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!

The Best of the Decade: 50-41

41: Amy Winehouse - Frank (Island/2003)

Before she overtook Kate Moss as the poster girl of heroin chic and while she still had some meat on her bones, Amy Winehouse was the little diva that could. Unfairly lumped in with Norah Jones and Katie Melua by the critics, Frank was infact a remarkably mature R&B flavoured début that chronicled what it meant to be a 21st Century woman in your 20s in the UK better than Lily Allen ever did. Frank tackles spineless men (Stronger Than Me), gold-diggers (Fuck Me Pumps) and unfaithfulness (I Heard Love is Blind) as if she has the life experience of someone twice her age. Back to Black may have been her breakthrough, but Frank is the real gem with its mix of late-night horns, 50s jazz stylings and contemporary R&B, and deserves to be appraised on its own merits rather than being compared to its more popular successor or reviewing the reputation rather than the music.

42: Eels - Blinking Lights and Other Revelations (Polydor/2005)

Always keen to appear on the outside looking in, Mark “E” Everett appeared to be committing commercial suicide releasing a 33-track double album telling the story of his tragic family history. However, Everett’s attention to detail, keen ear for a melody and gravely, yearning voice ensured that Blinking Lights… was a triumph. Tracks range from sparse and unsettling to rich and textured and - curiously, given its subject matter - listening to it is a life-affirming experience. While the rest of the decade may not have been so kind to Eels, this is Everett’s White Album - a towering, sprawling masterpiece which he’ll struggle to ever match.

43: Charlotte Gainsbourg - 5:55 (Warner/2006)

We can’t all call on Air, Jarvis Cocker and Neil Hannon to help with our album but then again, we don’t all have legendary music pioneer, the late Serge Gainsbourg, as our father. 5:55 may sound a terrible idea full of smug back-slapping on paper, but in fact, it’s the album equivalent of Sofia Coppola’s Lost In Translation. Girl with famous father confounds expectations to make beautiful piece of art which eschews traditional formats to tell the story of a mood and a place. While Coppola’s film charts the feeling of jetlag and loneliness in downtown Tokyo, Air’s score for 5:55 mark it as languid music perfect for the feeling of relaxation but still with a lingering suspicion of uncertainty. Gainsbourg’s barely-there, whispered vocals may be an acquired taste, but this gorgeous album avoids the pit-fall of most minimal chill-out albums by being consistently challenging and interesting.

44: Badly Drawn Boy - The Hour of Bewilderbeast (Twisted Nerve/2000)

It may be difficult to reconcile given his decline into virtual obscurity, but at the turn of the century, this Mercury-winning album meant that Damon Gough had the world at his feet. Self-confessed Springsteen devotee and an unlikely looking pop star, The Hour of Bewilderbeast showed what a dedicated student of pop music Gough was. The warm horns which open the album immediately make it stand out from the crowd and are the precursor for Gough raiding pop’s history and the musical box of tricks for an audio thrill-ride. Crucially, The Hour of Bewilderbeast succeeds where all of Gough’s subsequent albums have failed and has an emotional connection with the listener rather than the look-at-me kooky studio wizardry of later releases. Singles Disillusion and Once Around the Block were among the most catchy and best crafted songs of the decade and highlight the fact that it’s a loss for all of us if Damon can’t recapture his mojo.

45: Tindersticks - Can Our Love… (Beggar's Banquet/2001)

Tindersticks live in that odd world of groups who seem to effectively release the same album throughout their career (see also: Stereolab and Cocteau Twins), but what an album it is. If possible, Can Our Love… is even more introspective and brooding than their 90s back catalogue with its long tracks and ruminations on mortality. This, coupled with the prevalent Motown influences, give it more soul than any Tindersticks album before or since. Drums are lightly brushed, strings are dabbed and sounds are gently coaxed out of guitars and organ, Can Our Love… rarely gets above a whisper, but is simply beautiful. Standout track and album centrepiece, Sweet Release, could easily reduce you to tears; if there’s a track - and, indeed, album - which better demonstrates longing and loss, then I’ve yet to hear it.

46: Amanda Palmer - Who Killed Amanda Palmer? (Roadrunner/2008)

Sometimes albums can completely pass you by and you remain unaware of their charms until a much later date. That’s what happened with Who Killed Amanda Palmer?, an album recommended to me by a work colleague who was so convinced of this album’s merit, I was practically bullied into listening to it. With some records, that could have been a case for an employment tribunal, but luckily Who Killed Amanda Palmer? is an absolute blast of an album. Airing your personal issues in public has never seemed so vitriolic yet triumphant and while you’re unlikely to ever hear a more solipsistic collection of songs, its entertainment value cannot be denied. On tracks such as thrilling yelp-along Leeds United (“Who needs love when the sandwiches are wicked and they know you at the MAC store?”), Palmer throws in energy, the piano, all other instruments and then the kitchen sink, before throwing the piano and the kitchen sink at each other, but somehow, like all this album, it all works perfectly.

47: The Shins - Oh, Inverted World (Sub Pop/2001)

Get past the look-at-me-I’ve-read-books Marx-quoting album title and the minimal sleeve art and you’ll find The Shins have a released a straight-up, perfectly-formed pop album. In fact, that’s pretty much what The Shins did in this decade, and better than anyone else to boot. Oh, Inverted World may be bursting with 3-minute verse-chorus-verse pop songs with killer hooks, but that doesn’t mean that The Shins aren’t afraid to take risks and try something new. There’s no sugar coating on the disorienting squeaks that back Caring Is Creepy and on the peerless New Slang, The Shins are content to let the strength of the song and the melody speak to itself. Not a record that will initially blow you away, but one you find yourself coming back to again and again, and each time it’s more rewarding, revealing subtle nuances and quirks of arrangement that show The Shins know exactly what they’re doing.

