After Grog Blog

THE GRASS MENAGERIE

Here's an ever so slightly positive review. Just slightly, mind you.

Acoustic Music

This is not only one of his best records but it is one of the best cowboy discs ever cut , and the only artist who can match this CD is Ian Tyson. Russell is a great rocker like Bruce Springsteen, a great rock balladeer that ranges along Joe Cocker or Jimmy Lafave, a great singer-songwriter, and a great folkie, but when it comes to cowboy music territory, he is the top of the top. Russell excels in this field, surpassing anything that has been done before, and creates a mythology of the old west, of cowboys and outlaws that is at the heart of the American narrative.

He seems to like it a lot. I, on the other hand, just like it.

I also like that this reviewer's name is Hank. Sounds awfully western, doesn't it. His real name is probably Jai. Or Todd.

Popmatters

Tom Russell's latest, Indians Cowboys Horses Dogs, is just what the wrapper reads: a musical overview of a time passed set in lovely harmonies and sparse musical accompaniment, a loving tribute to the Old West.

Russell has been in the music business for years, a singer songwriter of some acclaim whose songs have been recorded by everyone from Johnny Cash, Guy Clark, and k.d. lang to Dave Alvin, Suzy Boggus, Iris Dement and Peter Case.

I don't like k.d.lang at all. If you refuse to master big letters, you have no credibility.

AGB Rating - Credit

NOT IN CAMERA

Heard some juicy dish the other day.

A good friend of mine works at a big firm In The City and recently replaced a famous sportsman -- most famous in Melbourne, if you get my drift -- who'd been working there.

Although there's been the occasional hint to the contrary, it's fair to say this sportsman's public persona ranks somewhere up there between Mother Theresa and Sean Connery.

Yet when my friend asked what the sportsman was really like, the universal opinion was a fierce "shocking bloke". Even the firm's big-boss replied he was a very, very, VERY ordinary sort. Wouldn't even sign autographs for the kiddies in his street. A total turd, in fact. They had a nickname for him.

Only For The Cameras _______ .

Cryptic clues only, please. Your time starts ... now.

SAN DIEGO PADRES

Giant Sand and Calexico get moody. Well, moodier.

By the way, the last track, Cathedral 4 (The Unbreaking Branch and Song) finishes suddenly at 2:22. Don't panic, though, there's nothing wrong with your CD, it just finishes. Bit of a pity, if you ask me, it's the best track on the album. Charitable listeners might suggest it leaves you wanting more. The less charitable, me for instance, am actually upset it leaves you wanting more.

Stylus

The 21st century is forcing the "I dig anything but country" music-listeners to reconsider their biases. Headed by the works of Will Oldham, Grey Delisle, and My Morning Jacket, this millennium has given way to several notable country western-tinged albums that even the stingiest of Diesel-over-River Canyon Blues wearers can enjoy.

The distaste for contemporary country is mostly understandable given the genre has been represented by dramatic Ford Country commercials and the pre-pubescent Billy Gillman. But the same injustice occurs when people place the face of modern country as Travis Tritt and Garth Brooks, as when people view Jet as the archetype of indie rock. We need to look past the figureheads of the genre, and focus on brilliant outliers. Musical karma will surely take its course on the questionably popular country acts and they will soon find themselves signing contracts with southern buffet/entertainment establishments in Branson, MO.

AGB Rating - Distinction

CALIFORNIA CREAMING

Yanks get their fair share of bad press regarding exported problems. The world's tribulations are often slated home to the perfidious influence of the Evil Empire. In fact, here in Straya, a regularly tendered reason not to do something is, "God no! We don't want to be like America!"

In short, the Yanks do plenty of good. Although, there's really no excuse for Entertainment Today.

Occasionally, though, the boot's on the other foot. During the California gold rush, for instance. The Golden State had their fair share of imported trouble makers.

"Australia sent us a swarm of bandits who dedicated themselves exclusively to robbery and assault."

-- Mariano Guadalupe Vallejo

It's nice to get one back.

Vallejo went on to accuse Chinese immigrants of being "harmful to the moral and mechanical development of the country."

Naturally the French imports were a bunch of "lying men and corrupt women." Plus ca change ... and all that.

However, these sins comprised a mere bagatelle compared with ...

