Classic Albums: Tori Amos - Little Earthquakes

Author: Richard Cosgrove

Back in 1992, the music world was being overrun by grunge, with Pearl Jam and Nirvana spearheading the Seattle radio invasion, and Madonna was showing us what she had for lunch via her, erm, artistic book subtly called 'Sex'. Boyz II Men were crooning about the "End Of The Road" and Whitney Houston was murdering Dolly Parton's "I Will Always Love You" and trying to convince us she could act. Who would have thought, then, that from seemingly out of nowhere a fiesty redhead armed with nothing more than a piano and a suitcase full of angst would sweep some of us off our feet and make us fall completely in love with her debut album. (The Tori fans among you will be about to mention Y Kant Tori Read at this point, but in your heart you know that wasn't a true representation of what Myra Ellen Amos was, and is, all about.)

I count myself luckily enough to have accidentally stumbled across Tori Amos just as Little Earthquakes came out, thanks to, of all people, the old Hairy Cornflake himself, Dave Lee Travis who had been sent a promo copy of Winter which he promply fell in love with and played on his show. I distinctly remember hearing it and sitting bolt upright (it was a Sunday morning, following a heavy Saturday night, but all that was forgotten once the hypnotic melody began bleeding from the speakers), thinking "who is this?" and "this is beautiful".

I took myself off to my favourite record shop at the earliest opportunity (Selectadisc in Nottingham, as it happens) and snapped up the album. I rushed home and stuck the CD into my relatively new CD player, which had recently surped my turntable and sounded the death knell for my vinyl collection, and lay back on my bed to listen. From the opening line of 'Crucify' I was hooked - as an insecure teenager, Tori's first line, "every finger in the room is pointing at me", was a line that I could immediately identify with. While confident and outgoing to the rest of the world, I had always fought against an inherent shyness and this one line encompassed the paranoia that I had felt as a teenager. As Tori put it, "nothing I do is good enough for you". Crucify was a hymn to the disenfranchised of the world, to those who had never quite felt they were good enough, all placed on top of a simultaneously fragile and confident piano refrain.

'Girl' follows, its' haunting piano underpinned by some quite breathtaking yet subtle guitar work from Steve Caton (who actually joined Tori live from Boys For Pele onwards), acting as a springboard for a tale of submission and compromise in which we learn "she's been everybody else's girl, maybe someday she'll be her own". Another tale of insecurity in which the subject of the song desperately tries to fit in at the expense of her own identity. Another tune that spoke to my teenage insecurities. Though Tori was a fair way from being a teenager at this point, these songs were obviously sourced from her experiences of youth and the crushing insecurities and disappointments that it brings.

Next up is 'Silent All These Years', the breakthrough track in the UK. A gentle piano refrain underpinned with a subtle strings arrangement, this is a bitter song about a relationship breakup. "So you've found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts" is deftly followed up with "boy, you'd best hope that I bleed real soon". Nasty, very nasty, but then again, you can't deny her rage - Hell hath no fury and all that.

'Precious Things' is next, conjouring up images of playground vendettas and Catholic school angst - "so you can make me come, doesn't make you Jesus". It's a sorry tale of isolation and rejection, neatly summed up in the line "no-one told me, where the pretty girls are". Marginalised, isolated and alone, the teller of this particualr story is not a happy bunny, and not someone you'd want to meet in a dark alleyway.

In complete contrast, the aforementioned 'Winter' is a beautiful, haunting lullaby to the innocence of youth, a child's love song to their father. More than this, though, it's the realisation that we all have to someday break away from the security of our parents - "you must learn to stand up for yourself, 'cause I can't always be around". It's a reflective look back at the advice given many years previously but unheeded until now, as is often the case - "things change, my dear" is not only a sound piece of advice, but also a warning to be ready for life's rollercoaster of highs and lows. The coda of the song, though, "never change", implores our heroine to retain the qualities that make her who she is. In just shy of six minutes, Tori Amos manages to impart more wisdom that you could hope to be privy to in a lifetime. Listen and learn.

'Happy Phantom' brings some light relief, with a jaunty piano refrain accompanied by a smattering of percussion and slide guitar. Tori wonders "will I pay for who I've been", but this is a happy song, extolling the virtues of becoming a phantom and "chasing nuns out in the yard".

If 'Winter' was a tale of caution, 'China' is a tale of regret. This is a tale of two people separated by a great distance, and not necessarily a geographical one. This is that old familiar tale of being with someone who isn't really there. They may be there physically, but their mind is elsewhere, and may as well be in China. This song is the sad realisation that a relationship is drifting away. On the musical front, there is a beautiful and urgent vocal delivery that occurs three minutes into the song that is nothing short of breathtaking.

Leather' is a plea to be accepted, desperately searching for reasons why her paramour isn't interested in what she has to offer. "Look I'm standing naked before you", Tori informs us, before asking "oh God, why am I here?" and asking him to hand over her leather. A tale of opening up to the wrong person that we're all familiar with.

'Mother' is Tori's love letter to nervous first dates and prom nights. Hoping that the date will be wonderful but fearful that it will all up horribly, she sets off with butterflies in her stomach. "He's going to change my name", she hopes, but isn't quite sure and sets of with some trepidation. If this is all beginning to sound like a Cameron Crowe movie, then you're in the right ballpark. Little Earthquakes is all about awkward relationships and self-doubt and works wonderfully for it.

'Tear In Your Hand' is the other side of the fairy tale. "So you don't want to stay together anymore", we're told. Tori tells us that her ex's new love is just "pieces of me that you've never seen", echoing the confusion and bewilderment that accompanies being dumped by the love of your life. I could be everything she is, maybe, but then again, maybe it's time to wave goodbye."

