...And Then We Saw Land

Tunng - ...And Then We Saw Land

released 1 March 2010 on Full Time Hobby

You know what? You can’t beat a good -tronica from time to time, can you? First there was electronica, obviously, and then it seemed you could put beeps and effects over any style of music and hey, you had a new style of music and a handy suffix to define it! Good old -tronica. We all know indietronica, but then, what next? Metaltronica? Jazztronica? Sadly, landfill indietronica seems the most likely.

Anyway, Tunng can be thrust into the pigeonhole labelled “folktronica”. It’s a genre name that produces an involuntary sceptical reaction, since the natural, unplugged nature of folk music doesn’t lend itself even to electricity a lot of the time, so folk and electronica appear unlikely bedfellows. So, what are Tunng? Are they mavericks fearlessly melding together two distinct styles to make something greater than the sum of its parts, or are they just folkies strapping on some bells and whistles in an attempt to appeal to a larger audience?

On the evidence of …And Then We Saw Land, it could be said that it’s a little from column A, and a little from column B.

When Tunng are good, they’re very, very good, and they’re rarely better than they are on opening track, Hustle. Electronics fade in, before giving way to a piano riff, which in turn yields to acoustic guitar, school music trolley percussion, uplifting banjo and jaunty drums. It’s an absolutely gorgeous start worthy of any album, and chances are you won’t even notice the maudlin opening lines: “When I come home, you won’t be there anymore”. It’s almost impossible to stay still whilst listening to it, resistance is futile and you’ll be stamping your feet, swaying to the off-kilter rhythm, or both in no time.

You’d be forgiven for forgetting the whole use of electronics debate at this point, but as …And Then We Saw Land progresses, Tunng run out of ideas and it’s as if the unusual sounds and squelches are merely an attempt to disguise the fact. Admittedly, the sounds aren’t as self-consciously kooky or try-too-hard as on previous albums, but more often than not, a dash of electro adds nothing to a mediocre folk song.

Really, …And Then We Saw Land only serves to prove that Tunng are a less inventive British Sea Power with short attention spans. The tracks are all pleasant enough individually, but lack cohesion as an album, and inspiration often runs dry. The clattering, driving percussion that proves effective to begin with, ends up becoming something of a chore and a lot of the songs threaten to go somewhere without ever really doing so.

In fact, as an analogy, The Roadside may be symptomatic of the pros and cons of …And Then We Saw Land as a whole. It’s got a pretty, acoustic bed, nice male/female vocal interaction and a good use of harmonies. However, it’s merely diverting than gripping, and the drum machine fills feel forced, as if Tunng have a strict electro-on-every-track policy. Oddly enough, like most tracks on the album, it sounds oddly familiar, maybe like a cover of a track you’ve only heard once before, even though Tunng aren’t especially derivative.

If you’ve got this far, two things to mention. Firstly, thanks for reading, it’s much appreciated. Secondly, it’s worth pointing out that despite the mostly negative comments, …And Then We Saw Land isn’t a bad album, it just doesn‘t grab you. The amount of new music being released on a weekly basis is unfathomable, so you need something to make people come back for even a second listen, let alone listens three, four and beyond. If you hear …And Then We Saw Land, chances are you’ll think it’s a fairly decent album. Then, an hour or so after listening to it, you won’t be able to remember what any of the songs sound like. Then, you’ll probably forget you ever heard the thing. If ever a track were selected by your mp3 player’s random function, you wouldn’t guess who the artist was straight away, but you’d enjoy the track, but probably not enough to give the album another proper go.

And in the end, that’s Tunng’s downfall. A nice band with some nice ideas and some nice songs, but nice isn’t really enough.

The end for 6music?

I’ll say this straight away - I love the BBC and can forgive them practically anything and I gladly give them £142.50 of my hard-earned cash each year. To be honest, the fact the BBC house volumes and volumes of live sessions played for various incarnations of the John Peel show is plenty value for money. Thanks to the BBC, there is the only program on music worth watching in the UK (Later… with Jools Holland, which admittedly, has the misfortune to feature Jools Holland and his dubious interview “technique”), fantastic documentaries and archive footage on BBC Four, iPlayer and the programs of Charlie Brooker. So yes, the Beeb (that term that only journalists ever use) have plenty of Get Out of Jail Free cards to make up for abominations such as The Persuasionists, Miranda, My Family and the baffling continued success of Fearne Cotton and her Radio 1 show.

