Further Complications

Jarvis Cocker - Further Complications
released 18 May 2009 on Rough Trade

If you fought in the Britpop Wars of the mid-1990s, you’ll know there was much more depth than the media-constructed Blur vs. Oasis feud. Supergrass, Ash and Saint Etienne all played their part but at the cultural coalface, just behind Albarn and the brothers Gallagher was our Jarv. The thing is, Pulp were never a Britpop band, not really. They’d been a going concern since the late 1970s (originally under the name Arabacus Pulp) and were simply in the right place with the right songs at the right time.

After a promising start to his solo career with Jarvis, Cocker has roped in prolific producer Steve Albini for Further Complications. Albini’s most famous knob-twiddling took place on Nirvana’s swansong, In Utero, so it may initially seem an odd choice of partner for anyone remotely familiar with Pulp’s keyboard-heavy pop stylings. From the very beginning of Further Complications, the Albini hallmarks are most definitely in evidence. The title track is built around an alt.rock distorted riff and has an urgency unlike the laissez-faire approach that characterises much of Cocker’s previous work. Even on lines such as “I was not born in wartime/I was not born in pain or poverty,” Jarvis is imploring us to listen to his message.

However, like the chicken-egg conundrum, it’s impossible to know to what extent Albini is the primary root of this new sound. Did Albini drive Cocker down this alternative road or did Cocker have the idea in mind and decide Albini was simply the best sonic architect? The alternative rock theme continues on recent download-only single, Angela. Here, the production saves what is, in essence, a fairly basic pub-rock ditty. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said about following track, Pilchard. Everyone has differing tastes when it comes to music, but it’s difficult to imagine being excited at a one-note riff and the repeating of the pathetic quasi-threat “you pilchard, you pilchard.” But hey, each to their own and all that.

We’re then pleasingly back in vintage Jarvis territory with Leftovers, which uses Mick Ronson guitars to great effect. In the 80s it was Morrissey, in the 21st Century it’s Alex Turner but from the class of the 1990s, no-one can turn a phrase like Cocker. An opening line of “I met her at the museum of palaeontology/And I make no bones about it” displays clear evidence that he’s still got it when it matters most. In Cocker’s inimitable way, he’s made something which manages to be gauche and slightly perverse, yet somehow pretty damn sexy at the same time beneath it all.

I Never Said I Was Deep is packed full of theatrical sighs and palm-to-brow emotional gestures as you’d wish but then we’re half-way through and the wheels start to come off somewhat. Homewrecker! showcases the fact that, when all is said and done, Jarvis isn’t really a singer, and ends with frenzied screaming. Yes, that’s right, screaming. The rest of Further Complications sadly fades into relative obscurity and is largely forgettable. The tracks aren’t exactly bad - in fact, the lo-fi fuzz-rock of Fuckingsong is thrilling - but they lack a certain something. Caucasian Blues is awkward and ham-fisted (“All gather round, I’ll tell you what it’s all about/You find a good woman and then you fuck her ‘til your hair falls out”)and Slush sounds like Yo La Tengo on a bad day.

Just when it seems all is lost, along comes the final track, You’re In My Eyes (Discosong). It may be going out on a limb but it needs to be said: this one song is the single best thing Jarvis Cocker has been involved with in almost fifteen years. Imagine Jarvis’ trademark purr over a backing track that sounds like The Average White Band and Barry White’s Love Unlimited Orchestra jamming in space. How many disco songs can you think of that are over eight minutes long yet never outstay their welcome? Surely, except for Donna Summer’s I Feel Love, there can’t be any. Yet that’s what You’re In My Eyes (Discosong) is and it makes fantastic use of light and shade that’s all too rare in 21st Century music. Vocals whisper in from the left side, then the right, the band rise to a climax then bring it back to a relaxed groove and then to top it all off, they do it all over again. In short, it’s a revelation.