"All these evils became negligable with the swollen torrents of shysters, who came from Missouri and other states of the Union.

These legal thieves clothed in the robes of the law took from us our lands. And without the least scruple, enthroned themselves like so many kings.

FOLK KNOWS WHAT HAPPENED

There's slightly more than a good chance you've heard of Michael Nesmith.

Well, between the late sixties of Monkeys, wisecracks and beanies, and his late seventies minor hit Rio, Nesmith released a series of better-than-fair albums, which unfortunately ranged from flop to almost a flop.

The high point would be a fantastic song, Grand Ennui -- pity it's only two minutes long -- which is on Nesmith's best album, Michael Nesmith & The First National Band.

I mention this only by way of comparison with another folk-rocker, Paul Siebel. Siebel was even more inconspicuous during the early seventies, but was the kind of musician Nesmith no doubt would have aspired to.

These two albums, Woodsmoke & Oranges and Jack-Knife Gypsy, re-released on one CD exhibit the kind of virtuosity Nesmith never quite managed to attain, but seem to me to be exactly the type of music the former Monkey was trying to make. Especially Jack Knife Gypsy.

Quite brilliant.

Allan Jones of Uncut.

It's sadly probably that the only a handful of people reading this review will have heard of Paul Siebel, let alone the music he made on these two incredible records. Originally released in 1970 and 1971, they quickly disappeared without a trace, vinyl chimera, as did, soon after, Siebel, their charismatic author.

What acknowledgement they recieved at the time was unbelievably meagre, but often eccstatic. For those of us fortunate enough to have heard them on first release, these LP's were testament to a breathtaking talent, whose genius flared briefly, but brilliantly enough to be mentioned in the same breath as any of the songwriting legends who rode the folk and country rock booms of the '60s and early '70s, from Dylan to Gram Parsons. Much revered by his contemporaries, Siebel simply blew out of town after Jack-Knife Gypsy, destination: obscurity.

Not forgetting that whenever there's an organ winding in and out of the music, it's against the law to ignore The Band.

I'm going to cheat and break the one CD into two individual albums. Just on the off chance you come across either in a bargain bin. And believe me, either would be a bargain.

AGB Rating

Woodsmoke And Oranges - Distinction

Jack Knife Gypsy - High Distinction

TROY MISSING

Fingers tightly crossed, but this sounds ominous.

AFL player Broadbridge missing in Phuket

AFL footballer Troy Broadbridge from the Melbourne Football Club is missing in Phuket.

Broadbridge was on his honeymoon with wife Trisha in Phuket, one of several areas wiped out by the Indian Ocean tsunami, the club said in a statement.

The club said Trisha was safe, but that the 24-year-old defender was still missing.

"It is devastating, Troy is a great player and team mate, our thoughts are with his family and wife Trisha," Melbourne chief executive Steve Harris said in a statement.

"We all feel particularly helpless at this time as all we can do is sit and wait for news."

A chaplain has been made available to all players and staff.

THE OLD MAN AND THE Cs

I felt Nabakov's excellent short play deserved greater salience than can be provided in a mere comments box.

And in the commentors box, Earnest Hemingway and Samuel Beckett (who apparently was no slouch on the field himself).

EH: It is a blue sky with small clouds. The white figures stand still on the green pitch. The man with a ball looks at the man with the bat. The crowd holds its breath like it was one person, watching the two men under the hot sun, face to face, mano a mano. Sam?

SB: We're waiting.

EH: Now the red ball flies at the man, surrounded by crouching figures who move towards him. He moves his feet fast, like a dancer. He hits the ball hard with the shining wood in his hand. It is strong stroke, a stroke with heart like the moment a big fish strikes. The ball flies across the ground and the umpire stretches his arms up like he wants to hold the sky for this moment.

SB: It's a cover drive for four. You have peculiar ears Earnest.

EH: My ears?

SB: Yes, the sun shines through them when you turn that way. Why I wonder?

EH: Can we get back the game Sam? Although nothing is happening right now.

SB: Yes. I like this part.

Phone rings. EH answers.

EH: Say what you must say.

KERRY PACKER [on phone]: Yeah Kerry here. What the fuck do you two fucking clowns think you’re fucking doing! You're even putting the fucking seagulls to fucking sleep!

SB: Is that the call I have been waiting for?