However, this time, they’ve gone too far…

On 2nd March 2010, Director General Mark Thompson announced a radical shake-up of the BBC and how it will be run, with one of those initiatives being the closing of digital-only radio station, 6music. The story of the proposed closure of 6music (along with the BBC Asian Network and BBC Switch) was leaked to Rupert Murdoch’s The Times newspaper - more of which later - and led to an impassioned response from 6music listeners.

For those not in the know, 6music is an alternative radio station committed to bringing a wide mix of old and new pop music. During the day, it plays it fairly safe - though earlier today I heard Blondie, Roxy Music, Public Enemy and a live track by The La’s all within half an hour - but by night, it’s prepared to go a bit more experimental. You can hear funk, soul, avant-garde, dance and anything in between. Sounds great, right? So why close it?

The strategic review states that the BBC needs to do fewer things better, which sounds like a reasonable business strategy to deliver quality content. However, the report goes on to say that 6music “delivers relatively few unique listeners”, “competes head-on for a commercially viable audience” and various other phrases of meaningless business speak 2.0 that can reduce a man to unconsciousness at fifty paces. If you know what it means for radio stations to “deliver unique audiences”, then answers on a postcard please, but I’m prepared to take issue with the assertion that they are “competing for a commercially viable audience”.

On that note, I shall say this… of course they are, what an absolutely stupid statement to make. Hey, guess what, these people who are listening to a radio station with no adverts could, in fact, be listening to a different one that had adverts instead. That’s true of 6music and it’s just as true of any other BBC radio station.

But perhaps I’ve misinterpreted that statement. Perhaps it means that the 6music listeners could find an alternative on commercial radio that would better suit their listening requirements. Well, to that I say… no they couldn’t. In the mix of music it plays, 6music is pretty unique among UK radio stations (despite apparently not having enough unique listeners) and commercial stations would be unlikely to take such risks. Commercial stations that claim to serve up a wide range of alternative music, like Xfm and NME Radio, actually play it remarkably safe and give the nation a diet largely subsisting of landfill indie. In fact, Radio 1, the BBC’s flagship radio station, has the most obvious commercial alternatives, with stations such as Heart, Capital and Virgin having similar playlists.

Now, this is where it starts to gets confusing - there appears to be no commercial reason for closing 6music. The annual budget for 6music is a relative drop in the ocean - maybe even less than the annual salary for some of the BBC’s biggest names. Mark Thompson has said that funds are being moved to boost the overall spend on programming - which I’m in favour of - but there are plenty of better ways to do that than sink the good ship 6. The recent Winter Olympics in Canada was extensively covered by a large crew on site, and I’d imagine the spending on reporting for the upcoming World Cup in South Africa will cost a few bob.

Even more bizarre is that another of the BBC’s new manifestos is to provide “inspiring knowledge, music and culture” which would “bring music to new ears” - something which is well in line with the vision of the first Director General, Baron Reith, who believed broadcasting could educate the masses. But if the BBC want to meet such a target… well, they’re pretty much already meeting it. You see, they’ve got this station called 6music which is really great and, oh…

I’m no political expert (cue audible gasps of surprise), but there may be some element of government involved too. As previously mentioned, the story was broken by a newspaper owned by that paragon of virtue, Rupert Murdoch. Mr. Murdoch is the kind of man who thinks of nothing but a way to make a quick buck and is to culture what Kanye West is to modesty and humbleness. Murdoch is extremely anti-BBC, but the primary reason for that is because they have a guaranteed income and stop him making money. He wants to charge for The Times Online and has voiced his opposition to the BBC often. He’s also extraordinarily wealthy and oh, did I mention he owns Sky TV and is a leading investor in satellite television? With a General Election in the UK months away and a victory for the Murdoch-supported Conservatives looking likely, the state of the BBC is becoming increasingly important. The Tories have a history of privatisation and have already made a section of the BBC a commercial entity when previously in power. Sure, I’m a bit of a hippie leftie, but it seems the BBC is shooting itself in the foot before the seemingly inevitable change of power even happens.