Rarely can a pure acapella be so captivating as 'Me And A Gun', Tori's frank and emotional recollection of her real life rape. As she recounts her thoughts, you can't help but think what a dehumanising experience this must have been. I, thankfully, have no point of reference for this song, either from a personal or vicarious point of view, but I defy you to listen to this track and not come away in a seriously reflective state of mind.

The starkness of 'Me And A Gun' leads us into the title track, a haunting, mesmerising epic which is a metaphor for being on the outside, for being marginalised, for being torn apart by forces outside of our safe little lives. The force of these little earthquakes, Tori tells us against the rhythmic heartbeat of the drums, "doesn't take much to rip us into pieces." The song, and the album, pleads with us to "give me life, give me pain, give me myself again", and provides some emotional release for the journey that we've been on.

Little Earthquakes is possibly the most honest and moving album of the early 90s, perfect for a generation that was feeling increasingly isolated, and who was to soon lose one of its' heroes, Kurt Cobain, whose Smells Like Teen Spirit Tori regularly covered in her live sets. Not an instantly accessible album, but one that if you give it some time will work it's way under your skin and stay there, and you'll be eternally glad that it did.

Music Feature: Music Media - How Music Is Obtained by Aurliea Wilson

Author: Aurliea Wilson

Remember way back when, the good old 8 track was the thing? It's ok neither do I. I wasn't around. Well, my parents have persuaded my musical taste and they aren't supportive of my new indie obsession. Anyways, there was 8-tracks, tape players, record players and more recently the portable CD player and even more recent the MP3 player, made popular by Apple's iPod.

Using my retro CD player to listen to the songs of many indie rock bands, I've learned to love my CD player, CD's and music much more respectively with the occasional 'oops, I dropped it on the floor again' mishaps. Compact Discs bring much more to the listener than MP3 players do. They bring album art, materialistic being of the songs and the presence of going to the music store to buy them. The downfalls of owning CDs, costly, space taking, CD player breaks and the worst one of all what do you do when the CD is scratched? Some can clean it while others cannot. It all evens out does it not?

The craze for Apple iPods is so...crazy, putting it simply. My major concern is 200 bucks for about 8000 songs I won't use. The are expensive and hold too much and don't serve the purpose they were made for, at least in my experience with those who do own the item. The iPod has become a status symbol. The question is "You have an iPod?" and not "What’s on your iPod?" A lot can be said about the person by their music. The new mini's are ripoffs. Less amount of songs for a more sum of money. What gives?

Many other MP3 players serve just as well as a purpose and yet are cheaper and stylish J the upsides are: all sorts of songs in your palm or pocket, more songs in less space, more portable, no cases to hold CDs. Tempting eh? It is many people have thought of purchasing these players. Mind you, most of these people don't own CD players. Again it's a status symbol that's not going to serve its rightful purpose.

I still love my CD player and will probably use it a lot more than my MP3 player yet, I still like to put it in my pocket and dance around with Franz Ferdinand playing.

Live Review: The Hidden Cameras at K4, Nürnberg - 12th December 2004

Author: Eve Massacre

I had been listening to The Hidden Cameras' 'Mississauga Goddamn' album on repeat for the last couple of weeks. I love their 60s pop for the melancholic undertone in all their joyfulness, and of course for their lyrics - who else has ever written so poetically about gay sex and piss games? The seeming plainness and honesty of lines about secret fears (like "hunting hair to find emotional grace / I am scared you'll see my body and know that removing hair has taken over my life") combined with the easy approachable sing-along folk they play makes them irresistible.

I had read about their live shows with costumes and dancers and my expectations were a bit too high: there wasn't as much interaction with the audience as I wished for but it was pure enthusiastic 60s pop fun with simple infectious melodies spiced up by cello, violins, glockenspiel and tambourines, and they are really cute to watch: they have the coolest drummer in ages (10 out of 10 points for posing, lady!), the bald violin player hopped up and down grinning from one ear to another, the only rather static person in the band was the leader: Joel Gibb just stood there in front of them, sang and looked good and was serious while behind him the rest of the band had lots of fun. The 'show' parts with the whole band playing dead or all of them playing one song with eyes covered by a red cloth, well, those parts were a bit restrained but nice nevertheless. Not that I don't like what Joel Gibb is doing - especially as his voice and lyrics are The Hidden Cameras - but I caught myself wondering about what this band could do if it wasn't just one guy writing all the songs but as a real collective throwing their ideas together.

Album Review: Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Self Titled

Author: Aurliea Wilson

Peter Hayes: guitar/bass/keys/harmonica/vocals
Robert Turner: bass/guitar/keys/vocals
Nick Jago: drums/percussion

I give props to anyone who can play guitar and bass - not necessarily at the same time. I'm quite intrigued by that now. The three people who make up BRMC produced an indie rock album in 2001, the dawn of the new rock era.

1. Love Burns: Opens in a bar setting; the acoustic guitars are awesome.

2. Red Eyes and Tears: Cool riff and bass line. The vocals are haunting.

3. Whatever Happened to Our Rock and Roll [punk song]: My favorite off the whole album because its upbeat and some find it 'hardcore'.

4. Awake: it's a physcedelic mix of rock and other indie subgroups. I like the way the refrain is a different tempo than the verses.

5. White Palms: I like how the guitar makes a noise than seems like a drum would make creating a tempo and setting the beat. It sounds like a dark song.

6. As Sure As The Sun: I think this is a cool song title. The bass is highlited in the song yet the guitar kicks in at the right moments.

