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Electric Light Orchestra - Time

Jet Records, 1981

He stood before the ivory-fronted headquarters of the company. He had no idea why he had come here. They couldn’t help him and he certainly wasn’t welcome any more - not after his failed attempt to run away to the colony on the moon. Perhaps he was here because this place had been the beginning of his end, or, to put it more aptly, the final phase of his final phase.

The sun came out, one of the few reminders that he was still on Earth, one of the few things that hadn’t changed since what he now called his “old life”. The rain was another one of those things, rain that had beaten down upon London yesterday just like it had back in 1981. The ivory facade glinted as the rays hit its polished surface. So clean. So… Sterile.

‘We’ve made remarkable progress in environmental protection solutions since your time,’ Mark had replied when he had asked him about this. ‘It really took off in the early 2010’s, but even then the world was so polluted it took us a few decades to clean it all up. Science is a marvellous thing, don’t you think?’

No, he had wanted to reply, I don’t. Science is what’s trapped me here, what’s stopped me from going home. He picked up his suitcase, turned from the building and descended the steps onto the street. Charing Cross Road was as crowded as it had been in his time, except now the trundling double-deckers and belching black cabs were gone, replaced by their eco-friendly descendents. People spewed across the road on the zebra crossings, a few insubordinate souls ran across in the middle of the road. It had been his biggest surprise - disappointment, at first - that people hadn’t changed considerably in the hundred years he had skipped past. Fashion was more or less the same; he didn’t stand out in his tweed suit. People weren’t wired permanently to computers, nor had they evolved alien feelers or elongated ears. Except, Thomas reminded himself, some of them were androids.

He crossed Charing Cross Road and headed towards Leicester Square. The ticket booths was still there, the queues as long as ever, however the bars and cafes had all changed. He stopped by the Odeon and looked over the ticket prices. This was a pointless task, as he had no idea how much the Euro was now worth and how prices related to each other; it was more an attempt to regain normality than to obtain useful information. He turned back to the square. The pigeons took to the sky and he heard, in his head, how she would laugh at the silly birds. It made him wince.

‘You can’t go back,’ Mark had said. ‘I’m sorry. We’ve not yet developed the technology. Going forwards is relatively simple, you see - some fiddling about with your molecular structure, then break the speed of light and you’re on your way - but we’ve not found a way to go back. Our company has been working on it since we’d developed the machine that brought you here.’

‘So what do I do?’ he had asked.

‘Wait,’ Mark had replied. ‘I’m sorry.’

He fished out the piece of paper Mark had given him. The company were willing to put him up with somewhere to live and provide false documents for him, but he would have to manage on his own from there. As he unfolded the paper to re-read his new address, a one-pence coin fell from it and toppled to the pavement. He watched it trace circles on the scrubbed granite, then come to a halt at his feet. He picked it up, gave Queen Elizabeth one last glance, then pocketed it. He made his way towards Piccadilly Circus, from where he would catch the Tube and make his way to his new home.

Review by Llama

Track list

1. Prologue
2. Twilight
3. Yours Truly, 2095
4. Ticket to the Moon
5. The Way Life’s Meant to Be
6. Another Heart Breaks
7. Rain Is Falling
8. From the End of the World
9. The Lights Go Down
10. Here Is the News
11. 21st Century Man
12. Hold on Tight
13. Epilogue

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Sufjan Stevens - The Avalanche

Asthmatic Kitty, 2006

You’re a painter. You paint landscapes, mainly. The paintings are beautiful and extremely detail: you use the thinnest brush you have to individually paint in each blade of grass. Your paintings are full of life: there’s often a herd of deer dancing in the background, the trees are filled with birds, mice hide in between the bushes. Your paintings are vibrant, painted with the brightest of colours so that, when you cover your studio with them, it feels like you’re in the middle of summer, even at night. What amazes people the most is that you don’t even live in the countryside—you live in inner-city Chicago. Your days are filled with the choking fumes of mid-day traffic. People ask how you manage to draw such detailed pictures without a reference, but you don’t understand—all you have to do is close your eyes, and the pictures are right there, even more beautiful than you can ever realise. You slowly build up a small following, getting places in some major galleries, but you don’t really like the attention.

Your brother died a year or two ago. The police said it was an accidental death—but you’re not so sure. He was always such a good boatsmans, and he always wore his life jacket. It just doesn’t seem possible. Somehow, he keeps appearing in your pictures. Your brother is there, drowning in the lake, his body soaking in the harsh blue water. You don’t know how, you swear you don’t draw him. Sometimes you swear you didn’t even mean to draw water, but his body is still there, floating in the river, wearing his blood-red Arcade Fire tee shirt. In your heart, although you try not to think about it, you know it was probably suicide.

You draw another parade of rabbits, hopping across the front of the forest.

5/5

Reviewed by David.

