Bob Dylan - Tempest

• By Sam Herbert -
• Sep 13, 2012

• 

In some ways writing a Bob Dylan album review is a thankless task; there are the fans who will unerringly proclaim that every Dylan album is a triumph, the equally staunch groups of doubters who feel he’s past it and never recovered from his dip into holy waters, then there are the newcomers who will most likely become fans by listening to 'Highway 61', 'Blonde on Blonde' or 'Blood on the Tracks' before hearing the rasping squawks of Dylan’s voice on his more recent LPs. He also probably doesn’t give two cents to what an obscure writer across the pond thinks of 'Tempest', his 35th album, but then he never did really care what anyone thought.

But 50 years on from his first Dylan shows that his fire still burns bright, even if his voice doesn’t. As he growls on 'Early Roman Kings', "I ain’t dead yet, my bell still rings."

Musically Tempest has the same blend of expertly constructed blues, folk, rockabilly and western as all of his albums have had since 2001’s 'Love & Theft'. Dylan’s voice has been shot for a while now, as anyone who’s seen him live recently can attest, where guessing the song over his gravelly rasp is becoming increasingly difficult. Yet his old snarl suits the blues. None more so than on 'Tin Angel', a track with a shuffling, sinister backing which has Dylan at his raging best as a tale of murder and revenge unfolds; "it would take more than needle and thread, bleeding from the mouth he’s as good as dead."

'Duquesne Whistle' breezes in with a country swoon before it launches into a bluesy number with a bit more swing and a bit more punch. It seems that something has angered Bob considering the video has him stalking the streets of an American suburb, mob in tow, as some poor chap is dealt a thrashing. And an angry Dylan can only be a good thing. Fuelled by this, his lyrics, and let’s face it they’re the primary reason for listening to Dylan, are bold, fun and vitriolic, something which was missing on his last studio album, 'Together Through Life'.

The driving rocky blues of 'Pay In Blood' has Dylan enjoying himself with his sneering snarl taking on a mobster-like menace that would put Tony Soprano to shame; ‘the more I take, the more I give, the more I die, the more I live,’ and ‘I pay in blood but not my own.’ It’s a devilish ditty that shows that Dylan hasn’t lost any of the venomous contempt that made Mr Jones quake in his boots. But to compare Tempest to anything from the time of 'Ballad of a Thin Man' would be foolish – it wouldn’t do justice to either era – and would detract from what is largely a brilliant return to form.

On 'Modern Times' Dylan was ‘thinking ‘bout Alicia Keys,’ this time round he’s name checking Leonardo DiCaprio on the title track, a 14-minute ode to the Titanic in the guise of an Irish-tinged country waltz. It’s hard to imagine someone else taking on such a task, particularly once you realise that the song spans 45 verses. But after all these years that’s why Dylan’s still in a league of his own when it comes to writing verse.

It’s a shame that, sentiment aside, the one song that doesn’t quite hit the heights is 'Roll On, John' – a late tribute to his friend, John Lennon - with lines like ‘I heard the news today, oh boy’ and ‘come together right now over me’ it’s a tender lyrical tribute, but musically it drifts and lacks resonance.

At 71 Dylan’s voice might sound more like a bark but with Tempest he shows the bite’s still as strong as ever.

8/10

By Sam Herbert. Tweets at @herbert_sam

This guest blog complies to Virgin.com terms & conditions.

http://www.virgin.com/music/reviews/bob-dylan--tempest

TOY - TOY

• By Sam Herbert -
• Sep 07, 2012

• 

Halfway through TOY’s self-titled debut release, on 'Motoring', a song awash with swirling synths and scratching guitars, all held together by pulsing drums and Tom Dougall’s understated vocals, it becomes staggeringly obvious that this is going to be one hell of an album. Given that it’s a debut makes it even more astounding; the bold, soaring soundscape created suggests that this is a band on their third, not first album. It’s no surprise that The Horrors touted them as the band to look out for this year.