As it turns out, Further Complications is an apt title for an frustrating mixed-bag of an album. Initial listens may lead you to believe it’s a little non-descript, but there’s reward in perseverance. Jarvis Cocker’s diversions into scuzzy riff-based rock and glam disco are to be encouraged and although it’s unclear where he’ll go from here, we’re certainly better off for having him around.

Gary Go

Gary Go - Gary Go
released 25 May 2009 on Polydor

Firstly, a disclaimer. Music journalists, and particularly amateur music journalists, do what they do because they love music. Therefore, despite the fact that sometimes it may seem otherwise, we don’t want to write hatchet-job reviews all the time (however cathartic it may be). Ideally, we want the next undiscovered masterpiece to land in our lap so we can break out the superlatives and turn people on to something that’s really special. Then again, you can only work with what you’re given, so away we go.

Do you find One Republic a little bit too hedonistic and thrilling? Are The Fray a bit too rock n’ roll for your tastes? Does the very mention of Maroon 5 leave you cowering under your duvet because their music is just too damn terrifying? If you’ve answered ‘yes’ to any of the above questions, then good news - Gary Go is here for you! Fresh from supporting Take That on their recent tour, the man Q have described as a “one-man Coldplay” (though that’s being more than harsh on Chris Martin’s men) releases his début album.

Throughout the eleven (though it feels like many more) tracks that make up Gary Go, Gary demonstrates his mastery of soulless, vapid pop, apparently designed specifically as a bed for highlights packages on low-budget reality TV shows. Polished to the point of being nausea-inducing, this album has been packaged to a precise remit: robotic, stadium-rock-lite that follows the tried and tested formula of acoustic quiet bit, drums come in, second verse, chorus, repeat to fade so strictly that you’ll feel like banging your head against a brick wall and/or adding your own beat-box percussion.

All that isn’t even the worst thing; the vocals and lyrics are beyond awful. Gary Go strains his way through his songs with a voice dripping thick with false sincerity. What is probably intended to sound emotive and meaningful just comes across as, well, constipation to be brutally honest. Factor in lyrics that a schoolchild would baulk at if given them to sing in a school musical production and you have a recipe for possibly the worst album ever to be put on general release.

The album begins with Open Arms as Gary Go whines “whatever happened to truth?” and it’s all downhill from there. There are too many examples of pathetic pleased-with-itself, thinks-its-profound, cod-psychology within Gary Go to list here, but there are a few “highlights.” Today’s favourites are: “We are a miracle wrapped up in chemicals” (from Wonderful) and “I’m finding it hard to fill in the pros on my ‘Reasons for Living’ list” (from So-So, a kind of inferior version of the Goo Goo Dolls‘ Iris). When there’s a wealth of talent in music today plus an exhaustive back catalogue of riches you could immerse yourself in, it’s difficult to imagine who could lap up this rubbish.

After listening to Gary Go in its entirety, it’s not an exaggeration to say it’s more poisonous than anything to come out of the Simon Cowell stable of identikit svengali-controlled pop. It’d be preferable to listen to the soundtrack to High School Musical than this; at least Zac Eyebrows, Cordon Bleu and the girl who had naked pictures on the Internet serve up something which tries to be fun, bouncy and doesn’t take itself too seriously. After a few minutes of Gary Go’s morose, self-obsessed attempt at music, an hour of jumping around to choreographed dance routines with a fixed grin on your face is a much more attractive prospect.

It’s difficult to know what message Gary Go wants to send out with this LP. Half of the tracks are a rallying call-to-arms that a motivational speaker would find ridiculous and the other half are wallowing, boo-hoo-the-world-is-mean-sometimes mope-fests. For example, on Heart and Soul, Gary Go sings “Nothing will matter, nothing at all, if you don’t follow your heart and soul” but on the very next track (Speak), it’s “I’m sorry I spoke, I had all my eggs in one basket; it broke.” The belief that authenticity is all has led Gary Go to create eleven tracks of bland, contemptible music that’s little more than an exercise in lowest common denominator box-ticking.