EH mouths "Kerry" at SB.

SB: He has a curious head which is soft yet hard.

EH gives SB the finger and turns his attention back to the crackling phone.

KP: ... don't pull yer fucking finger out really fucking fast, I'm gonna go back to using Poofter Proust and Hunter S Thompson again. At least they fucking say more in a fucking minute than youse fucking cunts have said all fucking hour. I wanna here some fucking action and movement really fucking fast. CLICK.

SB: Was he troubled too by the steady procession of time, marked only by suddenly contorted bodies?

EH: Er no Sam, he wants you to call the next innings on your own.

SB: Very well ... I shall wait ... would you like a tim-tam, Earnest?

EH: No thanks. Look, I think I'll just slip out and stretch my legs for while. You'll be allright on your own Sam?

SB: We are always in the end on our own ... I will wait. Ooh, a Mexican Wave!

RAINY DAYS AND TUESDAYS

Things work in mysterious ways.

I spent Christmas Day at a friend's place when at one point we started talking about carpenters. Not THE Carpenter, mind you, not a certain Gallilean craftsman born on Christmas Day. But the marginally less famous Carpenters plural. The saccharine pop duo from the seventies. Specifically we talked about a cover version of On Top Of The World by Japanese band Shonen Knife. "Goes alright," I said.

Later on when home, I was checking my blog referrers and happened to notice a strange URL.

Clicking on the URL, it turned out the address was for the very same, recently talked about but haven't mentioned them in years, Shonen Knife. This is in spite of the fact that out of all the bands in the world, a sum-total of NONE, not-even-one, have ever linked to the AGB.

Now that's what I call a coincidence.

By the way. I couldn't understand a word that was written on the site, most of it was just question marks.  I couldn't even find a link back to here (how does that work?). But it was nice to have a couple of hot Japanese guitar chicks peering back at me.

Hello there, girls. Merry Christmas Darlings.

REPLACEMENT THRILLERS

Just because Uncut do it, I will. Put Come Feel Me Tremble and Dead Man Shake together, that is.

In fact, I  may as well just pinch the words of Uncut's Allan Jones.

It's bruising, bareknuckle stuff, uncompromising: a six-string symphony of fuzz distortion, feedback howl and the kinds of guitar riffs that make you think of rowdiness in the streets, barging crowds in a hollering mood. It's the equivalent of a bar room brawl, a midnight ruck, chains flying, things being smashed, Robert De Niro lashing out with a pool cue, impressively raucous to the point of sounding, frankly, like a fucking riot.

Think Keef.

I disagree with Jones about What Kind Of Fool Am I? though. It strays far too close to filler for comfort. Although I suppose it's appropriate he likens it to Raging Bull, considering how I dislike the film.

The last word should go to Q Magazine ...

A moribund collection of ragged but never rugged songs. [Jan 2004, p.114]

What are you waiting for? Q -- see this list -- bagged Dead Man Shake. There are few higher recommendations.

 

AGB Rating - Distinction

BLESSED IN SHOW

Possibly better known for his work with Emmylou Harris and Steve Earle, Buddy Miller is, in fact, an accomplished performer in his own right.

If you like country music with grunt, gospel and great playing, get on down to the Universal United House of Prayer.

Christianity Today

Though he's only released a handful of solo albums since 1995, 51-year-old Buddy Miller is something of a legend in underground Christian and alt country circles, playing guitar for many highly regarded artists. That still holds true on Universal United House of Prayer, which features the talents of his wife Julie, Regina and Ann McCrary, Steve Hindalong, Phil Madeira, and even a duet with longtime friend Emmylou Harris on "Wide River to Cross." The music is deeply rooted in Americana—country, blues, folk, and gospel—but given a modern-day sheen.

AGB Rating - Distinction

CHUCK MATE

"In order to improve your game, you must study the endgame before everything else, for whereas the endings can be studied and mastered by themselves, the middle game and the opening must be studied in relation to the endgame."

-- Capablanca

One of my best friends is an oil company heavy-hitter who lives in the UK. His name is Gerard and while Gerard is undoubtedly a Ray Martin endorsed top bloke, he has a severe and serious side to his character. Some would unkindly suggest he's a moody bugger. Not me, though. Well, maybe in one of MY moods.