48: Lewis Taylor - Lewis II (Island/2000)

How we could do with Lewis Taylor back right now. Taylor quit music and severed all ties with the industry part-way through the decade, presumably fed-up with the being hailed as the future of British soul music. The biz being the way it is, though, means this only adds to the myth and he remains as popular as ever, if not more. However, it’s the music where you should really be concentrating, as Lewis II is a remarkably assured piece of work, showing that it wasn’t out of the question that Lewis Taylor could be as good as Stevie Wonder. Sexy, sultry and confident, Lewis II displays the strut typically synonymous with his American contemporaries, such as Maxwell or D’Angelo and like them, he’s not afraid to transcend genres. There’s an awful lot of rock in, what is essentially, a soul album and he dovetails wonderfully with his backing singers to produce spine-tingling harmonies. Every track has a twist and every twist is worthwhile; now all we need is to track him down and ask him to reconsider his self-imposed exile.

(Can you find a YouTube video of Lewis Taylor? I certainly can't)

49: Incubus - Morning View (Epic/2001)

Music can be a remarkably personal experience, and chances are everyone has a landmark handful of songs or albums in their life which are pertinent to them for reasons that transcend the quality of what’s on the disc. For me, this is one of those albums. Morning View was released just as I was starting to get into music (I’d just turned 15) and was the right album at the right time. I took it to my heart immediately and listened to practically nothing else for the first three months I owned it. Several friends of mine had the same musical epiphany and we often reminisce about this time and its accompanying soundtrack. Now, not for a second would I claim Incubus are better than Radiohead, for example, but they’re unfairly maligned in my eyes, and lazily lumped in with the nu-metal shoutniks by critics. Morning View has plenty of straightforward hard rock, but there’s more to it than that: the funky bass on Are You In?, the lazy, irresistible riff of Just a Phase and the prog-like timing of Nice to Know You suggest greater forces at work. It may not be the decade’s defining masterpiece but it’s certainly worth revisiting from time to time, and not just for the nostalgic smile it gives me.

50: Hadouken! - Music for an Accelerated Culture (Atlantic/2008)

Like its similarly-doomed 21st Century forebearer, electroclash, “grindie” (a cross between grime and indie, as any fule kno) never really took off. Mainly due to the fact it was all hyperbole and no trousers, but in its short-lived day in the sun, it did produce one great album. Music for an Accelerated Culture is just that - a soundtrack for the Skins-generation and the perfect companion for gatecrashing a party you saw advertised on Facebook. It’s a relentless assault on the senses and completely thrilling, if a little exhausting for those of us out of our teens. Despite its hard-hitting attitude and bravado, it’s actually a charmingly naïve album and, as these things often are, so of-the-zeitgest that it already seems out-of-date in places (no-one goes on MySpace any more, granddad). It’s also a truly British album that includes insults such as “wally” in between expletives, sirens and crunching guitars. It’s debatable whether Hadouken! have any staying power, but they’re following a very British tradition of marrying cutting-edge innovation with a modern, everyday take on life. The real strength is that Music for an Accelerated Culture gives you the addictive, visceral rush that 99.9% of music fails to do and when you experience that, it‘s difficult to care about much else.

Lost Classics

My final contribution to the NR10 feature was a collaborative piece on overlooked albums of the last ten years. For some reason, my three choices were all released in a two-year period. The last of these three short articles was not published on the site.

The Dears - No Cities Left
The Dears so nearly broke through in the UK in 2003. Critics fell for their swooning soundscapes reminiscent of the best bits of Blur and Morrissey and column inches were duly filled. But then it seems someone realised head Dear Murray Lightburn was black and from that point on, that’s all the Dears-related articles could talk about. It was the UK’s loss really, as No Cities Left is as close to perfect as a sprawling rock odyssey can get. The attention to detail in how every note is sung or played, the arrangements and production is simply astonishing. Twelve killer tunes treated with the love and care they deserve, but always willing to experiment and be innovative, whether it be the squall of jazz and feedback that opens Pinned Together, Falling Apart or the barked vocals that close Never Destroy Us. Ignore the fact that The Dears now have the kind of revolving door approach to band members that would shame Mark E Smith, No Cities Left is simply essential.

Kings of Convenience - Riot On an Empty Street
We’re well into 2009 now, yet my favourite album of the year so far is one that was released almost five years ago. Riot on an Empty Street bubbles with intrigue; something which is immediately obvious from the front cover where Erlend Øye is eyed-up by his bandmate’s girlfriend. This album is understated and sparse, yet utterly, utterly gorgeous. Comprised of mostly just acoustic guitar, piano and minimal percussion, it’s 45 minutes where you can get completely lost and just absorb the music. From the perky single I’d Rather Dance with You to the lingering The Build-Up, Kings of Convenience perfect the trick of keeping it simple whilst always remaining compelling.


Tindersticks - Waiting For the Moon
Tindersticks may have been the critics’ darlings in the early 90s, but by the time Waiting for the Moon was released in 2003 they’d largely slipped off the radar. It’s fair to say you know what you’re going to get with a Tindersticks album but that doesn’t mean Waiting for the Moon is any less stellar. Stuart A Staples’ trademark croon frames every track and they revisit the formula of their first three albums (two entitled Tindersticks, the other, Curtains) by including a spoken-word track (the harrowing and claustrophobic 4.48 Psychosis) and a male-female duet (the oddly uplifting Sometimes It Hurts). It may be slightly over-long – you wouldn’t miss the last two tracks if they weren’t there – but if you like your music melancholy, your bars smoky, your drinks served on the rocks in a tumbler and your relationships twisted and complicated, Waiting for the Moon is exactly what you need.