So, you can probably tell that it’s recommended you don’t buy Gary Go, unless of course every day you wake up hopeful of a Daniel Powter comeback. Some of the orchestral arrangements are pretty listenable (the brass and strings on Brooklyn are certainly above-average) but that’s really clutching at straws. Gary Go is an unforgivably turgid album that is bad in practically every way imaginable.

Hey, you know what? That was cathartic.

Quicken The Heart

Maximo Park - Quicken The Heart
released 11 May 2009 on Warp

Over the last twelve months, it seems that a trend has arisen where after the “difficult second album” you have the “even more difficult third album.” New wave Geordies, Maximo Park, burst onto the scene in the middle of the decade with A Certain Trigger, three months after Bloc Party’s Silent Alarm and a year after Franz Ferdinand’s eponymous début. All three were Mercury nominated (and in the case of Franz Ferdinand, actually won the poisoned chalice of an award) and, if you were to believe the press at the time, heralded a new age in British rock. The media fell over themselves in thrall to the 80s influences, the jerky rhythms, the synths and the fact there was boys with guitars playing music you could actually dance to.

In the cold light of day, that all seemed a bit premature. All three bands struggled with their follow-ups (Maximo Park’s Our Earthly Pleasures, Bloc Party’s A Weekend In The City and Franz Ferdinand’s You Could Have It So Much Better…) and this worrying trend has continued for Franz Ferdinand and Bloc Party on their recent third efforts (Tonight and Intimacy respectively). These albums may have peaked in the upper reaches of the charts and had impressive first-week sales figures, but fell away relatively quickly as the former flavours of the month struggle to conjure up something to beat that “shock of the new” when first albums can sell tens of thousands on little more than industry hype.

So, onto Quicken The Heart. Initial listens suggest that Maximo Park intend to recapture past glories by doing the same as they have before, yet with more maturity and less intensity. Whether the “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” approach is a good or bad thing is up to you; it never seemed to do AC/DC any harm, for example. However, as the melodies seep into your brain, Quicken The Heart reveals itself to be professional and adept, if not exhilarating and ground-breaking.

Frontman Paul Smith is one of the great performers and characters of the 21st Century (he reportedly asks for a Vivienne Westwood tie and “mystery paperback” on the rider at gigs) but he’s more restrained than usual here. It’s a shame since when he gives it his all, like on album highlight A Cloud of Mystery, it’s a joy to the ears.

Lead single, The Kids Are Sick Again, isn’t particularly arresting upon first hearing, and its subject of “the effect of advertisements on the youth of today” is unlikely to have you racing to the iTunes Store. However, like much of Quicken The Heart, give it time and its charms - in this case, a great off-kilter chorus - reveal themselves to you.

It’s tempting to suggest this album is world-weary and Maximo Park are going through the motions - maybe Quicken The Heart is a response to A Certain Trigger? They’re older and wiser, but as a result, more jaded and cynical. Who knows? What remains clear is that on eleven of the twelve tracks showcased, Smith still has a keen eye for detail. Tanned is probably the best example of this, as it describes how “Summer glazed our skin, but it scorched everything” and “she kept her jeans on in bed.”

Whilst Tanned and plenty others do a good job of chronicling young lust, Let’s Get Clinical, is wretched and the only excuse for it is that Maximo Park want the “Bad Sex In Fiction” award to be extended to music as well as literature. Now, a quick word of advice: any girl who can be seduced by lines such as “I’d like to map your body out, inch by inch, North to South, and I’m free for circumnavigation” is either a lonely and desperate fetishist, a dangerous axe murderer or more likely, both. The pay-off line of “Bare ankles used to mean adventure, with you they still do” may hark back to simpler times but by then, Let’s Get Clinical will have left you feeling so sordid you’ll want to take a shower.

Quicken The Heart has lots going for it and represents a more grown-up sound for Maximo Park. However, there’s an unshakeable feeling that they’re going through the motions a bit too frequently and that this represents a step backwards for a once fresh and exciting band. Unfortunately, it seems the curse of the third album may have struck again.