Anyway, as coincidence would have it, rotten-tempered Gerard now lives in Gerrards Cross. GC (apparently that's what hip locals call it) is north-east of London on the way to Oxford and somewhere between Chalfont St Peter and Stoke Poges. That should narrow things down.

Last Sunday I was talking with Gerard and he told me GC was extremely affluent, like Toorak. For readers not familiar with Toorak, it's a posh Melbourne suburb much like ... well, Gerrards Cross.

Then yesterday, by way of confirmation, I was informed ...

Killer Fact! Gerrards Cross has the highest number of millionaires per capita in the UK.

This got me remembering. Gerard, who is now loaded, owes me money. Back in 1989, I was sharing a house with him and one Friday night he came home shit-faced and threw up all over my computerised chess game.The bastard thing never worked again.

So here's MY endgame. Next time I'm in the UK, probably July during The Ashes, I'm going to free-load on Gerard to the tune of one computerised chess game.

Or $99.50.

At around 30 pounds, that should buy me a big time in the old dart.

PISS PAW

Did I really manage to sit through a whole album of Panda Bear's slappy, flappy, flakey nonsense?

You want to read something positive? Read it elsewhere.

Metacritic

(Pitchfork) Actually, everything about it suggests cult; it's the kind of record that will have a profound impact on a small number of people, be ridiculed by many more, and never be heard at all by almost everybody. Young Prayer is incredibly personal and naked, but it's also very unique, and it will doubtless disappear and be rediscovered periodically as years pass.

Consider it ridiculed.

AGB Rating - Fail

MEAT AND GREET

"Excuse me, sir. Do you mind if we inspect your snaggage?"

Man fined for hiding his salami

A SWISS student is counting the cost of hiding a sausage, after being charged under Australia's strict quarantine laws and fined $4,000 in a Perth court.

Dylan Pascal Graves, a Swiss national studying English in Western Australia, was nabbed carrying a salami at Perth International Airport in November after a routine search by Australian Quarantine and Inspection Service (AQIS) officers.

Superb work from the Hun subbies, by the way.

PORTLAND TRAILBLAZERS

When I first heard Post To Wire from Portland's Richmond Fontaine, my initial response was that it was OK, nothing spectacular, but not bad. Well, I just played it again, and as is so often the case after a few listens, my response had changed up to; "Well, that really does go very nicely, indeed."

Oddly, as far as I can spot anywhere around the traps, there's the occasional nod to Ryan Adams, but no direct mention of Whiskytown's Strangers Almanac. A very obvious influence, if you ask me.

I reckon this review sums it up best.

Richmond Fontaine - Post to Wire

Upon first listen, Richmond Fontaine's Post to Wire can seem a bit disjointed, bouncing erratically from style to style, intertwining Uncle Tupelo-esqe acid-country with twangy ballads, rootsy pop and even a number of strange, out-of-place, spoken word "postcard" readings. I was initially apprehensive about the perceived disarray, but with continued listening the varying styles and viewpoints of this Portland based outfit come together gloriously to create a heck of an album.

AGB Rating - Distinction

STUPID IS AS STUPID DOOSRA

Listen up, ICC, let's not beat about the bush. The Doosra is a rank chuck. Even my very good friend, Peter Paddle at Fairfax agrees. So, come on, get your heads out of your ... the sand, and just ban the bugger outright.

The AGB, October 30.

Curator strung up by Gangulys

While I'm on [Harbhajan] Singh; he (like most offies) undoubtedly chucks his doosra. Surely it's time for an outright ban of this frightful delivery. A ball which is an utter blight on the game and eats at the very fabric of correct bowling technique.

Alex Brown in The Age, December 22.

Death of the doosra

Sri Lankan maestro Muttiah Muralitharan fears the days of the doosra are numbered, after Indian off spinner Harbhajan Singh was reported for a suspect action by the International Cricket Council.

Like Muralitharan earlier this year, Harbhajan was identified on Monday by ICC match referee Chris Broad for flexing his elbow beyond the "levels of tolerance" when bowling the controversial delivery, which spins away from right-handed batsmen.

Why would they even bother with Murali's opinion? He's hardly going to stick the boots in. And anyway, wasn't there a media-ban on him?

Muralitharan, speaking from Colombo yesterday, believes the constant scrutiny afforded to spinners who attempt the doosra could dissuade young bowlers from experimenting with the delivery.