It was when they supported Faris and co last year that the quintet first started turning heads. The unassuming almost motionless stage presence, dressed in black with long straggly hair covering their eyes, conflicted with the loud sounds coming out of the speakers. A sell-out four-week residency at hipster haunt, the Shacklewell Arms, followed and the buzz has been growing louder ever since. Word got around that three members of the band (Dougall,Maxim Barron and Dominic O’Dair) had a monkey on their back in the form of Joe Lean & the Jing Jang Jong, whose hype was canned alongside their debut album back in 2008, to the relief of everyone involved.

Yet on listening to TOY you’d never know that any of the quintet were once part of an indie-band with pop sensibilities. None more so is this so than on final track, 'Kopter', a mesmerising 10-minute sprawl of scattering drums and yawning guitars, which steadily grows and grows to end in a ferocious, expansive release of sound. There are similarities toDeerhunter on the psychedelic infused 'Make It Mine' and The Horrors on the brooding 'Strange' but TOY are more than an imitation of the two.

'Heart Skips A Beat' is a tender, uplifting song and opener 'Colour’s Running Out' fizzes by in a mind-bending haze of sounds. There are definite nods to the motorik grooves pioneered by krautrock bands Neu! and Kraftwerk in the 70s, as in stand out track 'Dead and Gone', but instead of one straight route down the Autobahn TOY branch off, picking up influences from My Bloody Valentine and Wire along the way.

Perhaps the most impressive thing about the LP is TOY’s ability to blend all the influences they’ve picked up from their vast record collection into something which sounds fresh and new, yet which still has a soupcon of nostalgia, enough familiarity to cling onto without it sounded old and worn. What’s certain is that TOY have created one of the albums of the year and, for at least for three of them, have finally banished the ghost of Joe Lean.

9/10

By Sam Herbert. Tweets at @herbert_sam

This guest blog complies to Virgin.com terms & conditions.

http://www.virgin.com/music/reviews/toy--toy

Secret Garden Party 2012

• By Sam Herbert -
• Jul 27, 2012

• 

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”

Seated on a crowded, muddy bank gazing up in child-like wonderment at the explosions of colour and noise scattering the night sky, a result of the Secret Garden Party fireworks show, I can’t help think of Jack Kerouac’s infamous quote and how relevant it is in describing the hedonistic goings on at this particular festival. It’s safe to assume that Kerouac would’ve loved SGP; the diverse mix of music, arts and theatre intermingled with the madness of life – at the end of four days of debauchery you feel as if you’ve lived a wild chapter of 'On the Road' and not even a week in a health spa would be long enough to recuperate.

Experiencing the 10th birthday of SGP - and it is an experience - is akin to diving head-first into a giant deluxe party bag; hidden in every nook and cranny is a stage, tent or hut as bizarre and fantastical as the last one for you to get lost in.

On Saturday the Colli-sillyum, a four-tiered, hay-stacked arena, was host to male and female mudwrestling competitions, to the hooting and howling of a baying crowd. At night the hay barrels shook and shuddered to the driven party rock of Fake Blood (among others), causing much foot-stomping stupidity amongst the wide-eyed night owls. Earlier raucous scenes unfolded as Oxide and Neutrino brought the Solid Sound of the Underground to Wormfood’s Valley of the Antics stage treating everyone’s adolescent-self to hit after garage hit.

It’s so easy to get lost in the madness of the festival that you constantly have to remind yourself that there are bands to see, and some good ones at that. Alabama Shakeswhipped the Great Stage crowd into a Friday evening frenzy with their brawling blues thundering out across the resplendent lake. Midday Saturday and the sun greeted Tim Minchin who tinkled the ivories and tickled the hearts with songs about Woody Allen Jesus, being ginger, and, one in particular about the Pope which had more profanities than an entire series of Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares. With the fireworks show warming up the crowd better than any support band could Orbital took to the stage to deliver a rambunctious set of both old and new material proving what a terrific headline act they are.

Yet the truly magical thing about Secret Garden Party is that it’s not so much a festival about the music but one that celebrates life; the silliness of it, the brilliance of it and the madness of it. There were mud beasts, fake funerals, tattoo parlours, a man playing and driving a piano, Fagan-esque blokes offering their services in photo-booths (take that how you will), strange cults, trapeze artists, a fairground, a Nordic Jesus in a trance, flash mob dancing under a bandstand, a badger wood, boating and naked swimming in the lake, all kept under supervision by a giant fox with a monocle.