This is a sad announcement for lovers of music, lovers of radio and lovers of quality programming. It’s also a sad announcement for the marvellous history of public service broadcasting but all is not yet lost. These measures, although strongly recommended, are not yet definite - the final decision goes to the BBC Trust and there are signs the BBC may be backing down in the face of overwhelming support for 6music.

So, you can still play your part. The strategy review can be read and commented upon until the end of May at https://consultations.external.bbc.co.uk/departments/bbc/bbc-strategy-review/consultation/consult_view. Air your views, say what you love, say what you hate but I’m practically begging here - please, BBC, save our 6.

My night in with... Glee

from www.wordmagazine.co.uk and published in the May 2010 edition of The Word magazine...

What's it called?:

Glee

What It Sounds Like:

Autotune and teenagers with annoying inflections, unfortunately, but to dismiss it on account of that would be a mistake. Life is hard in the strictly regimented world of American high school where you're either a football player, a cheerleader or a social outcast. Luckily, for those with a desire to perform, there's the Glee club - led by the Panglossian Mr. Schuester - where no-one will judge you. On top of the fantastically choreographed routines, there are fake pregnancies, unwanted weddings, genuine laugh out loud moments and the inimitable cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester. It has all the hallmarks of a show adored by the kind of people who use the phrase, "OMG!", without a hint of irony, but it doesn't take itself too seriously and, though not exactly demanding television, it's utterly absorbing.

What Does It All "Mean"?:

It means that it's ok to be different. It means that you should embrace your individuality. It means that sometimes there's nothing better than dressing up for a good old song-and-dance. Basically, it's the Lady Gaga of TV shows.

Goes well with...:

A cosy night in on the sofa after a hard day at work. Glass of Chilean Merlot optional.

Might Suit People Who Like...:

American high school dramas, pop music and fun.

Romance Is Boring

Los Campesinos! - Romance Is Boring

released 1 February 2010 on Wichita

Growing up is rubbish, isn’t it? You finish school with no idea of the adult world and the belief that anything is possible. You think your dreams could come true, though you’ve no idea how you’re going to make it happen, but hey, you’re young and responsibility doesn’t exist for you. Then, capitalism bites and you have to start paying your way and guess what, before you know it you’ve got an office job for a multi-national corporation and your dreams get relegated to weekends. Then, you get a house and kids and your weekends are all about wallpapering and taking your offspring to jelly and ice cream laden parties where all the other parents look at tired and world-weary as you. Well, something resembling that at least…

So where do your dreams go? If you never actually sold your soul to rock n’ roll, then the time is ripe for a bit of vicarious living. Rock stars are the eternal children, the Peter Pans who never grew up and in the case of Los Campesinos!’ début album, Hold On Now, Youngster…, they were living the dream just for you. HONY… was a beautifully giddy collection of tracks, hastily thrown together and recorded by a group of people who clearly couldn’t believe they were being allowed to make an album and were worried they were going to be thrown out of the studio at any minute. Sure, it was a little rough around the edges, but it was so full of charm it won them an army of fans, something which carried on with follow-up We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed.

So, surely now the Welsh septet are feeling the harsh realities of life? Apparently there’s some sort of recession on, everyone’s finding it tough and Los Campesinos! themselves are a handful of years older. Does this mean they’ve grown up? The answer is simple: yes and no.

Luckily, you get the best of both worlds, because while Romance Is Boring still contains the youthful exuberance that set LC! apart from their peers, the lyrics show an acceptance that actions actually have consequences and they’re coupled with a more mature, even polished, sound.

Don’t worry, they haven’t turned into Coldplay. In fact, far from it. But the best example of a more grown-up song from LC! is probably the album opener, In Media Res. It’s unmistakeably Los Campesinos!, but rather than celebrating irresponsible behaviour, it’s about the negative effects of over-indulgence and not only that, there are sweeping strings to really lift it to the next level. It’s less self-consciously quirky and though not necessarily the most enjoyable song they’ve ever written, it’s certainly the best-crafted and gives a good indication of what they’re capable of achieving.