Hey Everyone!

Dananananaykroyd - Hey Everyone!
released 6 April 2009 on Best Before

When growing up, we all had phrases that were drummed into us with the intent of turning us into safer, healthier, more-rounded and just plain better people. “Don’t talk to strangers” looks after the safety aspect, “eat your greens” has been repeated so many times that some of us turn to doughnuts as adults just because we can and “never judge a book by its cover” should ensure that we’re all able to get on with our fellow man. Ah, yes, “never judge a book by its cover;” a well-meaning mantra that doesn’t hold much weight in the literal sense seeing as book covers are often tailored to appeal to the target market of said book. Anyway, however non-judgemental you may be, we’re all only human and susceptible to preconceptions. On which note, take a look at the picture above this article - what in the name of Saint and Greavsie is that?!

First off, the cover art looks like it’s been designed by a primate with bloodlust and rudimentary MS Paint skills. Secondly, the typeface for the band name is plain horrible and resembles the kind of thing you’d find in a Wiccan graphic novel. But then lastly, and most importantly is the band name itself. It’s clunky, it’s unfunny and it prevents ‘naykroyd (as the band refer to themselves) from being taken entirely seriously. It must have been thought of as a stop-gap after a particularly heavy night out on the tiles and they’ve never got round to changing it. It’s from the same school of thought that sees you trying to take on the world with a band called Dogs Die In Hot Cars.

Right, that’s the book judged completely by the cover - what’s it actually like? The short answer is an unfocused mess, albeit a divertingly entertaining one. Imagine Los Campesinos! and Architecture in Helsinki had spent their formative years locked in a cupboard under the stairs listening to nothing but crunching metal riffs played at 45rpm and drinking Red Bull. That’s about as close as mere words can come to describing the frankly bizarre sound of Dananananaykroyd. This is an album stuffed with more crazy ideas than Willy Wonka’s factory, where songs change time signature and pace twice a minute with reckless abandon and can veer from unlistenable cacophonous noise to measured balladry to laugh-out-loud hilarity within the confines of the same track.

Hey Everyone! opens with the vocal-less title track which manages to pack catchy riffs, bounce and a no-holds barred prog wig-out into its ninety seconds. This then gives way to Watch This!, beginning with tribal chanting and a Los Campesinos! style vocal imploring “Hiya - watch this! Watch this!” And watch - or rather, listen - is what you need to do; take your eye - or rather, ear - off this song for a second and it’ll turn around and lose you completely, which is a theme prevalent throughout the whole album.

When Hey Everyone! is calm and considered, it can be a thing of beauty. It’s just a shame Dananananaykroyd don’t let anything bed in before rewriting the rule book. Progressive rock influences run deep through The Greater Than Symbol and The Hash whilst a copy of Black Wax should be sent to all bands aspiring to be My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco to should how it should be done. Oddly, the principal lyrics to the chorus of Pink Sabbath appear to be “Dimitar Berbatov - hey!” and really, they might as well be for all the difference it makes.

The singing is all but indecipherable practically the whole way through Hey Everyone! as well as being extremely grating to endure. Sure, it has a passion and a rabid intensity but the vocals are so irritating (Totally Bone being a case in point) that it would be no exaggeration to say they’re on a par with the half-yelp half-scream that furnished The Automatic’s début album.

And this describes the contradiction that is Hey Everyone! - a record that’s never dull but you don’t want to listen to it, a record that’s full of bluster and played at break-neck speed but excels only when it’s restrained, and a record that seeks to combine the unlikely bedfellows of metal and twee pop. Everyone will find something appealing about Dananananaykroyd, no matter how small, but it’s difficult to imagine anyone truly loving this record, regardless of whether they judge it by its cover.

Wall Of Arms

The Maccabees - Wall Of Arms
released 4 May 2009 on Fiction

The Maccabees’ début album, 2007’s Colour It In, closed with the track Toothpaste Kisses - a gorgeous, tender pop song that deserved huge success. Unfortunately, it didn’t even chart and so joined the legions of great lost singles.