Kerouac also wrote that "happiness consists in realising it is all a great strange dream". In many ways that’s how Secret Garden Party felt and I for one will be dreaming again next year.

Video by Matt Proud - @Mafyoo

By Sam Herbert. Tweets at @herbert_sam

This guest blog complies to Virgin.com terms & conditions.

http://www.virgin.com/music/reviews/secret-garden-party-2012--review

BLOGS

10 things we learnt at The Secret Garden Party

• By Sam Herbert -
• Jul 24, 2012

• 

As the frivolities end, the muddied punters drag themselves home and the clean-up begins we take a look at the 10 things we learned at another fabulous year at the Secret Garden Party.

10. Festivals are made so much easier when you get a lift to and from the site from a friend’s fun-loving uncle and aunt. It also helps if the return leg goes via a beautifully remote cottage deep in the Cambridgeshire countryside for a full English and fresh coffee. Bliss.

9. Just because SGP is situated near Warboys, a village known for its roots in witchcraft (it’s the last recorded place where witches were hanged), there’s no need for cults using arrows and the ‘healing power of the human mind’ to sprout up at a festival. Stop that chanting and get to the bar.

8. Dancing like Audrey from Twin Peaks while listening to Violet (Pixie Geldof’s band) is a perfectly acceptable way to spend an afternoon at a festival. Well, part of it is. We’ll let you decide which part.

7. Dancing in unison with a rabble of random drunkards is fun. It’s even more fun doing it beneath a bandstand next to a lake. NOW DO THE MATRIX!

6. Tim Minchin is ginger (he’s also extremely talented). 

5. Risk Assessments are a thing of the past at SGP. Instead they allow people to think and care for themselves (and others) – at what other festival would you be able to swim freely in a lake, dance madly atop of tall hay bales or indulge in some semi-naked mud wrestling in the confines of a place called the Colli-sillyum? Exactly.

4. If the bread man doesn’t deliver the bread you ordered, at the time stated, then serving three measly rashes of bacon with only a plate as an accompaniment is not cool.

3. Back at the beginning of the century not even the maddest Oxide and Neutrino fan would have considered them to be a festival highlight. But the garage duo from London blasted their way through a nostalgia filled set to prove that they can still mix it with the best of them.

2. As far as spectacles go the SGP fireworks show remains the best thing I’ve seen at a festival. And I have a feeling there’s nothing that will beat it. 

1. For pure all-round entertainment SGP is the best festival out there. Okay, Glastonbury’s bigger and Primavera has a better line-up but as far as setting, atmosphere and fun go SGP wins hands down.

HAPPY 10TH BIRTHDAY SGP!

By Sam Herbert. Tweets at @herbert_sam

This guest blog complies to Virgin.com terms & conditions.

• Tags virgin red room virgin 10 things we learnt the secret garden party sgp
  
  
  http://www.virgin.com/music/blog/10-things-we-learnt-at-the-secret-garden-party

BLOGS

Secret Garden Party - 10 to watch

• By Sam Herbert -
• Jul 18, 2012

• 

A celebration is in order as this weekend welcomes back the downright barmy goings on at Secret Garden Party. To guarantee an extra glug of revelry it’s also the 10th birthday of the festival that brings an eclectic mix of music, art, theatre and other madness to the idyllic Cambridgeshire countryside. Last year’s event was one of the highlights of the festival calendar, rivalling Glastonbury for pure unadulterated fun. Amongst the madness and debauchery there’s also a great line-up of bands, here’s who we’re looking forward to seeing.

10/ Caravan Palace

SGP welcomes back the Parisian seven-piece Electro-swing band who’s second album, Panic, was released earlier this year. Their unique fusion of the Gypsy Jazz style pioneered by Django Reinhardt and the fuzzy beats and bleeps of French electronica launched by the likes of Daft Punk make Caravan Palace the ideal band to close proceedings at this year’s festival.