That’s the “yes” covered, now for the “no”. Los Campesinos! are known for rushing through songs at breakneck speed, and having both a male and female vocalist certainly adds to the playground call and response nature of their songs. A marked maturity pervades but they certainly haven’t forgotten where they came from, and those fantastically perky moments remain. Straight In At 101 is the frustrated cousin of first album single You! Me! Dancing! and is incredibly lyrically sharp with its first-person account of awkward teenage fumbling that never quite goes to plan. It also contains the best opening line you’ll have heard for a while, “I think we need more post-coital and less post-rock”.

Los Campesinos! aren’t afraid of experimentation either, and mix discordance, emo riffs, glockenspiels and crashing cymbals to great effect. The chanted chorus on the title track is rousing and listening to the bleeps and almost prog-like timing of We’ve Got Your Back (Documented Minor Emotional Breakdown #2)(sample lyric: “I’ve learnt more from toilet walls than I’ve learnt from these words of yours”) is like listening to a band shedding their skin and growing into themselves.

Occasionally, the well of inspiration runs a little dry, but that’s probably to be expected when you record three albums is two years. Plan A is, to these ears at least, little more than noise, and the album does tend to peter out with little of particular note - the stellar This Is A Flag. There Is No Wind excepted. Mind you, you’d be a fool not to fall for a song that’s opening line is an impassioned chant of “Can’t we all please just calm the fuck down?!”.

Romance Is Boring is fun, knowing, astute, energetic and packed with vignettes of youth and love lost. Whereas Hold On Now, Youngster… was, perhaps in retrospect, a little too naïve with any slower portions feeling as if they were there just for a breather rather than to add to the overall ambience,Romance Is Boring is a proper album from a band who have grown and know what they’re doing. Listen to it while selecting ceiling paint in your local hardware store, or while driving your middle child to piano practice or maybe, just maybe, listen to it while doing whatever the hell you want to do.

IRM

Charlotte Gainsbourg - IRM

released 25 January on Because Music

You may know her as Serge’s little girl. Or perhaps you’re more familiar with her acting and have seen her in Antichrist… or The Science of Sleep… or Ma Femme Est Une Actrice. Or maybe to you she’s Jane Birkin’s daughter. Hey, possibly you only know her for her music and fell in love with her ethereal 2006 album, 5:55. But with so many fingers in so many pies, who actually is Charlotte Gainsbourg?

Well, musically at least, it would seem she isn’t too sure either. Début album, Charlotte For Ever, from 1986, was written by her father, French perv-pop legend, Serge, and 5:55 was primarily the work of Air and Jarvis Cocker, with a bit of Neil Hannon thrown in for good measure. Now, IRM has all songs bar one written and produced by everyone’s favourite Danish Scientologist, Beck. This career trajectory alone could mean Gainsbourg struggles to be taken seriously as a recording artist. However, she appears to act as a muse for a variety of people and as such, gets the breaks many singers would give their right arm for. Mind you, Daddy being so highly revered throughout the music world can’t exactly hurt.

That’s not meant to sound bitter, misogynist or conceited because as long as no animals are harmed during the process, who cares about anything so long as the tunes are good? Life’s too short for hipsterish concerns of authenticity and meaningfulness. It’s a subjective medium; that’s how it goes.

Having said all that, it’s unfortunate that IRM is a bloated, self-congratulatory, directionless mess of an album. The mechanics and the back-story aren’t everything, but it’s preferable to believe our singers aren’t just puppets on strings and actually have some say in what goes on their records. Gainsbourg’s level of involvement in IRM is unknown, of course, and any viewpoint held by the listener is speculative at best, but it wouldn’t be a surprise if a press release came out stating that Gainsbourg just turned up on recording day and sang Beck’s words off an autocue.

It makes the task of the reviewer somewhat more complex to report that, for an awful lot of the record, IRMis just dull. 5:55 may have been laid-back, but this just sounds disinterested. La Collectionneuse is atonal,Time of the Assassins has Gainsbourg’s voice buried so deep in the mix it’s barely audible and, weirdly, on Me and Jane Doe, her voice sounds noticeably flat. Lyrically, Beck appears otherwise engaged, tossing away a bunch of clichés and half-phrases, sometimes with a nod to The Beatles (“find happiness from a gun”) or, on one occasion, just blatantly copying The Fab Four (“looking through a glass onion”).

