Not Music

Stereolab - Not Music

released 15 November 2010 on Duophonic UHF Disks

It’s admirable and all-too-rare when bands just decide to call it a day. No acrimonious split, no protracted legal battles and, most importantly, no desecrating your legacy by dragging yourself around on tour to promote an album clearly inferior to those of your salad days (yes, The Rolling Stones, that’s you). It’s easy to see why bands would carry on; musicians often know no other life and, yes, the wheelbarrows full of cash probably help. Synth experimentalists Stereolab shunned the band lifestyle in 2009 - on “indefinite hiatus” according to their website - following nearly two decades of French vocals, post-rock and general Moog-based larks.

No real reason was given for the end of Stereolab; just they needed “a bit of a rest” and they planned to “work on other projects”, according to a statement on their website. Their last album before this announcement was 2008’s disappointing Chemical Chords. Admittedly their tenth full-length album, it remains the sound of a band devoid of inspiration and content to recycle old ideas. The fact that this album, Not Music, is comprised from songs recorded during the Chemical Chords sessions doesn’t bode too well.

That said, any feelings of apprehension are likely to melt away within just a few seconds of pressing ‘Play’. Opener, Everybody’s Weird Except Me, bursts out of the speakers with its twitchy rhythms and upbeat melody line. Sure, it retains the trademark Stereolab keyboard motorik beat and analogue, reverb-drenched squelches, but it’s ostensibly a commercial pop song. This is by no means a bad thing, just surprising, especially from an album which is meant to be little more than cut-offs from an inferior record.

Next track, Super Jaianto, is even better. Again, more pop-oriented that you might expect, the horns in the chorus give it a warm, human feel, and the jazz breakdown halfway through is life-affirming. At this point, from its uninspiring, self-effacing title downwards, Not Music has no right to be as good as it is.

As Not Music progresses, it struggles to keep the quality quite so high, and the tracks do have a tendency to completely change tack part-way through. This may be endearing or a neat change of pace the first time, but when it’s happening on a large proportion of the songs, it does give them an air of being not quite finished.

The track that really merits mention and praise, though, is album centrepiece, Silver Sands. Interestingly, it’s an extended version of a song of the same name from Chemical Chords, but given room to breathe here, it’s transformed into a ten-minute, Kraftwerk-style epic. In fact, it’s not entirely unlike Autobahn with its analogue burbling, but just as you think you have the measure of the song, it turns into a swaggering funk monster with crackly synths and outer-space sound effects. Whereas many of the songs don’t benefit from such an abrupt alteration of mood, it does nothing but enhance Silver Sands.

Sadly, as well as being the album’s high point, Silver Sands marks the beginning of the decline for Not Music. What would be Side B has little of note; the attempt at building and layering on Two Finger Symphony can’t lift it from slumber and Sun Demon sounds like a Stereolab tribute act. Closing tracks, Pop Molecules (Molecular Pop) and Neon Beanbag, are again related to cuts from Chemical Chords, but they can’t repeat the trick of Silver Sands, with Neon Beanbag in particular being little more than a noisy wig-out.

All of which makes Not Music a very difficult record to assess. At its best, it blows Chemical Chords out of the water but at its worst, it’s uninspiring and dull. Seeing as all the tracks were recorded at the same time, it’s almost impossible to not think of what a great single album Stereolab could have created. A best-of Chemical Chords and Not Music would have fitted neatly into their canon and provided a fitting send-off for an influential and much-loved group. Instead, we have these two separate records plus feelings of confusion and dissatisfaction, like having two starters when you really want a main course. What it does mean, however, is that we have new evidence that fire still burns inside them, and that they may have unfinished business. Not Music is proof enough that a Stereolab return would be something to treasure.

In the Court of the Wrestling Let's

Let's Wrestle - In the Court of the Wrestling Let's

released 1 November 2010 on Full Time Hobby

From The Butthole Surfers’ Hairway to Steven to Nick Lowe’s Bowi, album title puns have been with us a fair old while. The joke can, however, be horribly misjudged if the record itself is not up to scratch. This is a trap instantly fallen into by Let’s Wrestle on their expanded re-release of 2009’s In The Court of the Wrestling Let’s (for those of you not paying attention, it’s a King Crimson reference. Ask your Dad). Let’s Wrestle are brash, smug, not as funny as they think they are, and alienating to listen to. A lot of the time, In The Court... - from its crudely drawn cover downwards - feels like an in-joke specifically designed to exclude.