7. Rifles: The light tapping on the cymbals makes this song eerie. Although contrary to the verses the refrain is lightened up.

8. Too Real: Kind of folk and rock mix of instruments and vocals. In a word: calming

9. Spread Your Love: The bass has a cool lick played throughout the song. Spread Your Love Like A Fever.

10. Head Up High: I can't any other vocals except'Keep Your Head Up High' probably the only thing that needs to be said. A ballad of BRMC.

11. Salvation: The beginning is rather odd but it's a light note, a good note to end an album on.

Basically, ecceletic mix of all sorts of genres are complied into one album. From Pop Rock to Metal Everyone has something to love in this album.

Live Review: Yeah Yeah Yeahs at London Brixton Academy - 15th November 2004

Author: Becky

The audience waited to catch a glimpse of the punk-fuelled Kazza 0 herself, during both the support acts (which were both pretty damn good), hoping to see a flash of aluminous pink, or a sighting of ripped fishnets. But, no, there was nothing, until...

The lady herself walked on, in a two-piece tweed suit! Miss O was followed then by Nick Zinner and Brian Chase, who were both going for the gothic look, all dressed in black, with heavy black make-up (well that was Nick anyway). The music starts, the drums kick in, and the guitar is officallly loving it, as Karen O starts to strip, removing the layers of tight conservative tweed to reveal, the kind of costume which would have blended in well in Wacko Jacko's 'Thriller' video. It's a skeleton body suit, with ribbons and tassles hanging off in all directions. She stomps around in her gem covered converse, pulling up her hood, hiding her paint streaked make-up. Even dressed as a grubby skeleton, she oozes sex appeal.

The tunes are played, the audience have a fantastic 'Date With The Night', while 'Pin' gets the whole crowd toe-tapping to the max, so that you feel like snogging the guy next to you with the 'I Love Karen O' T-shirt on. 'Maps' reveals a vulnerable side to the woman of madness, and the new tracks seem... interesting. We all want more, and as the crowd at the front get drenched with water from the security guards, they give us more.

The Karen O look-a-likes copy the orgasmic sounds, and the guys dribble with love for Miss O. It's a night to remember, a definate date with the night I'll never forget!

Live Review: The Futureheads at London ULU - 09th December 2004

Author: Silke

The Futureheads are a quartet from Sunderland and consist of Barry Hyde, the band's frontman, and his bandmates Ross Millard, Jaff and Barry's younger brother, Dave. At their gig at ULU the four look like bookish and wholesome boys, dressed in a way that future mothers-in-laws would approve of: with ironed shirts buttoned up to the Adam's apple and tucked nicely into their trousers. The drummer even sports a tie and has a great posture - as my mother would've noticed - despite his furious drumming.

Altogether on first glance (if you didn't know who they were) you would expect to hear dull-as-dishwater prosaic ballads á la Coldplay and Keane. But The Futureheads are actually the perfect antidote to those bland and vapid bands, as they play XTC and The Gang of Four inspired punky and funky guitar-pop which also has edgy rhythms reminiscent of such greats as The Kinks and The Jam.

If you like The Futureheads' self-titled debut album you are absolutely going to love this band live. The jerkiness and giddiness of the album comes through even more in their passionate and quite funny live performance.

Essentially the gig at ULU was a manic romp through their bouncy album, with each song being short but fervent and fun flurries which all just seemed to end too soon. The quartet went from one highlight to the next, from the frenzied staccato rhythms of 'Le Garage', the buzzy 'A to B', to "He Knows" with its unruly beats and chorus of "oh-ohs" and the delicate melodies and harmony of "Decent Days and Nights". The fact that Barry doesn't try to tone down his Sunderland accent, his inimitable dancing (or shall I say convulsive moving of legs) and in-between-songs banter - such as when he announced they were not going to play "Hounds of Love" but instead East 17's "House of Love" and then launching into a 10 second rendition of it - make this band stand out as a must-see live band.

My favourite songs of the night were the two cover songs. Kate Bush's 'Hounds of Love' with its wonderful four-part harmonies, punchy guitar riffs and fun and the furious howls of "oh ohs" and the Paul Welleresque performance of "A Picture of Dorian Gray" (originally by London new wavers Television Personalities) were definite highlights of the show.

Once the encore of "Carnival Kids" and "Piece of Crap" (which Barry announced by saying that if they were playing to a rubbish crowd he would dedicate it to them) finished, I just wanted them to start all over again. Altogether this band can't be hyped enough. So here I go: These wholesome young Northern lads rock my world and I'm sure my mother would approve of them too..

Album Review: Stars - Set Yourself On Fire

Author: Andrew Sykes

Stars are yet another band to come out of the eclectic Canadian collective that spawned KC Accidental, Broken Social Scene and Metric, the basic premise being that loads of art-school musicians (Do Say Make Think members, for example) get together in random little groups and make deliberately different music from their 'home' bands. When these beard-stroking, arch post-rock kids go pop, the results are astonishing.

Stars is based around the "he said, she said" vocal interplay of the fantastically named Torquil Campbell and Amy Millan. You can consider them the most pop end of the collective; there's precious little in the way of wigouts, krautrock clicks or any of that crap. They aim to take over the genre founded by later Pavement and Stephen Malkmus - the wry, witty pop song, mixing experimentation with clever lyrics and hook-laden choruses.

Opener Your Ex-Lover Is Dead is a tounge-in-cheek, heart-in-mouth description of the end of a relationship, set against horns and Death Cab-esque guitar lines. The whole thing has a vague resemblance to Fairy Tale Of New York; it catalogues love gone sour in the same offbeat way. In fact, the whole record is about relationships being destroyed, falling apart, or reminisced over. Check out The Big Fight; gentle Rhodes piano and a slow, gentle jazz feel allow Torquil and Amy's call-and-response vocals about the mundane facts of a breakup room to breathe: "There are bills here for you / that's cos nothing is free."