"Definitely it could," Muralitharan told The Age. "If that happened, it would be a loss for the game. I don't know what the thinking is with umpires and match referees with this. It is obviously a very sensitive issue because you are dealing with bowlers' careers. But I think (the doosra) is good for the game."

When asked whether he felt Harbhajan's doosra was suspect, Muralitharan was prompt to defend his off-spinning rival.

"With the naked eye, I can't see anything wrong with it," he said. "I don't think there is a problem."

So much for the ban. Considering the rubbish he talks, though, you can see why it needs to be enforced. "Loss for the game." "Can't see anything wrong." May as well just add "Chucking is good for cricket." He certainly needs a proper tight gag.

I'll say it again, shall I? Murali. Hayden. Kandy.

And what's this from Brown?

Muralitharan has been analysed by Perth-based biomechanist Bruce Elliott, who measured his elbow flexion at between 11 and 14 degrees when delivering the doosra and believes the ball is impossible to bowl without bending the arm to some extent.

That's not the figure quoted in The Australian on November 13.

This isn't a licence to throw: May

This year, Muralitharan was banned from bowling his doosra after match referee Chris Broad claimed it was delivered with an illegal action. But subsequent testing, which did not conform to the strict protocols outlined in the planned reforms, showed his degree of straightening was on average 14 degrees, which means it would be allowed under the new guidelines.

So which is it? Eleven to fourteen degrees which a disgrace? Or an average of fourteen degrees which is an absolute disgrace?

Does anyone know where to go to find out EXACTLY what's what?

THE DOCTOR IS IN

Yes, alright, I know it was released in 2001, but I first heard it this year.

Just look at the Meta Critic page. The hip young things are all over Internal Wrangler, giving it rave reviews. While down the bottom, the corduroyed old farts and hacks at NME, Rolling Stone and Q are sticking the boots in. Mildly, mind you, but they're none too fond of it.

If Q bag something, it's just gotta be good. On the other hand, I'm no great fan of Loveless.

Clinic - Internal Wrangler

100 - Splendid - Absolutely essential! It's a coming-out party on the level of My Bloody Valentine's Loveless.

...

60 - Q Magazine - Though not without merit, the reliance on other people's melodies (and words on the Caroline Says-pilfering Distortions) can become trying after a while.

I reckon I'm somewhere in between, but tending toward the top. Sure I've heard it all before, but so what, it's rare when I haven't. And anyway, I like the way it all sounds.

AGB Rating - Distinction

WE ANALOGISE FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE

I wonder how often Martin Flanagan saw Robert Louis Stevenson bounding in from the Kirkstall Lane End.

The bowler from the northern end reminds me of the Scottish writer Robert Louis Stevenson. Tallish, lean, angular, long grey hair tied back in a ponytail. He has a bounding rhythm to his run that means that he has energy in reserve at the point of delivery. That means the ball can leave his hand full of twist and menace.

Sports writers and commentators love a good analogy.

"Ronaldo reminds me of Gandhi. Bald, brown and light on his feet." -- Martin Tyler.

Well, Martin didn't really say that. He wouldn't, would he. He never saw the "Little Brown Man" perform a quick one-two round an over-lapping Stanley Matthews.

THE DET OFFENSIVE

Don't look at me, I dunno what he's saying. The music's great, though.

Dungen - Ta Det Lugnt

Unless you are from Sweden, you will not understand a word of Ta Det Lugnt. Unless you are adverse to stunning psych rock, your ass will be rocked sideways by Dungen. Hell, I'm not even a huge fan of the stuff myself, but Dungen has pulled something together with this 13 track release that has really grabbed my ears and knocked me back to about the date of my birth (almost 30 years ago now, yikes).

Thirty? If I hear yet another twenty-something complain about turning thirty ... Get over it, junior!

AGB Rating - Distinction

YEAH, BABY-FACE

Did anyone hear Andrew Flintoff last night? No? Well, at one point he hit a four and as he did so, screamed out "YEAH!"

Cocky bugger. Bring it on, Pudding Head.

BLOOM AND GLOOM

Tindersticks meets Willard Grant Conspiracy meets well, think grim. Pity it's only an EP.