9/ Laurel Collective

You’re standing in a field, wet, muddy and hungover looking up at the grey sky and wondering if it will clear. Fear not, Laurel Collective will be the perfect antidote to warm your spirits and lighten your mood with their brand of infectious pop to put a skip back in your step. The London-based five-piece have been busy creating a buzz in the indie-scene since the release of their debut album, Heartbeat Underground and are not to be missed at the Great Stage.

8/ Daughter

Nestled in a corner between the verdant foliage and rippling lake is the Where the Wild Things Are stage, which is where you’ll find the not so wild Daughter wooing the addled audience of SGP with their brooding melancholic folk. Sit back and get swept away by the ambient sounds created by Elena Tonra and Igor Haefeli.

7/ Tim Minchin

Having recently ruffled a few festival goers’ feathers in Henley for his ‘blasphemous’ act, Tim Minchin will surely go down a treat in the more relaxed confines of SGP. The Australian musician/comedian has won pretty much every award going, written the music and lyrics for the smash West End musical, Matilda, and toured extensively with a whopping 55-piece Heritage Orchestra. Throw the fact that he’s very, very funny into the mix and you have a gig not to be missed.

6/ Little Roy

Take a soupcon of the Seattle grunge scene, a dollop of steel drums and a large dose of reggae and you have the chilled vibes of Little Roy. The soothing reggae renditions ofNirvana classics 'Come As You Are' and 'Lithium' will no doubt be lapped up by the SGP crowd as Little Roy transforms the Huntingdon countryside into shores of Kingston, Jamaica.

5/ CITIZENS!

The story goes that Alex Kapranos, of Franz Ferdinand fame, was so hooked when hearing an early demo by CITIZENS! that he demanded to produce their first LP, 'Here We Are'. With their catchy hooks and spritely funk-punk melodies these London lads will have your toes tapping, knees jerking and arms pulsing as if Ian Curtis were to possess the entire crowd for the entire set.

4/ KT Tunstall

If nothing else I’m hoping the mystical confines of SGP can conjure a mass sing-a-long to 'Suddenly I See', creating one of those rare festival moments, faces beaming, arms held aloft in exaltation, a mass wave of euphoria sweeping through the crowd. A moment where you can say, ‘I was there,’ to your grand-children. If this doesn’t happen then you can still recline next to the splendour of a beautiful lake and watch a charming Scottish songstress launch a plethora of hits.

3/ Summer Camp

Oh! If only summer actually felt like summer did long ago when flowery jumpsuits, sweatshirts with Wyoming boldly written on the front and denim shorts hitched up to your shoulders were fashionable. Hang about, it is in fashion. Still at least we don’t have a Tory government leading a country in a recession piling misery onto everyone. Oh, wait. Allow Summer Camp, whose sepia tinted melodies and blissful harmonies will further help transport the crowd at the Where the Wild Things Are stage back to the 80s – it’ll be like stepping into Doc Brown’s time machine and hitting 88. Roads? Where we’re going, we don’t need roads (we just need SGP).

2/ Alabama Shakes

Should you get the blues at SGP (this is very unlikely given the ridiculous amount of fun that you will have. And you will have fun.) then head down to see Alabama Shakes. If you don’t have the blues but just want to listen to some gritty old-fashioned rock & soul then head down to see Alabama Shakes. Just go and watch them, preferably whilst drinking whiskey from the jar and chewing on some straw. Then you can tell all your friends, ‘I saw Alabama Shakes and they were fucking great.’ Agreed? Agreed.

1/ Orbital

It’s a festival. You want to dance. You want a euphoric release. You want that ringing in your ears after hearing something very loud. You need to see Orbital. The Hartnoll brothers (Phil & Paul) have been blowing festival goers away since the very beginnings of the acid house scene. Their Glastonbury set in 1994 is widely regarded as one of the best gigs of all time, they’re one of the best live acts around and they’ve just released a belter of a new album in 'Wonky'. Whatever you do, don’t miss them.