Ageless Beauty is a wall of guitar noise, reminiscent of Broken Social Scene's Almost Crimes, which progresses slowly and predictably, Amy's soft, Belinda Butcher vocals floating ethereally over the top, before a surprising, offbeat flurry of hypermelodic guitar noise signals the huge chorus to come crashing in while she joyfully proclaims "We will always be alive!" My Bloody Valentine homage it may be, but it's a damn good one.

What I'm Trying To Say comes across like the Postal Service aping Superchunk; bleepy keyboards and syncopated basslines track a bittersweet tale of love and heavy drug use with yet another killer chorus: "I am trying to say / what I'm trying to say / without having to say / I love you". Cheesy is never far away when you're trying to chronicle romantic entanglements, but the clever wit and dead-on observations will make you laugh (or cry) it off. Special mention must go to The First Five Times for being the best song ever about the first five times you have sex with someone - it's achingly true, heartrendingly funny and just plain genius. A bouncy acoustic riff drives Torquil through his reminiscing, before a buzzing bassline and heavy drums take us to a much darker place: "And every day / it's changed since then", sing Amy and Torquil together, in gloriously sad harmonies.

I could talk for hours about how great this album is. Every song is a small slice of pop perfection in its own right; witness swelling horns and soft organs on Sleep Tonight, driving, bouncy basslines and eighties synths on the hopelessly upbeat paen to love Set Yourself On Fire, or the rush of Pavement guitars that precedes an ode to longlost schooldays and Friend's Reunited-style meetings, Reunion. "I had six too many drinks last night, yes / and that's why I made you stay" sings Torquil, like it's the most romantic sentiment ever.

You need to hear this record. Seriously. It's moving, at turns both funny and bleak, and it's full of more great melodies and clever lyrics than most bands manage in an entire career. You owe it to your ears, your heart, and that little gooey bit in the centre of your brain that loves great pop music.

Album Review: Amusement Parks On Fire - Self Titled

Author: Andrew Sykes

Hailing from that well-known hotbed of musical experimentation that is, uhm, Nottingham, and featuring ex-members of Wolves (Of Greece) and Punish The Atom, Amusement Parks On Fire have been labelled by that bastion of taste (yes, that's sarcasm) the NME as "new-gaze". Don't let memories of shaggy-haired white boys with too many FX pedals and no tunes put you off; APOF are a much more immediate project.

So, what do they actually sound like? Well, a lazy touchstone would be Kevin Shield's masterpiece Loveless, the same sea of churning guitars and muted drums rears its head here. Where the aforementioned classic was dreamy, ethereal and downright stoned, APOF moderate their wall of fuzzy guitar noise with some seriously huge riffs that cast your mind back to Siamese Dream-era Smashing Pumpkins.

The opener, 23 Jewels, is a soundscape of warm organ and feedback, violins twitching mournfully from speaker to speaker; as the track comes to a close, a wall of feedback suddenly segues into pounding, off-kilter drums as the boys unleash their guitar storm in the form of Venus In Cancer. If you listen carefully, it sounds like there's roughly ten guitars all screaming away at one monumental riff, while Mick Feerick yells "I haven't got time to ask / what you're here for!".

As Venus In Cancer dissolves into static and fractured noise, Eighty Eight's stop-start guitars stab out; a quick breath, and the track opens up the throttle. There's precious little in the way of silence on this record - like their live show, the boys obviously see any time where they're not playing as wasted.

The most hyperbolic of my ramblings have been retained for trying to describe the speaker-destroying, fist-pumping should-be anthem that is Venosa. Four minutes of pop genius filtered through impossibly huge sounding guitars, its FX riot doesn't let up for a second. The brief breakdown lures you into a false sense of security, as the boys draw guitar squiggles before the whipcrack of Mike's guitar pulls the chorus back in and spits you out, a huge smile on your face. Yes, it's that good.

The epic, eight minute Wiper showcases APOF's ability to manipulate a build-up; they seem to know the exact point at which they should step on those stompboxes and head straight for the centre of the sun. The Ramones Book is a pretty, piano led reminiscence which seems almost out of place, surrounded by hook-laden guitar anthems. That's not say it's a misstep. Its blissed-out vocals and utterly surrounding soundscape serve as a brief moment of respite before the destructive noise experiment that is Local Boy Makes God that closes the album.

For a debut, this record is astounding. APOF have a sound that's mature and yet ripe for exploitation - if they can produce something as fantastic as Venosa on their first outing, just imagine what they can do in the future. Let's do our bit and make sure, for once, a great new British band isn't criminally ignored.

Music Feature: "Spice Vs Sugar " - Chris Laing vs Karl Coppack

Author: Dollyrocker

In reaction to my good friend Karl Coppack's recent evaluation of the talents of Paul McCartney vs John Lennon (you see what I did there?), I thought I would add my 2ps worth. Before I kick off this article though, I would just like to state that this article is IN NO WAY trying to argue with Karls, erm, taste? It's just that I felt the record needed setting straight, and being in a priviliged position (your humble host), I have instantly beaten Karl down by adding a picture onto MY article, so ner! You see, the great thing about bands like The Beatles is that they inspire so much emotion, and there is nothing more interesting (to me) than listening to somebody else rant on about them Beatles. Personally, my love affair with The Beatles began at a very early age.