The National - Cherry Tree EP

If there is a fault to be found on Cherry Tree it's that it is too short at less than 30 minutes. But it was never intended to be more than a place holder as the band is currently preparing a batch of new songs for unveiling on their third full-length record (their first on the Beggars Banquet label) during Spring 2005.

Let the countdown begin for one of next year's most anticipated releases.

The National - Cherry Tree

Less than a year ago, the National released a sweeping concept album, Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers, to widespread acclaim, earning these Cincinnati-bred, Brooklyn-based alt-country crooners some deserved buzz. As it implies, Sad Songs is steeped in dark lyrics about seedy characters, dusty motel beds and liquor-fueled fights. But instead of sitting back and enjoying the fruits of that album's success, the National went back into the studio and churned out six new songs for their follow-up EP, Cherry Tree.

AGB Rating - Credit (Docked a level for being an EP)

GOOD AS ...

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ..... gasp ..... GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLD

Over the last couple seasons I've been critical of Foxtel because of their decision to rob Australian viewers of the brilliant Martin Tyler / Andy Grey English Premier League pre-game show.

Well, six words for youse all; Neil Evans, Robbie Slater, Andy Harper.

Excuse me for slip-sliding into hyperbole overdrive, but those three guys provide THE BEST sports analysis show on Australian TV.

Last night Foxtel's gab-fest before Middlesbrough stomped Villa was as good as any Aussie football talk-show I've seen. That's football of all versions. Strayan Rules, Ruggerby Union and Fuck-Me-Fire-Up-Bitch League.

Neil Evans = Rock solid anchor.

Robbie Slater = Likable goof.

Andy Harper = Star.

All three know their stuff and were comfortably all over the Preemy-Airah-Leegar, Seery-ahh-Ay, Boondess-leegar, Eee-Pee-Ell and our very own National Phoodboll Leeg of Les Murray Association Soccer Johnny Warren.

Simply superb.

Two and a bit more words -- Leapin' Larry L.

My favourite Australian sports writer.

Soccer talkfest no turn-off

Last week, during the Punic Wars-length break before Arsenal and Chelsea finally got around to playing the Premier League blockbuster for this section of the year, the Fox studio yak team must've jarred a few work week-weary eyes open, as they put in a corker.

The subject was the state of Australian soccer - Australia's future in Oceania, the A-League, Australia's World Cup qualification path, youth development - not executed as a staid, stuffy, linear-developed studio panel discussion, but more as a well-informed, high-level bar-room argument rampaging all over the subject matter, cross-referencing and doubling back where necessary.

Regulars Neil Evans (host/moderator role) and Robbie Slater ("It's all positive") were joined by Sydney FC assistant coach Ian Crook (in the devil's advocate/rational objector/Andy Harper-type role). First stop was the old chestnut about direct World Cup finals qualification for Oceania - i.e., Australia - which everyone involved was obviously in favour of, although with varying levels of conviction that it would ever happen.

First sign that this wasn't all going to be an invitation to bedtime was when Crook completely did his nut about CONCACAF (the North/Central American/Caribbean group) having three full direct-qualification places to the World Cup finals.

This hasn't been discussed all that much in these parts anyway, and you would have thought for sure Crook wasn't going to "mention the war", proverbially speaking, and come out with the telling political home truth about that situation. And then he did.

Crook stated baldly that this was all about ensuring the US has every possible opportunity to qualify for the final World Cup groupings, due to financial considerations. No one fell over themselves to contradict him either.

It's perhaps an obvious point, but hearing someone actually come out and finally say it probably prompted more than one home viewer to stand on his armchair flicking a Bic in solidarity.

An inspired Robbie Slater then added an entirely new expression to international soccer's political vernacular as he sagely summarised the Australian qualification dilemma thusly: "We've always been given the dud root."

"The run-around from FIFA," he added circumspectly, a little too late.

From there, it was on to the new A-League, and once again Crook came home with the groceries. "The public has been kicked in the teeth enough through the game over the last 10, 15, 20 years. I just think that we haven't got two to three years to get it right. I think it needs to be got right and got right very, very soon because the public will just turn and go, 'Oh, it's just the same as what it was before'."

The focus on public perception was timely and uncommonly sensible, leading to immoderate yahooing in certain loungerooms. You hope the folks actually running the show are on the same page.