Aside from the music there’s plenty of other treats in store at this year’s SGP. Visit the Be Ready Playpen to get in touch with your inner-child, indulge in the healing powers of the Sanctuary or get mucky at the infamous SGP Paint Fight at the Great Stage. In terms of fun, frivolity and outrageous behaviour SGP can’t be beaten. Leave your morals at the gate, open your mind and dive in for what will be one of the weekends of the summer.

By Sam Herbert. Tweets at @herbert_sam

This guest blog complies to Virgin.com terms & conditions.

• Tags preview summer camp secret garden party tim minchin orbital alabama shakes videos 10 to watchcaravan palace daughter kt tunstallhttp://www.virgin.com/music/blog/secret-garden-party--10-to-watch

Incomplete (ii)

It always works out this way. Driving home with the road lit up by the sun, the blue sky stretching out before you, light white clouds dotting the horizon: a rare nice day taken up by driving. It was the same on the journey down; slowing inching forward, slowly being baked in a silver container, quickly sweating and losing all patience. The day in-between welcomed a blanket of grey and sheets of wet which threatened to drown the pre-trip buoyancy; camping in Pembrokeshire, it was always going to rain.

Thankfully being British means our resolve for making the most out of an otherwise bleak situation is unbreakable. The spirit of the Brits: unflagging optimism in the face of yet another holiday being washed-out by the lashing rain. Disappointing being the unsaid byword for most holiday makers unfortunate to miss the few weeks worthy of being included in the summer months – instead “the weather wasn’t great but it was still nice to get away” becomes the staple phrase, delicately hiding any disappointment. Others choose “it wouldn’t be a holiday without the wind and rain” as a comforting blanket to wrap themselves in until they go abroad to sunnier climes.

For what it’s worth Pembrokeshire, and specifically Fishguard where we were staying, is beautiful. The campsite was situated perilously on the edge of the rugged limestone cliff edge; the vast grey ocean stretched endlessly into the horizon, the undulating hills pushed against our backs, the fresh sea air cleared the London congested lungs with every gulp taken. A welcome chance to relax and unwind, even if it did take an hour to set up the tent, which then proceeded to leak in the rain.

Although the rain does have its good side. As we meandered along the skinny path (skinny jeans for skinny path) it was noticeable how fresh and lush the wild plants and overgrowth were, as they drank heartily from the recent downpour. A verdant vivaciousness belonging to the wildlife glowed in the sombre early evening light. The drooping violet lanterns of bell heather dotted the route to the small harbour, sprouting and stretching up out of the bracken and bramble. A lone fisherman silently chugged towards the coast ,stopping sporadically to heave in the crab nets tossed out earlier in the day. Gone was the clapping of the trains and shrill of the sirens, replaced by the gentle crashing of waves and chirrup of birds, the odd buzz of a bee doing the late rounds for pollen.

As we ducked into the pub we were greeted with the inquisitive glances reserved by locals for outsiders who venture into their favourite boozer. Fortunately these were put aside once the landlord greeted us with a chuckling smile and warm bonhomie. The Ship was a small, skinny pub (skinny jeans for skinny pub) with old wooden beams that seemed to creak as if it were bobbing on the pulsing ocean. An old man played a forgotten tune on the yellow stained keys of an old piano, smiling frustratingly as he tried to recall the next notes. Pictures of boats, a curled poster showing different species of fish and an iron-stained perry buoy hung from the walls: a nautical atmosphere if ever there was one.

After a few pints of bitter, gulped down as a folk band played – the harpist elegantly plucked the strings, the fiddler energetically jabbed his bow – we said our goodbyes and plodded home in the pounding rain, deciding to go via road for fear of sliding scree and steep drops off the small path. With the wet clothes that were sticking to the body removed and replaced by the much needed winter thermals we tucked ourselves in an hour or so later, only to be woken by drops of rain tickling the inside of the ear. It wouldn’t have been a holiday without the wind and the rain. 