Undeterred, The Maccabees are back and have roped in Midas-fingered producer Markus Dravs (Bjork, Coldplay, Arcade Fire) for Wall of Arms. Dravs’ influence is all over the record, specifically the touches he brought to Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible; in fact, frontman Orlando Weeks has more than a touch of Win Butler in his startled yelp of a voice.

As well as Arcade Fire flourishes, The Maccabees draw their influences from far and wide. It’s just unfortunate that each band member has a completely different influence and that leads to a rather confused band identity. The drums are straight out of the Bloc Party school of hi-hat battering, basslines appear to have been lifted from Franz Ferdinand’s first album, there are Shins-style guitar licks all over the show and as well as Win Butler, Weeks seems to be doing his best to channel the spirit of Justin Vernon and - at times - Antony Hegarty too (unsuccessfully, it must be said).

So, sounds like you won’t be getting Toothpaste Kisses II then. Actually, what you will get is an overwhelming sensation that you’ve heard everything here before. For the majority of Wall of Arms, The Maccabees resolutely stick to the guitar/bass/drums/vocals template, which may not be headline news but it’d be nice to let them loose on a high-school musical instrument trolley now and again. Keeping it simple is a trick that only works if you’re really, really good - remember you’re up against early Lennon and McCartney if that’s the route you pursue. Just ask Weezer, who got the simple stuff spot-on for a while but have faltered since 2002’s confused Maladroit. The Maccabees do not possess a McCartney, a Lennon or even a Cuomo and it’s all too obvious.

Wall of Arms certainly has its moments though: the harmonies of opening track and recent single Love You Better being the most obvious example. Their plain approach pays dividends on Can You Give It but it’s on the title track that The Maccabees really shine. Wall of Arms begins with a funk bassline before a wall of crunching guitars is introduced which is given room to breathe thanks to joyful trumpet stabs. This sets the scene for a near-perfect future radio classic before the bass, layer upon layer of guitar and horns close the whole thing out, leaving you exhausted.

It’s a shame that these high points are so few and far between because so often, The Maccabees seem content to settle for mediocrity. Even Weeks himself sounds bored as the album begins its stagger to the finishing line, his voice only has two setting: impassioned longing and “can’t be bothered.” Closing track Bag of Bones is so lethargic it needs a litre of Red Bull just to get out of bed in the morning.

There have been so many great artists and albums in the past that it’s far too much to expect a quintet of early-twenties London kids to reinvent the wheel, but is it really too much to ask that they try doing something interesting? Each track in its own right has nothing inherently wrong with it, but put eleven of them together and it’s all a little one-dimensional. It’s difficult to fathom how a producer who has worked with an artists as diverse and inventive as Bjork could put his name to something so vanilla, yet there are enough flashes of inspiration here to suggest The Maccabees could have a bright future. If only they stop trying to be everybody else for a while and learn to be content to be themselves.

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.

The Contradictions of Footballing Rivalries

For a change of pace - and to try and extend the number of categories of topics I write about to... er, two - I've written an article examining the curious relationship between rival clubs.

It was Morrissey who first said “we hate it when our friends become successful.” As true as this may be, there is an alternate maxim that also holds some weight: “We hate it when our enemies become failures.”

This may not make much sense at first glance, but this is the realm of football fans we’re talking about: a world where little makes sense initially. It’s a state of mind where intelligent, educated men (it’s nearly always men, though they‘re often far from intelligent) are prepared to spend thousands of pounds and invest hours and hours of their time each year to follow their team around the country. In most civilised quarters, if you drove 400 miles to Wigan on a rainy Tuesday in December to watch eleven obscenely overpaid athletes - a fair few of whom had never even heard of your beloved club until their agent called and the pound signs flashed before their eyes - essentially chase a leather ball around a field. Yes, there’s the ecstasy of the last minute winner that guarantees promotion or safety, the sublime goal conjured from nothing, the thrill of an end-to-end 4-3 victory, but these occurrences are all too rare and fleeting. When was the last time you saw a football fan actually happy while watching their team? For the most part, it’s a painful, unrequited relationship, full of disappointment and resentment.