Fox Sports' soccer bods had it nailed, though. It was a riveting rabbit-on from beginning to Arsenal-Chelsea. I loved it, Margaret and David loved it, and I give it five thumbs right up your new A-League.

PLAY IT BY CHEER

Think Led Zep recording a live album in a studio and you have Blue Cathedral.

It ain't new, but I love it.

Comets On Fire - Blue Cathedral

After a quiet opening passage of "Whiskey River," the group again layers guitar hook upon guitar hook as analog electronics blast and wails of guitar squall like mad as vocals that sound like a demented Robert Plant howl over it all.

Before Led Zep, though, there was Blue Cheer.

Comets on Fire - Blue Cathedral

All ye indie hacks dressed in psych's clothing oughta hang up your underused echoplexes and unprocessed Blue Cheer albums, because from here on in, y'all shall be measured against Blue Cathedral, Comets on Fire's blistering full-length number three.

AGB Rating - Distinction

WE'RE GONNA NEED A BIGGER BOAT

PANTS ON FIRE

What is it about Todd Rundgren that makes critics rave pants?

Sure, Todd knows how to tweak the buttons and knobs on the control desk. He should, he's been doing it long enough. But all too often his slick production masks merely OK material. Like Liars. Liars is fine, but lets not get carried away, please.

Listen to this twat from Paul Lester at Uncut.

Liars

The consumate pop craftsman, the rock'n'roll messiah, has returned. No one else would make an record as unfashionable and open to ridicule as this. Rundgren's determination to say something meaningful about what the hell we're all meant to be doing on this planet is, in this dismal age, nothing short of revolutionary. Liars is his best LP for 25 over years. Let him refute his existence. You want the truth? Todd is god. Again

Good grief!

Mike Barnes at Mojo at least shows some restraint. But he does that thing that critics often do; heap praise in the text, then only gives three stars. Can't be that delicious, afterall.

Liars

Once past the unexpected sonics - a curious mix of computer grooves, backbeats, synthetics, and funky analog keyboards that veers from 21st century white soul to banging Goan floorfillers the realisation that Liars finds Rundgren right back on form seeps in deliciously.

AGB Rating - Credit

BACKTRACK

INCH MOB

I heard Les Savy Fav on Twiple Jay yeterday. Don't look at me like that, I was surfing.

Anyhoo, embarrassing admissions aside, Inches goes very nicely indeed. Primary influences are the early Police, Gang of Four, Echo and The Bunnymen, but you could pick out any one of the British post punk-funk bands. Strange considering LSF are from Brooklyn. Thrown in for fun is also a sprinkling of Sam Spade, Firesign Theatre and Dick Danger type shtick. Also some childish political nonsense.

Apart from the political toolery, my main criticism would be that Inches goes on a bit, becomes quite remorseless, in fact.

Wolfman(?) likes them, though.

Les Savy Fav - Inches

Wolfman

Even before the release of its debut album in 1999, The Cat and the Cobra, Les Savy Fav mustered an idea that would either become a musical triumph or an utter failure. The plan was to release nine seven-inches on nine different labels, an idea that would turn enthusiasts of Les Savy Fav's art-punk drama into either devouring completists or failing incompletists. It was the latter case more often than not, as some of these seven-inches were near-impossible to find (French Kiss put it best when they said, "Even the band doesn't have copies of some of these songs"). But with Inches, all nine seven-inch releases have been conveniently compiled onto one disc, completing the prophesied cycle that was premeditated even before the first song was recorded. And it just so happens to be Les Savy Fav's strongest release yet.

I have no idea what Dave McGonigle is on about. Les Savy Fav, presumably. I think he gets to them eventually.

Les Savy Fav - Inches

Dave McGonigle

First of all, I have a bad habit. Several, actually, but let's start simple: I have a tendency to use terms in conversations that I don’t fully comprehend the meaning of. Take ‘high concept’, for example. I think I first heard it in an article about the movie producer Don Simpson, supposedly the foremost exponent of the ‘high concept movie’; yet it seems easier to define what isn’t high concept than the reverse (a bit like emo?). My only excuse is that no-one else really seems to be able to do any better: in Robert Kosberg's "The Bottom Line of High Concept" chapter in his book, How To Sell Your Idea to Hollywood, he credits the idea to Barry Diller and Michael Eisner: apparently "Diller and Eisner had to devise a way to grab attention in a TV Guide listing with just one or two lines... that one sentence had to convey just how exciting, sexy, provocative, and entertaining the movie was going to be for them to watch." Great. So why, if it’s just a way to sex-up a boring movie and can thus be theoretically applied to any film, do we have the term ‘high-concept movie’? Am I missing something? Does this, in the grand scheme of things, matter?