When I was about 4 years old, my mum had got very scratched, but playable copies of 'A Hard Days Night' and 'Rubber Soul' and I was absolutely fascinated by both of them. I didn't rate 'Hard Days Night' so highly, although you can't argue with 'If I Fell', but 'Rubber Soul' was a winner. Played 'Drive My Car' out last night actually, went down a treat. Even 'Rubber Soul' has it's duff tracks though, 'Girl' sounds dreadful to me, especially the sighs after each line of the chorus, cheesy as hell. Miserable too. 'What Goes On' is also bad, and 'Michelle' grates a bit, although it is kind of charming in it's own little way. Now the man truly responsible for getting me into The Beatles is my old man. Not that he did so by design you understand, it went like this; every Friday night he would pick me up from piano lessons at the sadly missed Medway School for Music (I was aged 11 by now) and the choice of tapes in the car on the way home (a half hour journey) was Kenny Rogers, Tammy Wynette, or 'The Beatles Ballads'. Now although 'Ballads' wasn't a great compilation, it did have some winners on; 'Hey Jude', 'The Fool On The Hill' and 'Let It Be'. (See what I did there?)

Now oddly enough, my dad actually phoned me halfway through me writing the second paragraph, and I mentioned the fact that I was writing a Beatles piece and he could take the credit for getting me into The Beatles, and I asked what his stance was on Lennon vs McCartney, and his response went like this; "I prefer McCartney I think, oh no hang on because although McCartney did go on to do more songs with Wings (I think he thinks Wings are still going!) Lennon did write 'Imagine' which was a huge hit". I can see my Dad's point, but nothing can divert from the fact that these words come from a man who wears 'I Love Greece' T-shirts and likes corned beef. Also, my Dad likes 'Help', the album. That aside, he did mention that when 'Help' was released, it was the first mainstream record that featured the duo taking it turns to sing 'behind' the main vocal part, which was kind of clever.

So, where are we going with this then? I think I will take a slightly different tactic to Karl, and basically count the stinkers on each LP from 'Pepper' onwards, and then the winner is the loser, if you follow. 85% of Beatles output pre-Pepper is pants anyway. (Sticks tongue out at Karl)

Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Right, lets think about the stinkers then, there aren't many on here, ooh hang on though, lets think about this. 'Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite' was one of John's, and is truly crap, although I like George Martin's work with the tape loops, at least I guess it was him. 'Within You Without You' was Harrison, and 'When I'm Sixty Four' was Pauls. I'm tempted to call 'Good Morning, Good Morning' a stinker as well, but I think that would be a little unfair, and I'll save that kind of behaviour for later.

Result: John 1, Paul 1

Magical Mystery Tour.

OK, McCartney really shouldn't have taken acid. Whereas someone like Syd Barrett was a transformed visionary a couple of tabs in, McCartney went off the rails totally, writing nonsense like 'Your Mother Should Know' and the dreadful 'Hello Goodbye' although the latter does have some nice vocal reverb. Ho hum.

Result: John 0, Paul 2.

The White Album.

Got this on the stereo now actually, 'Honey Pie' at the moment. Hmm. For dogs sake Paul, it's not looking good son. Stinkers left right and centre here, so lets go through them. 'Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da' being the first one. What an insult to reggae man! The next one, 'Wild Honey Pie' is bad, but I don't know who wrote it, I think it's McCartney though, so thats two stinkers to Paul so far. Maybe it was the beard. Ooh hang on, 'The Continuing Story Of Bungalow Bill' is VERY bad, and that was John. Sick, sick little puppy. The next stinkers are from George and Ringo respectively, and then Paul storms back in with 'Why Don't We Do It In The Road' which is possibly the crappiest Beatles track ever. 'Birthday' is bad, but not as bad as 'Yer Blues', 'Honey Pie' sees McCartney face to face with barking dogs (they were returning his call) and 'Helter Skelter' is just horrible. John however, doesn't do himselves any favours, ending the LP with 'Revolution 9' (a 7 minute collage of scary noises) and the yukky 'Good Night'. Scores, George Dawes.

Result: John 4, Paul 6.

Abbey Road.

This is gonna be quick, there are only a couple of stinkers from the duo on this LP, one of which is the cheesy 'Come Together' from John, and the others are 'Maxwells Silver Hammer' and 'Her Majesty', both of which expose McCartney quite frankly, as a bit of a knob.

Result: John 1, Paul 2.

Let It Be.

OK, not my fave LP of theirs but has lots of fairly nice tracks on, although there is a stinker from each, Paul invites us down 'The Long And Winding Road' (f*ck Let It Be...Naked), Spector saved a sinking ship, and 'Get Back' should have been a non LP B side.

And so we have it, lets tot up the scores, John 6, and Paul a shocking 11! The problem is you see, is that by this method of evaluation, we discover that when McCartney wants to be, he can be a right bloody knob. Lennon however manages to pull off writing the odd dud, because they are rarely REALLY dud, they are normally a bit tongue in cheek. Shame really, because I don't think that Lennon wrote very many TOTAL classics, not like 'Hey Jude' (can we be friends again now Karl?) or 'Let It Be' (oh, never mind then) or 'Martha My Dear' or (I'll get me coat)..

Music Feature: "Sugar Vs Spice" - John Lennon vs Paul McCartney by Karl Coppack

Author: Karl Coppack

Some years ago I saw a documentary about the greatest band in the world. Some women were assessing who their favourites were. Some claimed that Paul McCartney was their man as he's "seriously cute." Others pointed out that Lennon was much more lifelike thanks to his natural hard-edged cynicism. In general though they preferred the doe eyed minstrel to the bitter ball of anger. They didn't dislike John outright though. In fact, they argued that the two men were so opposite in character that it somehow added to the Beatles total ability. Beauty and suffering in musical terms. Abrasion and balm.