The more listenable tracks on IRM tend to be more interesting than enjoyable, but there are a handful worthy of further investigation. Heaven Can Wait (a duet with Beck) was an obvious candidate for lead single and is certainly a toe-tapper while Le Chat du Café des Artistes (the only song not penned by Beck) would fit snugly on 5:55. The title track is the most alluring of the collection and sounds not dissimilar to Portishead’s powerful Machine Gun. "IRM" is the French initialism for an MRI scanner and the album is so-called due to Gainsbourg’s recent health scare (she suffered a brain haemorrhage in 2007). The title track apes the sounds of hospitals and machines to great effect, capturing the feeling of fear and claustrophobia perfectly.

What stands out most about IRM, though, is the lack of focus. Beck, or possibly Gainsbourg, herself, can’t seem to work out which path to follow and what the album should sound like. Thus, we have quasi-5:55 tracks, songs that sound a bit like Beck, wheezing country, French traditional chanteuse-style numbers and, most bafflingly of all, an ill-advised two-song excursion into garage rock. Sounding like a second-rate Kills or a Raveonettes without the fun, Gainsbourg embarrassingly postures her way throughTrick Pony and Greenwich Mean Time. It may give IRM a much-needed kick up the backside, but it’s unconvincing, tinny, and when Gainsbourg sings the word “chou-fleur” in an English accent, it’s pretty much time to pack up and go home.

It’s fair to say that “underwhelmed” is the word that most springs to mind with IRM. It’s not a completely futile exercise - there are some decent tracks - but it falls far short of the quality of its predecessor. After discussing accusations of nepotism earlier, it now sounds hypocritical to say you’d expect better from someone with such heritage, but that’s how it feels. There’s a fantastic album inside Charlotte Gainsbourg, or, given her discography, perhaps it would be more accurate to say there’s a fantastic Charlotte Gainsbourg album inside someone else. Here’s hoping it’s found soon.

Falling Down a Mountain

Tindersticks - Falling Down a Mountain

released 25 January 2010 on 4AD

It can’t be easy; critically-lauded at the start of your career, then just a handful of years later, you’re largely ignored by the music press and almost considered a niche interest. What do you do, exactly? Do you just carry on doing what you were doing before, in the aim of finding whatever it was that propelled you to such lofty heights in the first place? Or do you change completely, hoping that your new-found direction will earn you some kudos for not resting on your laurels?

That’s been the dilemma facing Tindersticks since the late 20th Century, and it’s an extremely unfair position for them to be in. Almost victims of their own success, their opening trilogy of albums (self-titled releases in both 1993 and 1995, and 1997’s Curtains) were irresistible baroque chamber-pop, full of surprises and, unusually, never outstayed their welcome at over an hour. However, the world moved on and since Tindersticks didn’t see fit to re-invent the wheel, the world also largely lost interest. After Waiting for the Moon in 2003, they called it a day, only to return in 2008 with The Hungry Saw, but only half the original band.

History lesson over, what’s Falling Down a Mountain actually like? In a nutshell, it’s a triumph as well as being probably the least Tindersticks-esque (maybe that should be “Tindersticksian”?) album of their career. The core ingredients are still there: Stuart Staples’ polarising, treacle-rich baritone, beautifully haunting string arrangements and the pervading sense of disappointment and loss. However, add to this a willingness to diversify and be imaginative, and Tindersticks are once more extremely deserving of your time.

Take the title-track, for example, which also happens to be the album opener. Fractured percussion gives way to freeform-jazz saxophone and repeated chanting. While Tindersticks may be primarily known for their lush instrumentation, this is stark, spacious, primal and utterly thrilling. Keep You Beautiful is disarmingly gorgeous, creeping in barely noticed on a gossamer-thin riff; it’s warm, comforting and everything the title track isn’t, but equally affecting.

Keep You Beautiful would in fact fit perfectly on a film soundtrack - if you hear it on a montage of the female lead going about her day, it’s pretty clear it’s only a matter of time before our hero gets the girl. Once you’ve noticed how suited to cinema scores this track is, it’s difficult not to put most of this album as backing music to films that don’t even exist. She Rode Me Down is coming soon to a spaghetti-Western near you (when the flute flutters in, it even sounds like Morricone’s The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly), Factory Girls is a tender, piano-heavy ballad that would be an ideal bed for a tale of success against the odds and the unexpected major chords of Hubbards Hills would compliment a tale of courage and redemption.

