

Major/ Minor, although not doing anything pioneering, has a swagger to it that simply cannot be taught (not even by Cher Lloyd).

This theme clearly bares a considerable weight on Pecknold, as his intensity in recording the album reportedly cost him his health, as well as a long term relationship. However, by incorporating introspection into his song-writing, Pecknold has created a glorious album. ‘Bedouin Dress’ forms from a simple beginning, leaves you swaying to a viola lead section before soaring into a union of strings and vocals. In recruiting new multi-instrumentalist Morgan Henderson, previously of Blood Brothers, Fleet Foxes have added an instantly noticeable new dimension to their sound, as well as a more than able live musician to join them on stage. ‘Sim Sala Bim’ makes the earth shake as it hits. The rattle of tambourines and clapping drumsticks, lend a real rhythm to the track, summarised in the eruptive riff which sees the song out and over the horizon in an acoustic explosion of Zepplin-esque proportion.

The more predictable ‘Grown Ocean’ and ‘Battery Kinzie’ still stomp along enjoyably, despite being weaker tracks on the album. ‘Grown Ocean’ particularly, as a single from the album, has this feel that if Kings of Leon had released it, it would be plastered all over the radio and adverts for Christmas gifts. It is with ‘Helplessness Blues’, however, that the LP reaches its magnum opus. Here, Pecknold addresses his selfishness directly, even pleading for a cause beyond his own needs. The guitars once again build gloriously, the united vocals work seamlessly and the song slows to an earnest end.

Fleet Foxes have made great creative strides through introducing new song structures, such as the two movements found within ‘The Plains / Bitter Dancer’. It begins with a magnificent soundscape, music straight from a western stand-off, before seamlessly turning in on itself and shifting (more than once) ending with a familiar foot stamping outro. ‘The Shrine / An Argument’, another combination of a song, is glorious in its delivery. Beginning in a warm haze, the mood quickly descends with Pecknold stretching his voice as he cries ‘sunlight over me no matter what I do’. The finger picking turns into the chugging chords of the ‘Argument’ movement. The song then simmers into a startling free-jazz section, just for kicks. Well outside of their comfort zone, the tried and tested, Fleet Foxes have perhaps written their best song to date.

Helplessness Blues teams self-deprecating magnificence with glorious musicianship, taking a bold step away from not only the man Pecknold used to be, but towards a new, even better Fleet Foxes.

Born in the heart of Oxford, Stornoway have released arguably one of the most exciting indie folk albums that the British Isles has seen in the past decade. ‘Beachcombers Windowsill’ is a journey through the roots of folk based indie pop. Its power lies in the fact that it almost seems physical. You cannot deny the album of a soul, a respiratory system that is pushed along by the rhythm section and a heart that aches, wails and frolics as lead singer Brian Briggs spins beautiful lyric after beautiful lyric.

‘Zorbing’ opens the album with bright clarity. Deep, overlaying harmonies combine with a skipping bass to give the album a bright, weightless feel. This is not an album devoid of feeling though, at times it is a heavy and cumbersome weight to carry. ‘Fuel Up’ is an obituary to the past, a lengthy ode to the long road of life, love, regret and nostalgia as Briggs laments ‘home is only a feeling you get in your mind, from the people you love and travel beside’.

Live, they are, simply incredible. I was privileged enough to catch them at Hop Farm festival this year and despite the appearing after the legendary Eagles they managed to pack out a tent full of adoring fans. I took a friend who had never heard of them before. Practically dragging him towards the stage, drunkenly jabbering about the importance of this band, their place among a blossoming new British scene. Their set consisted of a medley of double bass thumping, banjo twanging knee-slapping goodness. I am not ashamed to say I danced like a loon. Which is exactly what indie music should make you do.

The real kicker for this album though, the real reason I have not been able to shut up about this album from the very second I got hold of it, is the delicacy of it. Every song is effortless, making this album was simply a matter of breathing for these boys, inhaling and exulting a string of songs that flow, rise, peak and trough. There is constant motion, train journeys, long car rides and musings of modern love, loss and relations in a New Britain. ‘Beachcombers Windowsill’ is an album that captures the fleeting moments that are often ‘lost between the sheets of lightning’.