"Every time I see him leaving the room I think, "Mozart has just left the room."" Not my words. These are the words of Paul Gambucini. Me and Gambo don't agree on many things apart from Hey Jude being the single greatest song ever recorded and wholegrain mustard's easy superiority over its yellow brother and, I'm afraid to say, we don't agree here. Gambo often likes to bandy the word "genius" in his McCartney sentences. Sorry Paul but there have only been two geniuses and they are Shakespeare and Mozart. Sir James Paul McCartney does not make up a triumvirate. He's got God given talent but let's not go mad.

Aha! You've got my number! You're a John man, are you? Well, yes and well, no. You see, I disagree with woman above. I've never seen the Beatles thing as falling in between two camps. It doesn't work this way. Life doesn't. The lines are far too blurred for that. Look at the evidence. Soft and gentle McCartney is mainly responsible for Helter Skelter which out rocks Led Zep at their Roman orgiastic best while on the same album the singing like he's got salt in a gun wound Lennon recorded "Julia", the beautiful ballad Elliot Smith tried to re-write a hundred times. Well, okay, let's try to rate them against each other. This isn't the point of the Beatles - it was never a contest, but let us speculate. We can begin with their pre 1967 innings. Well quite.

You see, pre 1967 they worked as a team. Lennon and McCartney in its purest sense. Sitting opposite each other in hotel rooms, nipping off to write the middle eight of their mate's verse and chorus etc. Together they could knock out some gold. Do you really need me to provide you with evidence? Really? Fine. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury I give you "Ticket To Ride." Three perfect minutes of awesome ability. This is clearly John's song but it's nothing without Paul's percussive layering. You can't give that to Ringo (you can give him "Rain" though - his finest hour) as it was McCartney who orchestrated it and the song couldn't get along without it. Mind you, the winklepicker fits on the other foot too. "I'll Follow The Sun" is archetypal Paul, beautiful, unobtrusive and simple but John's sharing of the chorus gives it its balls. They got on then and Christ can't you tell. Who's winning so far?

Well, clearly we are. Actually before we go any further can I "out" our editor. Next time you're at a Buttoned Down night why not go up to the man with the long fringe who is giving you the best tunes in all of the metropolis' postal districts and ask him why he dislikes "Girl" and "Eleanor Rigby". Go on. It'll take his mind off requests for Wham and Lene Lovitch. For believe it or not, young Chris doesn't rate them. You wouldn't credit it, would you? He looks so intelligent too. Go and ask him. You won't want to though, will you? Perhaps you're like me and want to take pity on him and don't want to be a party to such Flat Earth thinking. I mean, just listen to the things, will you? If you really think that the rest of us are admiring the Emperor's new clothes then kindly leave me to myself. Go on. You're not wanted. I digress.

So Paul 1 John 1 before Pepper.

Now, obviously Pepper is overrated but it's the Beatles for Christ sakes. The Beatles! The two gladiators meet and shake hands on the awesome "She's Leaving Home" and again on "A Day In The Life" but Paul lets down his fan club with "Fixing A Hole", "When I'm Sixty Four" and "Lovely Rita." John fouls the footpath too but not quite so much. Incidentally, clawing back to that "two parts of a whole" argument I bored you with earlier McCartney insists that a good example lies in the lyrics of "Getting Better" strikes their typical chords. Allow me.

Paul: I have to admit it's getting better. A little better all the time.
John: It couldn't get much worse.

John takes a lead for Strawberry Fields Forever alone. Also, the dull "Hello Goodbye" (McCartney) had the superb "I Am The Walrus" (Lennon) on the flip side. Adequate proof that they really did start to lose their mental faculties after Brian's death. I'm calling the rest of Magical Mystery Tour a draw as for Paul's awful "Your Mother Should Know" is followed by his exquisite "Fool On The Hill." They both worked on "Flying" which is comfortably the most underrated Beatles song ever.

Paul 1 John 2. Three albums to play.

Let's fly forward to November 1968 - the month of my birth. The lads have been to India, been silly, found the meaning of life, played acoustic guitars with Donovan and abandoned their razors. Now they're back and recorded The White Album. Imagine going to a record shop and buying that album on the day it was released. Let's be fair, amongst the beauty there are some absolute howlers. "Martha My Dear," "Ob Bla Di" and "Honey Pie" for Paul, "Revolution 9," and "Good Night" for Johnny Boy. George throws in "Savoy Truffle" (which Buttoned Down Chris likes! He's asking for it, isn't he?) to prove that he's still learning his craft but he's getting there. So who wins 1968? Lennon gives us "Happiness Is a Warm Gun", "Revolution", "Sexy Sadie", "I'm So Tired", "Dear Prudence" and "Cry Baby Cry". Imagine having written those songs in one calendar year. Prudence alone would have me resting on my laurels. So he's won this year, yeah? Paul donates the ludicrous "Rocky Racoon", the three mentioned above and the loathsome "Lady Madonna". How can he win?

He does.

By a mile.

A country one.

"Hey Jude."

It's the equivalent of a last minute goal, of an admired woman deciding not to go home with her boyfriend after all and asking about your toothbrush arrangements. As saves go this one is a doozy. It's perfect. It's the greatest song ever recorded. Gambo, I'm in your corner on this one. It's simple as all great music is. Anyone who can bang out a tune can play it. It begins like a ballad and ends as a gospel choir with Little Richard wailing over it. The fadeout is brilliantly innovative, as it was the first 7" single to go over seven minutes. DJs used to play it at seven minutes to the hour before the news so they could end their programmes could end that little earlier. And what a way to end your programme. Even Chris likes it!