This may well be damning Falling Down a Mountain with faint praise. Tindersticks’ music has always been broad in scope with a cinematic feel, but it just seems here that they’re maturing into a more well-rounded band. No longer so heavily reliant on the dramatic brooding that characterised much of their early-90s work, they’re in danger of becoming national treasures on this form.

It’s not a complete win for the boys from Nottingham, unfortunately. Falling Down a Mountain is fairly Side-A heavy, with two or three of the later tracks disappointingly unremarkable, where only Stuart Staples’ smoky vocals carrying some non-descript arrangements. Despite this, it’s an extremely listenable record and definitely fit to stand aside their finest work. It’s an impressive achievement seeing as Falling Down a Mountain is album #8 of a career just shy of twenty years and a depressingly large proportion of bands are phoning it in by that point. With another album (a soundtrack to the upcoming White Material) due later in 2010, it appears Tindersticks have gained a second wind and have answered the questions posed above. Forget the press, forget the criticism and forget those who ignore you. When you make an album this good, you don’t need to care.

The Best of the Decade: 10-1

I've decided to run down my Top 50 albums of the decade that's just passed. I love a list as much as anyone (in fact, probably more) and it was something to focus on in the dearth of new music post-Christmas. Some of the paragraphs are in the style of press releases, some attempt to put into words what makes an album so special, others have a personal experience that make them important to me and any could have spelling and grammar mistakes. It really was a case of go with what you feel on this one...

1: The Dears - No Cities Left (Bella Union/2003)

Maybe not an obvious choice but one I’m more than willing to stand by. Occasionally part of a song is fantastic and will stop you in your tracks, on rarer occasions it’s an entire song which is truly exceptional, but then there’s that time where an album catches you in the right place at the right time and truly floors you. The Dears never really captured the imagination of the UK; frequently being judged as inferior to the similar-sounding Blur or The Smiths. However, No Cities Left is simply magical from start to finish. This is a sound of a band putting their blood, sweat and tears into a record and is surely their creative peak. Head Dear Murray Lightburn croons his way through twelve tracks that range from the beautiful and timid to the all-out crunching riffs and wall of guitars of Lost in the Plot. It’s not difficult to see where the Smiths comparisons come from, as Lightburn does his best Morrissey impression on The Second Part (“It rained all day/I don’t… have a raincoat… of my own”) but this record is far more than the sum of its influences. 22: The Death of All the Romance charts the heartbreaking end of a relationship and pours salt into its still-raw wounds, Expect the Worst/’Cos She’s a Tourist takes in pizzicato string quartets before melding them to dream-like woozy pop and Pinned Together, Falling Apart begins in what is apparently an explosion in a drum factory. Startingly ambitious, never dull and far, far better than ever given credit for, No Cities Left is a treat for the ears and should be investigated further by everyone, me included. It always offers something new on each listen, it really does run that deep. Forget everything else you may know of The Dears or may have heard since, No Cities Left stands alone as true genius, a masterpiece, a perfect example of why music is so loved and, undoubtedly, the finest record of this past decade.

2: Radiohead: In Rainbows (self-released/2007)

What with all the hoopla surrounding the “honesty box” method of payment and means of distribution for In Rainbows, it’s surprising the music got a look in at all. Radiohead being Radiohead, however, had an ace up their sleeve and had put together their best album of a long and distinguished career. The Bends is too straightforward, OK Computer often leaves me cold, but In Rainbows is the definitive Radiohead record, combining the rock of their 1990s work with the experimentalism of Kid A. From the scattergun drums of opening track, 15 Step, it’s clear this is no ordinary record. Thom Yorke’s lyrics may be a collection of half-phrases, idioms and proverbs but here it suits the nature of the music to perfection. Bodysnatchers is the finest straight-up rock song Radiohead ever wrote, and Nude is curiously uplifting and deeply affecting with its backwards sections. Whilst All I Need displays vulnerability and a glimpse into Radiohead’s world, Jigsaw Falling Into Place is the star of the show, morphing from claustrophobic riffs into a loose but thrilling track. It’s interesting to note that for all their concepts, patterns and tricks, the career-defining Radiohead album is the one where they simply wrote a collection of indisputably amazing songs.