Tracklist:

1. The Avalanche
2. Dear Mr. Supercomputer
3. Adlai Stevenson
4. The Vivian Girls Are Visited in the Night by Saint Dargarius and His Squadron of Benevolent Butterflies
5. Chicago (Acoustic Version)
6. The Henney Buggy Band
7. Saul Bellow
8. Carlyle Lake
9. Springfield, or Bobby Got a Shadfly Caught in His Hair
10. The Mistress Witch from McClure (Or, the Mind that Knows Itself)
11. Kaskaskia River
12. Chicago (Adult Contemporary Easy Listening Version)
13. Inaugural Pop Music for Jane Margaret Byrne
14. No Man’s Land
15. The Palm Sunday Tornado Hits Crystal Lake
16. The Pick-Up
17. The Perpetual Self, or What Would Saul Alinsky Do?
18. For Clyde Tombaugh
19. Chicago (Multiple Personality Disorder Version)
20. Pittsfield
21. The Undivided Self (For Eppie and Popo)

Trouble Over Tokyo - Pyramides

Schoenwetter Schallplattent, 2008

Somewhere out there in an alternate universe, the bassist from Radiohead (Colin Greenwood) came into the recording studio, where Thom Yorke was playing a dead kipper to the band, and said, “Haha! Hey, guys, guess what I just heard!? Some British indie tosser is going to record an album with Justin Timberlake!” and then the whole band laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea. But the bassist from Radiohead (Colin Greenwood), whilst clutching at his sides, lest they split, caught a glimpse of Thom’s eyes and saw the humiliation and embarrassment that tore through them, and then he knew. He knew. Not for the first time, Thom’s timid nature cost him an unique collaboration, and the world of music suffered just that little bit (although, admittedly, not much.)

Luckily enough, there are many alternate universes, and in one of them Thom Yorke and Justin Timberlake were involved in a horrific genetic accident a la The Fly and came out melded in some glorious pop mutation. Also, they were Belgian (but singing in English and living in London) and named Christopher “Toph” Taylor. Science does that sometimes.

Trouble Over Tokyo, then, is the name of Taylor’s project. It takes the introspective nature of British indie, dabs in electronica-goodness and slathers a good helping of thumping beats, falsetto vocals and generally amazingly pop sensibilities (from Belgium. Again, science). Pyramides is a hard album to place: Save Us starts out like an outtake from The Eraser, with a simple piano melody played out over electric drumbeats. Taylor’s voice is strangely powerful here, especially on the second verse—probably one of the most emotive vocals laid down in the past year. But by the time you get there, something in the back of your head is thinking, “this ain’t quite raite, lads.” All you wanted was a nice album containing indie-ballads about a man who likes a lady, and maybe some gentle ‘la-ing’ would be nice too. The first two tracks have pretty much delivered that, although you’re wondering why you’re compelled to twitch your body so much. Then The Liar strikes in with a violent violin intro and swooping vocals, track three, and here’s the chorus with jerky singing, layed vocals, echos, dancing bass, off-beat dru—shit, we’ve been had, guys, this is a fucking pop album.

Once you’ve reached that point, you might as well give in. Taylor certainly does. By the time we reach My Anxiety (containing some of the finest “whoops” ever caught on record) the record has become a self-parody of angsty R&B. Digital melancholia. A slice of pop pie coupled with the cream of depression. Because, if there was one thing to make Trouble Over Tokyo’s alternate universe collapse into our world, it must’ve been all this angst. On the first few tracks it’s barely noticeable. It becomes annoying around My Anxiety but that track’s so deliriously fun with it, so you can forgive it. But by the end of it, you just want to hug the poor guy and buy him an ice-cream and tell him to forget about the poor girl. This is an album where you’ll probably stop listening around track 7, only to come back later and accidentally here those last few songs and realise they’re just as good. But it’s such a tiring journey to get there, what with all this torment.

It’s by no means a perfect album. Slotting as it does between Thom Yorke and Justin Timberlake, there’s always the chance that it’ll slide too far in one direction—most often in the direction of Mr. Yorke, but by that point there’s still an undercurrent of Mr. Trousersnake that the pop bits stand out like some musical Uncanny Valley. And Eyes Off Me is just that awful bit of beauty teetering on the edge of cringing embarrassment. Maybe for the next album, he’ll have a nice girlfriend who wears woolly cardigans and flowery dresses and he’ll have a song about how awesome kisses are, and this limited run will be some sort of collector’s album. I certainly hope so, because while this album never fully embraces you, it gives a lingering kiss on the cheek that makes you wistfully think, what if?

7/10

Review by David

Tracklist
1. Start Making Noise
2. Save Us
3. The Liar
4. 4,228
5. Eyes Off Me
6. Washing Away
7. My Anxiety
8. No Handed (Part II)
9. The Dark Below
10. Pyramids

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The Kinks - …Are the Village Green Preservation Society

Pye Records, 1968

This album is the sore thumb sticking out of musical history. In 1968, Jimi released Electric Ladyland, shredding it up while high as a kite. The Stones were singing about raw sexuality, and The Beatles were discovering acid.