Paul 2 John 2.

As Iggy says, "It's 1969 okay. There's war across the USA." There was war in the Beatle camp too. Apple was going tits up, Paul and John couldn't agree with each other's choice for manager, they both married very different women and they both worked on and released The Ballad Of John And Yoko. Times don't get much lower than that. I'm going to club "Abbey Road" and "Let It Be" together although the latter was released later a year later. Let's see how they get on. John gives us "I Want You (She's So Heavy)", "Don't Let Me Down" (another B side to an inferior song) and "Across The Universe" (which you might not like but you should try Bowie's version. Someone should call the Inquisition). Not much of a return but he was looking for a way out by now. Paul's good stuff includes "Oh! Darling," "The Long And Winding Road" and "Let It Be." Again, not much of a return. They were both matched by George this year too. "Here Comes The Sun," Something," and "For You Blue" would give him the year but we're not talking about him. That's for another time. No, you see in 1969 something great happened. Something wondrous that paid instant dividends. They started working together again. Just look at the results. "Two Of Us," "Sun King," "Because" (great on the Anthology and almost ruined by Annie Lennox. If you've still got the Inquisition on the phone you might like to tell them to hang on a moment) and "The End". This last one ends with their best couplet which sums up their last eight recording years.

"And in the end, the love you make, is equal to the love you take."

Shakespeare + Mozart.

This should have been their last word, the perfect farewell, the coup de grace but Paul, Paul!, ruins the whole thing by sticking a limp ballad of love to the FUCKING QUEEN at the end. I'm sorry Paul, I was going to call it a draw and make some lame point about how you can't rate one over the other but I'm giving John the nod just because of "Your Majesty". You just know that he snuck back into the studio when the others were on holiday and put it on at the end without telling anyone cause he's so bastard nice. That's too much honey, sunshine. You've lost this little contest because of it. Unforgiveable.

Final score: Paul 2 John 3 (after extra time in Studio No. 2, Abbey Road). Attendance, one man, an acoustic guitar and a bellyful of wine.

Live Review: Babyshambles at London Forum - 13th December 2004

Author: Karl Coppack

"Do you know me? I don't think so."

These are perhaps the most telling lines in the whole Babyshambles canon. Who does know Pete Doherty? Is he the misunderstood genius of a thousand tunes and a special insight into human pain or just another wasted junkie with a passion for poetry and a glib tongue? Well, tonight Pete isn't telling. He's showing you instead.

That's if he shows up. For those who have witnessed him live before there's a familiar anxiety to the beginning of the night. Those who have chosen to turn up at the loosely termed "stage time" aren't too surprised to see an empty stage. At 9pm we expect Babyshambles but are only greeted with the support band. This doesn't augur well for the evening. Perhaps some of tonight's audience went to the famed Camden Barfly gig, Aberdeen's Lemon Tree or one of the other no show gigs. Worried looks are exchanged.

"Not again?"

Then he's on. Did we ever doubt him? He strolls on with such a familiarity that we might have all just appeared in his living room. He's scrubbed up too. The pork pie hat and the suit replace the usual semi-naked stage outfit. Maybe it's the same suit he wore in court recently. He plops his hat on the mike stand and begins.

"Thanks for turning up to the soundcheck. How much did you pay to get in? Twenty quid? Jesus!" He's on form already. "In Love With A Feeling" sees him flop around the stage in his loose limbed fashion. Occasionally he throws his arms around a band mate. He audibly tells Drew "I told you I'd get you to the big time." Yes, we've got him in a good mood.

It can always turn nasty though. The highlight to those new to the Shambles is the Libertines' "What Katie Did". He brings a child onto the stage for the reprise. The kid looks scared at first, (wouldn't you be?) but gamely joins in for the last line. The followers of the Albion cheer loudly. It's another Pete surprise. This time last year at a Libertines gig he brought a dwarf onto the same stage to sing a sea yarn called "Sally Brown". Earlier that night we'd sat through Chas and Dave. Say what you like about Pete, he'll always give you a show. The kid exits stage right and the band give the crowd what they want. They roar into the now top ten hit "Killamangiro". He's a chorus in when he stops the band dead and accuses someone of throwing a glass at the child. He sits back on the drum platform shaking his head. The whole crowd feels chastised. It's not for long though. He's on his feet and back again a minute later. He can only resist the mike for so long.

He can only end on one song. The ode to his mate and mentor "Wolfman". The man himself appears for the song, backed by thumping drums. Then they're away and into the night. We can only guess where.

We might not "know" Pete Doherty but we learn a lot about Babyshambles. They are not a Diet Libertines, just filling in until he and Carl make up. We may never see Pete and Carl dive from the same stage again but it's not to say that the rest of the Shambles are a mere "Pete Doherty Plus Three". True, they'll never have the same sense of camaraderie and passion as the Libertines but they exist comfortably in their own right. Even without the Libertines, this band would have made it. They're already England's primary band and they haven’t even got an album out yet. You don't get that from one man's charisma.

So who is Pete Doherty? He's a man with enormous talent, slightly misunderstood and not entirely reliable. He may not always turn up but once he has you know he's there. Surely that's enough for anyone.

So do we know him? I don't think so.

Album Review: Green Day - American Idiot

Author: Becky Parkes

It seems like an age since Green Day last graced us with an original album, not made up of their previous hits or B-sides; whilst "International Superhits" was a good compilation of their singles, the original material on offer was a paltry two songs.