3: The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love (Rough Trade/2009)

It shouldn’t work: in the age of single-track downloads and short attention spans, The Decemberists release a concept album with a complex narrative arc, repeated themes and no gaps between the tracks. It shouldn’t work, but my word, it most certainly does. From an unremarkable beginning, The Hazards of Love builds and builds into something truly extraordinary and unrelenting. When you think the music can’t build any more, in comes a riff, a vocal, a drum fill or all three to confound your expectations. In typical Decemberists’ fashion, the lyrical themes fixate on death but there’s loss, regret and haunting thrown into the mix here too. The Rake’s Song tells of a man’s decision to murder his offspring following the death of their mother in childbirth, propelled along by the most thumping percussion you’ll hear in music today. Backing vocals transform The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid into something ethereal and majestic while (spoiler alert!) the villain getting his comeuppance in the end is as satisfying and thrilling as any book or film. That’s what The Decemberists do best - take the literary and set it to thrilling music and here, they’ve never done it better.

4: Radiohead - Kid A (Parlophone/2000)

It’s all been done, right? The Beatles wrote the rule book, smashed the system and then a handful of innovators have truly done something completely new in the field of popular music. That may have looked the case but Kid A was something even the most fervent Radiohead fan couldn’t have anticipated. There’s a school of thought that says this album is more influential than listenable, more to be appreciated than enjoyed, and it’s difficult to totally refute that - you wouldn’t put it on to impress a date, for example. But Kid A truly transcends the boundaries of popular music; it’s the sound of being alive in the 21st Century. Clocks tick, hearts beat, there’s the sturm und drang of industry, clicks, glitches, warmth, and there’s also melodies too. Some of the sounds made on this record seem perfect to soundtrack film of foetuses on the womb, so the appeal of this album could somehow be evolutionary, but repeated listens show Radiohead know what they’re doing and they remembered to include songs to go with it. Idioteque is beguiling, stark and primal, How to Disappear Completely swirls and sucks you in, while Everything in Its Right Place seems to invent patterns of chords and notes you’ve never heard before. Of all the records on this list, Kid A will be the one that sounds most relevant, fresh, vital and ground-breaking in fifty years’ time, just like it does today and just like it always has done.

5: Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid (Fiction/2008)

Nice guys don’t always have to finish last, and here’s the proof. Years of slog and toil and three albums of being nearly-men all seemed to be worth it when Elbow really hit the big time with the release of The Seldom Seen Kid. Critical acclaim, sales and the Mercury prize followed and general consensus said it couldn’t have happened to nicer people. Of course, that’s not particularly pertinent to the record's overall quality, but it certainly makes for a better story. What separates Elbow from the crowd is Guy Garvey, with his sweet, sentimental voice and extraordinary way with a phrase - he has a knack for saying what you’ve always felt, but never even knew you wanted to express. The Seldom Seen Kid displays naked emotion from the opening of Starlings (cautious build-up followed by the best horn stabs this side of disco) and oddly, makes you root for the band you’re listening to. Windswept and carrying the battle scars of life, The Seldom Seen Kid is a lament to a lost friend, a beautiful union and inspirationally wonderful.

6: Arcade Fire - Funeral (Rough Trade/2005)

Well, they repeatedly play this one note for a few bars, then it breaks into the whole band singing la-la-la. Have you ever tried to explain to someone why the beginning of Wake Up is so uplifting? The moment the voices break through is one of those moments that gets you every time, yet the ingredients that make it up are so simple. This is why Funeral is so peculiar; there’s nothing in its make-up that suggests it should be one of the albums of the decade, but Arcade Fire are clearly playing because they love it. And also, why is an album fixated on death and loss so life-affirming? Maybe it’s because Arcade Fire sounded like the gang you wanted to be in, they’re the Not-So-Secret Seven and it’s them against the world with their harmonies and baroque pop from another time. You get to know them and the bittersweet ending of Funeral, In The Backseat, peels back any barrier that may still remain and becomes one of the most gut-wrenching songs you’ll ever hear. A stellar album, victory was theirs, and we were there to enjoy it with them.