Incomplete (i)

Ah, the sun. The sanguine azure sky. The wobbly flesh celebrating its freedom, rippling joyfully in the sparkling light. Yes, the summer has finally arrived. Gone are the festering frowns brought on by rain and the grey. Gone are the umbrellas battling through sodden crowds. Gone is the inane talk of a hosepipe ban and floods. All melted away by the first rays of a mischievous sun, toying with our reignited happiness. He could disappear again at any moment, taking with him the contented cover airily thrown over the UK.

With a typically British rush the hoards fill the streets, squares, greens and parks of London, to recline and stretch and rest and play. Some cascade out of the restaurants and bars onto the heat-baked pavements, the unbridled hum of friends dispersing vivaciously into the clear sky, like a bumble bee lazily drifting from plant to plant, filling the air with its cheerful buzz. The sharp chinking of bottles clash with the hazy mood, adding a celebratory edge to the lulling atmosphere. A young woman rests in the enclave of an embracing man, her placid gaze reflecting the comfort of the day, his cheek resting softly against her hair, a strand of which is lifted by a caressing breeze to tickle the tip of his nose. A sudden jerk away; his cheek removed, the embrace broken so that he can tend to the tickle. A breaking of the peace, the wind sauntering off, sassily glancing back at the minor disturbance she’d caused and then back on her way to find another unsuspecting couple.

PS I Love You - Death Dreams

What is it about musicians and death? Every successful musician has to have at least one song based on mortality; Morrison, Curtis, Cobain, and that’s without reference to the entire back catalogue of My Chemical Romance. The latest addition to the pile is ‘Death Dreams’, the sophomore record by the Canadian band PS I Love You. After the success of debut, ‘Meet Me at the Muster Station,’ a rollicking thrashing of guitars and shrieks that helped catapult Benjamin Nelson and Paul Saulnier into the indie-sphere, the latter started having dark dreams about the ultimate question – the result being Death Dreams. The clue is in the title.

For the most part the morbid sentiments are hidden somewhere in the often indecipherable wailings of Saulnier: listen closely and you’ll be able to make out “this is the worst week of my life” in ‘Don’t Go,’ and “sleeping in the van with a knife in my hand...in one day I lost all I ever loved” – it’s self-loathing at its emo best. In 'Sentimental Dishes', a rip-snorter of a song with crashing symbols and scuzzy guitars, Saulnier apathetically screams on the chorus “I don’t wanna do the dishes! You don’t wanna do the dishes!” before unleashing a guitar solo that Slayer would be pleased with - the banality of domestic life given zest in a gloriously defiant and fun indie-pop song.

Even if the content of the lyrics has become a little heavier (it would be irksome for them to continue paging songs about breaking out of their hometown, Kingston, Ontario, like they did in 2010’s Meet Me at the Muster Station) they still remain true to the driving drums and distorted writhing guitars shown on their debut. ‘Toronto’ rattles through at a frenetic pace; Saulnier’s paranoid cries relaying his anxiety as Nelson unrelentingly pounds away at the drums. ‘Future Dontcare’ immediately follows to build on the foundations of worry for what lays in store; “I wish this summer was like last summer...Love doesn’t care about the future.” It’s lines like these that would make any psychotherapist lick their lips in anticipation of sitting Saulnier down on the couch for a few costly sessions.

The LP is split into two sections by instrumental songs, ‘Death Dreams’ as an opener and ‘Death Dreams II’ halfway through are, according to their website, a recreation of a melody played by a ‘death march band’ from one of Saulnier’s dreams. The opener sets the scene for what’s to come with a bleak overture that atmospherically sweeps by, whilst ‘Death Dreams II’ acts as an interlude from Saulnier’s keening howls more than anything else. It kind of works. As ‘How Do You’ rolls in like a thundering wave you are slightly pleased to hear the familiar screech back again. The song itself has a good contrast between thrashing guitars and mellifluous breakdowns, giving it a Pavement-esque feel.

Although in parts the record feels like a therapeutic release for Saulnier to vent his anxieties about life, the future and, ultimately, death, it’s easy to ignore the self-loathing sentiments and concentrate on songs that are actually very good. ‘Red Quarter’ builds and erupts into a two minute oozing of guitar solo, smothering everything in its path, whilst closing track ‘Close Contact’ is a unabashed display of triumphant rock and roll, almost coming across as a celebration of life compared to the other tracks. Whatever Saulnier says about death, one thing’s for certain, guitar music is very much alive in PS I Love You.