The Kinks were singing about draught beer, china cups, and virginity. This album could have been recorded on Mars, it was so far removed from what the rest of the world was doing. The Kinks were down on their luck. A mishap involving non-Union labor had barred them from performing in the United States, and a lack of hit songs left their bank accounts dwindling. The band was on the brink of breaking up. Ray Davies, who had recorded a few demo songs for what would become this album, decided that The Kinks had to record this album. And, ho boy, what a job they did.

The hooks on this masterpiece will stick in your mind like the cholesterol from that Baconator you ate will stick in your arteries. From the jangly acoustic guitar and piano of the eponymous first track to the harpsichord-infused semi-eponymous “Village Green,” to the hand-drumming and bassline in “Monica,” the album never skips a beat, musically.

The lyrics will charm your pants off. To quote a Rolling Stone review from 1969, “Ray makes statements, he says the sort of stuff that makes you delighted just to know that someone would say stuff like that.” It’s absolutely true. The album is a concept of sorts, a yearning for a Britain that never really existed, and the lyrics capture this yearning perfectly well. Standout tracks on that front are “Do You Remember Walter,” “Picture Book,” and “Animal Farm.”

I’m starting to ramble a bit here, so I’ll wrap this up. This album was undoubtedly one of the most underlooked albums of the 1960s. If you’ve never heard it, get it now.

Review by Luke

Track Listing:

1. The Village Green Preservation Society – 2:45
2. Do You Remember Walter? – 2:23
3. Picture Book – 2:34
4. Johnny Thunder – 2:28
5. Last of the Steam-powered Trains – 4:03
6. Big Sky – 2:49
7. Sitting by the Riverside – 2:21
8. Animal Farm – 2:57
9. Village Green – 2:08
10. Starstruck – 2:18
11. Phenomenal Cat – 2:34
12. All of My Friends Were There – 2:23
13. Wicked Annabella – 2:40
14. Monica – 2:13
15. People Take Pictures of Each Other – 2:10

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Tower of Love - Jim Noir

My Dad Recordings, 2005

There’s somewhat a school of thought that in art, it has to mean something, art must have this over-riding narrative, must be a reflection upon society. It’s not necessarily a pretentious school of thought, but has existed for nearly as long as Og the cavemen first dabbed his stick into a pile of shit and created an etching of a buffalo, or mammoth, and Ig said to him, “Ug, ug oguh uhh og eg og ug?”*

What I’m trying to say is, this way of thinking has often polluted art—in all its forms—to give way to works that have focused more on our inner faults and feelings than aesthetic (or in this case, aural) beauty, creating pieces of art that appeal only to art degree holders, eager to prove they didn’t waste three years of their life and forgetting to have any appeal to a broad audience. Is there a form of artistic intent that has managed to completely avoid this tarring brush? I would argue, fairy tales. Now, watch me seamlessly tie this arsing diatribe back into a review:

Much like fairy tales, Jim Noir (real name Alan Roberts) doesn’t over complicate things. His songs are often just a simple riff laid over a beautifully constructed drum beat with a plain subject: Eanie Meany says “If you don’t give my football back, I’m gonna get my dad on you,” with a delicious harmony, reminiscent of the bees that infest every British summer. He picks apart schemas of modern life such as playing football in the garden or the frustrations of modern technology, “I try control delete but it makes me upset when I have to re-set your mind,” says Computer Song. But again, like nursery rhymes (here I redeem myself for analysers of nursery rhymes, a notoriously violent bunch) they hide a complexity: not just in the layers of harmonies so prescient in Jim Noir’s work, but in their words too.

While there is often no distinction between verses and choruses, as the same lyrics repeat over and over in a song, Jim Noir picks apart these issues without falling into bathos as so many might be tempted to; singing with a pure honesty. This un-reliance on humour allows the listener to appreciate the song on a deeper level than might be expected: It’s not Joyce or Proust, by any means, but it’s breathtaking relief from other songs that attempt such analysis. Jim Noir realises that three-and-a-half-minutes is not the optimum time to tackle the meta-narratives of life, instead opting to delve into the microcosms of every day, allowing us to expand them onto life ourselves.

This is by no means a perfect record. In many cases the simplicity which I praise it for falls short of the mark—heard half of the song? You’ve heard all of it, in many cases.It also lacks an energy towards the latter end of the record, giving a disappointingly sombre effect. Yet it still manages to be one of the more innovative records of recent times in Britain, pissing in the face of those who claim complexity is the only way forward. It never tries to be anything more than its face value; for better or for worse, this is a record that simply just is.

*_{Yes, but what does it mean?}

Billy, Trini and Kimberly out of 5 Power Rangers.

Review by David.

Track listing.

1. My Patch
2. I Me You I’m Your
3. Computer Song
4. How to Be So Real
5. Eanie Meany
6. Tower of Love
7. The Key of C
8. Turbulent Weather
9. Turn Your Frown into A Smile
10. A Quiet Man
11. Eanie Meany 2
12. The Only Way

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