Football fans really do love their clubs though; often talking about the club as if they were part of it. “We were brilliant on Saturday,” “the referee didn’t give us anything” and so on. In fact, the only feeling or loyalty in football that even comes close to the love of the fan for their club is the hatred of that same fan towards their club’s local rivals. A small confession - I’m little better. While “hatred” is far too strong a word in my case, (I’m probably not classed as a “real” fan anyway; I’ve been to one game in the last five seasons) the result I look out for immediately after my own club (another example, calling them my club) is that of the local rivals in the hope that they’ve lost.

In mid-April, Ipswich Town beat Norwich City 3-2 in a Coca-Cola Championship match at Portman Road. Little was at stake for Ipswich other than local bragging rights, their season dissolved into mid-table nothingness not long after Christmas, but the result left Norwich in serious danger of relegation to League One. The next day, the independent Ipswich Town website, Those Were The Days (www.twtd.co.uk) held an online poll: “Do you want Norwich City to be relegated?” That same day, a look at the results would have told you that 30% of people voted ‘No.’

Just to get this out of the way at the earliest possible opportunity, this is hardly the most scientific or rigorous of surveys - perhaps a disgruntled Delia Smith felt the need to spend all of Monday morning vigorously attacking her left mouse button with an egg whisk while the cursor hovered over the ‘No’ option - but it still raises an interesting question: If Norwich are Ipswich’s bitterest and most-despised rivals, why are there any fans who wouldn’t want them to be relegated?

Just to put it into context, relegation to the third tier of English football would be little short of a disaster for Norwich City. As recently as 1993 they played in the UEFA Cup where they became the first and only English side to defeat Bayern Munich in Germany in a competitive match. Rivalry between Ipswich and Norwich has been fierce since their first meeting in 1902 and has maintained ferocity despite the fact that League One side Colchester United play less than twenty miles from Ipswich whereas Norwich is over forty miles away.

This is the thing about bitter football rivalries; although they are usually formed due to geographical proximity, it is historical factors that keep them on the boil. Ipswich and Norwich are both moderately successful clubs and have played in the same level of the Football League system many times. Colchester, on the other hand, are a relatively new club and have spent only two of the last forty years in the same league as their more famous cousins. Colchester fans hold a bitter grudge against Ipswich (although their main rivals are arguably fellow Essex-dwellers Southend United), possibly borne from envy, but Ipswich fans are generally dismissive of their lower-league neighbours. The history explains why clubs that have fairly recently become successful after decades in the wilderness, such as Hull City, Wigan Athletic and Fulham, don’t really have derby games. The clubs that they would see as their rivals are still languishing divisions below and whilst the media may try to create the perception of a derby around Wigan versus Blackburn or Fulham versus Chelsea, the truth is Chelsea and Blackburn are likely to not even care.

But why even create a media frenzy? Well, it sells more papers for a start but the clubs want the revenue. Ipswich’s average attendance for league games this season is somewhere around the 20000 mark, but for the Norwich game, the gate was up to 28274. At £29 for a ticket, that’s nearly £250000 more for the football club. Next season, no Norwich means no local derby, means no sell-out game. Leicester City and Peterborough United have been promoted from League One for next season; no disrespect meant, but they’re unlikely to bring in the fans in the same way.

So, they’re the teams we love to hate and the teams we hate to love. For the record, a 4-2 defeat to already relegated Charlton Athletic means that Norwich City will be spending the 2009/10 season in League One. Long trips to Exeter, Hartlepool and Carlisle await for those loyal enough to follow their club through thick and thin while they look with envy at Ipswich with their new, high-profile manager and aspirations of bigger things. Ipswich are amongst the favourites to win promotion to the Premiership next season; there will be a lot of people hoping that Norwich aren’t too far behind.