8/10http://www.virgin.com/music/reviews/ps-i-love-you--death-dreams

Sat Nav Nightmares

A thought struck me last night as I was being driven home by a pleasant, yet slightly odorous, taxi driver. I should hasten to add that there were many thoughts whizzing through my mind at the time; why is Red Leicester cheese labelled ‘Red’ when it’s clearly a dark orange, who invented the cable car, will I ever be able to afford a white Toyota Prius, did Ban Ki-Moon change his name because it sounds cool, who’s the TT in The Bridge, is Richard Hammond a real person? But one thought lodged in my head and stayed there long enough for me to consider writing something about it. And it is this: Will technology render humans useless? As in, will the ever varying ways in which technology helps humanity eventually lead people to being unable to think independently?

The sat-nav is a perfect example. Key in your destination and a cold, empty voice directs you, to the minutest detail, on how to reach your desired place, draining any excitement about the trip in the process. “The voice doesn’t sound too enthralled to be going to Pembrokeshire, maybe we shouldn’t go. Maybe we should go back because she sounds tired, even a little cantankerous.” Take a wrong turn or decide to veer from the suggested route and the person in the screen gets angry, in part due to you taking matters into your own hands and in part not having the programmed vocabulary to say “turn around and go the way I tell you.”

The sat-nav - such a nagging abbreviation - removes any chance of stumbling, quite at random, on a seemingly unspoilt, remote hideaway. (Unless you end up on the edge of a cliff - wrong turn - , something which only goes to prove people’s over reliance on technology and lack of trust in themselves). It removes the possibility of spontaneity. “That road looks interesting, let’s see where it goes.” Most of the time you’ll end up at a dead end or in a Royston Vasey type village, where locals greet you with accusing glances and up-turned noses, but there’s fun in it.

What was so bad about an A to Z anyway? They worked. They were relatively simple. You may have needed to sit down and concentrate on planning a route for a short while, but is that such a bad thing? Do we really need something to tell us where to go at every turn in the road? The problem is that everyone’s become too impatient, too time conscious and too busy to think for themselves on matters of such simplicity. We’re living in a world where the internet, i-phones and sat-navs can give you information and answers at the click of a button – why would you want to waste time looking at a map?

But we should – just because we can get information quickly doesn’t mean we should all act quickly, barely stopping to catch our breath.

Back in the taxi and we were stuck in traffic, less than a mile from my flat. “If I turn right here will I be able to get to yours?” enquired the taxi driver. “I don’t know. Maybe.” We both looked at the sat-nav, then glanced at each other, and waited in the traffic.

BEACH HOUSE - BLOOM

Following 'Teen Dream', the third album from Baltimore’s Beach House, was always going to be difficult. It would be in most people’s top five albums of 2010; the languorous swirling synths of 'Zebra', 'Walk in the Park' and '10-mile Stereo' already initiate a reinforced nostalgia for that hazy halcyon summer. It catapulted Alex Scally and Victoria Legrand into the indie mainstream after the initial smatterings of success for their self-titled debut in 2006, and sophomore, 'Devotion' (2008). Alongside Grizzly Bear and Animal Collective it also helped to cement the duo as one of the most important bands to come out of the US in recent years. Yet two years on their fourth studio album, 'Bloom', doesn’t disappoint. In fact it’s better.

Largely created whilst touring, Bloom features all the trademarks you’d expect from a Beach House record; meticulously crafted dream-pop songs with catchy, achingly tender melodies and lo-fi beats all combining alongside Lagrand’s sonorously yearning vocals.

The album starts where Teen Dream left off. First track, 'Myth', meanders indolently along, like the sanguine flow of a burgeoning river on a blossoming spring day. Led by the searching slide of Scally’s guitar and pulsing piano rhythm the song cautiously builds to a crescendo, where Legrand’s entrancing purr effortlessly dominates proceedings. Lazuli saunters by, sounding slightly like Enya, with Legrand’s “Huh huh huh” reverberating through the arpeggiated piano, whilst 'Troublemaker'’s haunting circus melodies are tinged with menace, leaving the listener restive.