AGB Rating - Distinction

GNOME ALONE

At home in Perth, under pressure, half the score; well played B.N.Gnome.

TREBLE YELL

I really like Thunder Lightning Strike, but by Christ it could do with a remix. More bass, less treble, please.

Nevertheless, The A-Team, Hunter, Magnum. Wherever there are Crap-TV references; I'm there.

The Go! Team - Thunder, Lightning, Strike

Ryan Schreiber

The A-Team. CHiPS. The Great American Hero. Hunter. Riptide. Magnum P.I. Hardcastle and McCormick. For an all-too-brief moment in the early 1980s, network television seemed to cater almost exclusively to boys aged 7-15. I was lucky to be a member of this elite class, amongst the target demo of these kid-tested/mother-denied telecasts. But for all the hours I spent admiring Lee Majors' proto-MacGyver ingenuity and B.A. Baracus' oppressive unsilliness, I have no distinct visual memories of these shows; just a vague montage of military-grade explosives, dirt mounds, and white limousines.

And pop hooks galore ...

The Go! Team - Thunder, Lightning, Strike

John Mulvey

The band are blessed, fortunately, with exceptional taste. Over the 11 tracks, you can spot a penchant for Dexy’s Midnight Runners, Luscious Jackson, John Barry, early Def Jam, Double Dutch skipping chants, Sonic Youth, the Jackson 5, The Teardrop Explodes, “Groovin’ With Mr Bloe”, Bikini Kill, Belle & Sebastian and Vince Guaraldi’s music for "Peanuts". Listen to the album again, and you’ll probably come up with another dozen equally valid references.

AGB Rating - Distinction

EXILE ON DANE STREET

Act 4, Scene 1: A room in the castle. Enter King Claudius and Queen Gertrude ...

Claudius: "How goes Hamlet?"

Gertrude: "Not by bloody car; that's for sure!"

Danish authorities have progressively removed cars from Copenhagen's city centre, so that now there are more street cafés in Copenhagen (2970) than in Melbourne (1938).

Two legs good, four wheels bad

Jan Gehl, professor of architecture at the Royal Danish Academy of Fine Arts, is today's global superstar of urban planning.

[ ... ]

When Gehl and his colleagues announced their program, the Danish newspapers protested: "We are not Italians!"

"Via not amused"

UPDATE -- I've been alerted to a possible problem with the last line. So, for the un-Latined among you, "via" is pronounced "we are".

Get it? Good. Blindingly droll, no.

Although there COULD BE a Germanic inference which would turn "we are" into "vee are", or even "via" into "fee are". Or shut me up!

ALL ABAWD

Aha Shake Heartbreak, the King's of Leon's first album since Youth And Young Manhood, is a dirty, filthy album.

I'm passed out in your garden,
I'm in I can't get off so soft
I'd pop myself in your body
I'd come into your party but I'm soft

Classy stuff.

Musically, though, it's better than YAYM, more consistent, more even.

You'll either like it ... (dunno about The Strokes comparison)

Kings of Leon - Aha Shake Heartbreak

Mark Edwards

Like The Strokes' Room on Fire, Aha Shake Heartbreak is beautifully economical and endlessly inventive. Like Room on Fire, the only criticism I can level is that there are no big songs, no massive standout tracks that you have to skip back to and listen to again and again. Instead, the album works as a whole—and although you may not skip back to individual tracks, the moment the final gorgeous track ends, you'll want to start the whole thing over again.

Or you won't ...

Kings Of Leon - Aha Shake Heartbreak

John Mulvey

It'd be sillier still, though, to buy A-Ha Shake Heartbreak rather than, say, The Dirty South by Alabama's Drive-By Truckers: the sort of gristly, meaningful, hard-rocking classic that the Followills clearly aspire to make. But one which, for now, is almost tragically beyond their talents.

AGB Rating - Credit