7: Tindersticks - Waiting for the Moon (Beggar’s Banquet/2003)

Tindersticks’ first three albums (two called Tindersticks and one called Curtains) were so critically acclaimed, it seemed everyone was suffering from Tindersticks fatigue afterwards and they’ve been largely ignored since. It’s a crying shame; Waiting for the Moon was the album that introduced me to Tindersticks and has become one of the great lost records of the 21st Century. Admittedly, they don’t break the mould - the women are still always glamorous and unobtainable, the cigarette always lit and the glass (of whiskey, naturally) always half-empty, but it doesn’t mean Waiting for the Moon is anything but a work of staggering beauty. The album creeps in almost unnoticed with Until the Morning Comes, where Stuart Staples sounds half on the verge of tears and half of the verge of murder. 4:48 Psychosis is deeply evocative and unsettling and Sometimes It Hurts is a lush ballad fit to stand along career-highpoint, Buried Bones. Where Waiting for the Moon really comes into its own, though, is the seven-minute epic, My Oblivion. It’s classic Tindersticks; it’s languid, it’s drenched in strings, it’s mournful, it’s yearning and it’s utterly, utterly breathtaking.

8: Kings of Convenience - Riot on an Empty Street (Source/2004)

If producing an album of largely acoustic, quasi-pastoral pop, you need to have a trick or two up your sleeve just to keep it interesting. In which case, Kings of Convenience proved that they’re veritable magicians with the release of Riot on an Empty Street. Bubbling with intrigue and mystery, the understated, almost disinterested vocals of Erland Øye and Eirik Glambek Bøe (and, on occasion, Feist) are perfectly married to the delicate sunshine melodies and intricate finger-picking. Understated, sparse and gorgeous, Riot on an Empty Street is 45 minutes where you can get lost and just absorb what’s coming out of the speakers. Reminiscent of Simon and Garfunkel in their pomp, whether performing lingering ballads (The Build Up) or uptempo, perky pop (I’d Rather Dance with You), Kings of Convenience are always compelling.

9: Midlake - The Trials of Van Occupanther (Bella Union/2006)

Fleet Foxes took a host of plaudits for their eponymous début and while it’s a fine album, it’s hard to not feel like Midlake had been cheated somewhat. Two years before Fleet Foxes was The Trials of Van Occupanther; an album which also expertly blended the folk-rock of Crosby, Stills and Nash with the 21st Century, but did so with stronger melodies, finer song structures and more evocative lyrics. Case in point, the corking opener, Roscoe, which chugs along on a steady piano and guitar base before throwing in drum fills and angular licks that give it a whole new dimension. Witness also Head Home, the best 1970s country-rock classic there never was and Young Bride, with its sweet melody that comes from nowhere and its repeated vocal coda accompanied only by strings. At its heart, though, was a distillation of everything great and good from its influences, leading to an album with an irresistible pull. Someone once said that they best bands live in their own universe, and on the evidence of The Trials of Van Occupanther, Midlake’s 19th Century America is a fantastic one to inhabit.

10: Dan Le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip - Angles (Sunday Best Recordings/2008)

It doesn’t quite seem right that the most inventive, witty and interesting hip-hop album of the decade came from darkest Essex, but maybe Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip (they tend to collaborate rather than face-off, despite what their name suggests) were simply more hungry than everyone else. Pip certainly seems so as he furiously spits rhymes on The Beat That My Heart Skipped; a track whose tempo seems to suit his flow to a tee as he veers from quintessential Englishman to hip-hop connoisseur, sometimes in the same couplet (“Oh, Good God, damn, and other such phrases/Haven’t heard a beat like this for ages”). Angles isn’t afraid to take on the topics not often covered in rap either - there’s religion (Letter from God to Man), suicide (Magician’s Assistant) and, of course, the life and death of Tommy Cooper (Tommy C). These can pale into insignificance though, when compared to what is possibly the single of the decade: Thou Shalt Always Kill. Detractors will point to the fact it’s contradictory (it provides a list of stars whose names are not to be taken in vain in one verse, and instructs you not to put stars on pedestals the next) but it brought something back into pop that’s been sorely missed - humour. Endlessly quotable lines (today’s favourite is “thou shalt not express your shock at the fact that Sharon got off with Brad at the club last night by saying, “is it?””), heavy beats and a helping of bleeps that sound as if they come from a Nintendo Game Boy circa 1992, it’s the peak of a fantastic album and above all, FUN!