The problem is that everything Let’s Wrestle attempt to do has been done before (better) by Art Brut. In The Court... has its moments - those where it’s fit to be held up against Eddie Argos and the boys - but it more often resembles forgotten London urchins The Others. Occasionally it even borders on the distasteful: Songs for Old People may sound like a punk update of Grandaddy’s A.M. 180 on first listen, but contains condescending jibes towards the elderly, while Diana’s Hair is a bizarre - but crucially, in no way amusing - paean to the late Princess which mentions stalking Prince Charles. It’s difficult to see the point Diana’s Hair is trying to make. It’s like a comedy song outline where nobody’s actually bothered to fill in the content.

Despite this, the album does have some above-average tracks. Previous single Song for ABBA Tribute Record is enjoyable and I Won’t Lie to You has great chorus, as well as being one of the few songs that isn’t irritatingly arch. The everyday mundanity of My Schedule is turned into something triumphant, and We Are The Men You’ll Grow to Love Soon is a giddy,

sugar-fueled romp. Replete with singalong “bah-bah-bahs” and wry lyrics (“We’re going down the job centre and soon, we’ll come out with a job”), it’s a 21st Century reworking of Supergrass’ Alright that magnifies the failings of the rest of the album.

The extra disc adds little to this unappealing let-down of an album. In The Court... is basic, repetitive, and has very little to recommend it. NME have described Let’s Wrestle as “charming, funny and utterly real”. I’d like to contest that: they’re charmless, tedious and utterly crap.

My Night Out at Later... with Jools Holland

How much do you think it would cost to get into a Kings of Leon gig with a capacity of less than 300? And to be just a few metres from Caleb and the boys, how early do you think you’d have to get there? Oh, and you might want to factor into the equation that Eric Clapton’s going to do a few numbers, how does that change things?

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the world of Later… with Jools Holland. For the uninitiated, it’s a British television institution now in its 37th series. The premise is simple; a range of bands gather in a room and play a few of their tracks while the ex-Squeeze man compères. There’s the odd interview and maybe a smattering of archive footage, but the show really is all about the music. This may not sound special on paper, but seeing quality live bands on television isn’t that common. While new and exciting music is well-catered for on the radio (and, in particular, by the BBC’s stations), the screen is the airwaves’ forgotten cousin if you’re a music lover.

When Later… is in the middle of a run, it’s broadcast twice a week: a recorded show on a Friday night preceded by a live broadcast on Tuesday evenings. In the studio, the pre-record is done first before the tiny studio goes live to the homes of Britain at 10pm. And it really is tiny - despite being stood in a corner at the back (and invisible to the viewers; I’ve already checked), I was only 20ft away from both Kings of Leon and Eric Clapton.

So, to the line-up. Later… is known for having a diverse range of up-and-coming and established acts, and this week was no exception. As previously mentioned, Kings of Leon and Eric Clapton were in attendance, and they were joined by hotly-tipped rock outfit, The Vaccines, a début UK television appearance from M.I.A. (backed by The Specials), eleven-piece folk act, Bellowhead, and relatively unknown singer-songwriter, Jonathan Jeremiah.

There were few musical surprises when the cameras started rolling - these bands are tight. The Specials have an incredible sense of rhythm that it’s almost impossible not to move to, Jonathan Jeremiah has a marvellous voice and Bellowhead are an incredible live proposition. In fact, Bellowhead were a revelation - think of a 21st Century Pogues but with a brass section and you’re on the right lines. Eric Clapton was the act of the night though, he may be 65 but he showed the stadium-baiting, anaemic Kings of Leon how it’s done and blew away the stodgy, meat-and-potatoes rock of The Vaccines.

Not being particularly au fait with the world of television, the most interesting part was seeing how it was all put together. There’s a large number of people constantly running around and even when acts are playing, there’s more activity at the other end of the studio to prepare the next song. I also had the opportunity to observe how musicians react to other musicians. It’s not often any of these acts stand around in plain view while their contemporaries ply their trade, but that’s the kind of show Later… is. I even devised my own game, “What does Clapton think?” where I looked over to see his reaction as events unfolded throughout the recording. My conclusion is that, like me, he’s now a fan of Bellowhead, but that’s little more than conjecture on my part.

At this point, I’d love to include some startling celebrity revelation that would have publicists tearing their hair out, but unfortunately, no dice. I passed Bellowhead’s Jon Boden in a corridor and saw soul singer Adele having a cigarette outside, but that’s hardly going to keep Perez Hilton busy.

What I can say, however, is how much fun I had and how much I hope to be able to spend another evening with Later… in the future. The show is only as good as its acts but in an age where there’s little music programming on television to speak of, Later… is a show we should appreciate, cherish and enjoy.