It’s the combination of Legrand’s seductive vocals with the droning synths that helps to create the ethereal, dreamlike qualities Beach House has become so synonymous for. This is no more apparent than on 'Wishes', a song where Legrand’s almost lachrymose, doleful voice contrasts sumptuously with the yearning of the organ; pangs of regret and sorrow echo through Legrand’s descant – one of the most vulnerable, strong and understated voices in music – leaving the listener with an ungraspable sense of longing. It’s Beach House at their sepia-tinted best.

What makes Bloom better than its predecessor is the way it grows, even flourishes; it entices the listener in with the minimal beats of the opening tracks and gradually, subtly blossoms into a verdant, full-bodied piece of work. It’s not a surprise that the best songs are towards the end of the album. The wistful waltz of 'On the Sea', where shivering guitars clash with mournful piano, and the resplendent release of Irene culminating in a cacophony of sonic guitars and synths demand that it is listened to as a whole LP and not singular songs. Put simply, it’s one of the best albums of 2012.

9/10

Mull Historical Society - City Awakenings

Remember the early 00s? UK Garage was, quite literally, booming, fashion was in a state of flux, desperately trying to escape from the 90s tie-dye but being dragged back by its baggy jeans, Pop Idol, Hearsay, Blazin’ Squad, MiniDiscs and the entire western world was in a state of panic due to the events of 9/11. The early 00s were also “the manic depressive years” in music, not in the sense that the music was gloomy (some of it was) but because they were dark years spent bleakly, blindly wading through musical mud, tempered with impulse-buying Las Ketchup after returning from an ill-advised week in ‘Shagaluf.’ You know, before The Strokes saved music (so people say). Travis, Stereophonics and the Red Hot Chili Peppers were the insipid best most people could hope for. And lurking somewhere between Idlewild and Turin Brakes, the multi instrumentalist, Colin MacIntyre, burst onto the scene under the pseudonym, Mull Historical Society.

His debut album, 'Loss', went Gold, he was voted Scotland’s Top Creative Talent at the Glenfiddich Spirit of Scotland Awards, and he toured with The Strokes, Elbow and REM. Now 10 years on from Loss, we have 'City Awakenings', produced by Dom Morley of Amy Winehouse, Mark Ronson and Grinderman fame. So it must be good, right? Wrong. City Awakenings is a loose bundle of 2001-filled nostalgia, to the point that it should come with a warning not to close your eyes because on opening them you might see Suzanne Shaw standing next to your bed, like the poltergeist in Paranormal Activity, but scarier.

The stuttering “can you let her know, it’s o-o-over” on 'Can You Let Her Know' only enforces the feeling of retrospectiveness, coming across like a mix between Gareth Gates and Frankie Cocozza. The comparison with failed talent show contestants doesn’t end there. The saccharine sounds of 'The Lights' could easily be a Louis Walsh song choice for his next mentee(s) who are slightly on the spectrum. It leaves a queasy feeling in the stomach, like foolishly eating your way through a whole bag of Haribo Star Mix on a long car journey in the sweltering summer heat. 'Must You Get Low' is a mockingly upbeat song, with a chipper chorus and keening papping horns. For anyone feeling slightly down it will only cause them to spiral deeper into resentment fuelled apathy.

With its mellifluous bluesy guitar, 'Fold Out City' is almost the redeeming song of the album. Redeeming in the sense that it doesn’t make you want to tear your ears from your head, drive to Beachy Head and commit ear suicide. 'You Can Get Better' should work as a perfect motivational tool for MacIntyre, given that you’d really hope that he can get better. And 'This Is Not My Heart' is a bold attempt at a tender, bittersweet love song, which just comes across as contrived.

City Awakenings is a Sisyphean struggle to move on from the early 00s, but it just can’t help but roll back down to the beginning of the millennia, where it belongs, toiling and wrestling with the other bands who, for the better of music, decided to stay in the dark. Now where’s my MiniDisc player?