"American Idiot" reverts back to post-"Warning" Green Day, with fewer bizarre interludes. Whilst "Warning" was a strong album, it did seem to digress away from the true nature of Green Day, though it did spawn the fantastic "Minority". Opening with the title track, which everyone must have heard by now unless they have been dwelling in a box for the last few months, you realise that Green Day are indeed back on form. The second track may come as something of a surprise; split into five distinct sections, riff-packed catchy tunes are followed by slightly down-tempo, more introspective tunes before picking up and whizzing off at speed once again. The third track, "Holiday", is again a "classic" Green Day track, with pounding guitars and a melody that'll stick in your head as effectively as a radio jingle, though admittedly with far less irritation.

Without going into detail about every nuance of the CD, I think it's enough to say that although the album is a return to form as far as their style is concerned, lyrically Green Day have moved on. Whilst Billie Joe has previously penned lyrics about drugs and masturbation (especially if you hark back to "Dookie"), "American Idiot" moves on to a hatred for Bush's America, and brings back their subversive element. Structurally, this album is the most ambitious album they have yet produced, with two mini punk-operas in the form of "Jesus of Suburbia" and "Homecoming" forming the core of the album, and the album as a whole chronicling the year of a fictional character with a somewhat double personality. Green Day leap from genre to genre whilst maintaining their roots, from the poignant acoustic "Wake Me Up When September Ends" through to the punk aggression of "St Jimmy".

Personally, this is my favourite Green Day album yet- whilst progressive and ambitious, it maintains musically what they do best- punk rock you can mosh to. Here's hoping their live shows are as amazing as the album.

Music Feature: "The Best Cinematic Album In The World Ever?" by Peter Muscutt

Authour: Peter Muscutt

Music Ripe For a Film Soundtrack!

Have you ever heard a song, a piece of music etc and wondered 'that would work well in a film?' OK, probably not. It's to my eternal shame that I have a Smart Playlist on my iPod (although there's only three - the others being 'Mash-ups', a 150-strong list of groovy bootleg cut-ups and remixes by DJs from the mash-up scene and 'The Best Mix', a highly unoriginal title for my favourite ever tracks) called 'Atmospheric Music'. This play-list is a collection of songs, that, although not widely known or that popular, still represent a peculiar charm, an eerie feeling, or just sound like they'd infinitely contribute to a particular type of scene in a film.

If I'm honest, it was a half-hearted attempt to write a book that made me put this list together. The book was (or should that be 'is' - I'm still convinced I'll write it one day) called 'Floor 15', and was about a crumbling council estate in some unnamed city just after a nuclear war has taken place in Britain (as it often does, dangerous things those nuclear weapons!). It was to have various chapters devoted to various strange characters, such as a woman who kept her stillborn foetus in a jar (which had psychic powers, naturally), an elderly lady who accidentally kills a young boy whilst trying to escape the war-torn estate, and an ever present gang of boys who pester a man known as The Storyteller for clues as to how the country got into the deserted, corpse-ridden state it now is. The music I was listening to at the time led me to think of it as some kind of 'soundtrack' to the book, and I'd like to share some of those songs with you now...Oh yes, and if the book ever gets finished, go and buy a copy! Call me nerdy if you like, but I even thought about which parts of my story these songs would suit - if you liked the soundtrack to 'Trainspotting', chances are you'll lap this up. Or not... see what you think!

The Cooper Temple Clause - Written Apology (from the album 'Kick Up The Fire and Let the Flames Break Loose')
An absolutely outstanding song that is just crying out to be in some movie, preferably at the end. In my story, I always imagined it to coincide with the ending, which involved the final remnants of the estate collapsing in the light of a fresh nuclear attack. I love the way it starts off quite dark and menacing, before exploding into some anguished rock song, then mutating into some alien techno ending, all spread over ten glorious minutes.

The Future Sound of London - First Death In The Family (from the album 'Dead Cities')
The FSOL have always made very cinematic pieces of music, albums with rarely any discernable start and end, with endless segues of music that you can lie back and imagine things to! This piece is another dark and surreal song, not really anything you could hum on the way to the shops, but damn fine for using in a story like mine.

Ultrasound - Happy Times Are Coming (from the album 'Everything Picture')
This group only made the one album to my knowledge, which is a shame, as they made some great atmospheric tracks like this eight-and-a-half-minute gloom-a-thon, which, being gloomy, would suit my story again. If I'm being honest, most of these songs included here are more like end credits music for a film - they seem to have some dramatic or optimistic quality that seems perfect for an ending.

Blur - Essex Dogs (from the album 'Blur')
If Blur ever wanted to release a song under a different name so nobody would know it was them, then this would edge it. A moody, paranoia filled trip through suburbia with Damon and the lads, depicting dogs jumping through sprinklers, Essex pubs, and the smell of puke and piss. Just the sort of grimy, eerie song that I thought would suit a film well. Rather than an ending, this would be better positioned at the start of a film - or in my story, a journey through the horrors of a bombed out country. It's a cheery story, this one I'm writing, isn't it?

Mansun - Special/Blown It (Delete as Appropriate) (from the album 'Six')
This isn't as depressing as some of the other songs on my list, and has a kind of bleak optimism, a sense of resignation (the line 'I've really blown it now... ' summing it up) but with a freedom to the whole thing - almost like 'I've made a mess of things but now I can start fresh'.

Suede - The Next Life (from the album 'Suede')
A very gentle, piano led ballad which is very minimal in it's arrangement. Brett Anderson's voice kind of caresses you in this one, like a hangover cure. This would work well in one of those scenes where a character needs to get some space and leaves home for some distant place. Not stereotyping those kind of films or anything.

Pulp - Deep Fried In Kelvin (from the single 'Lipgloss')
How this track was never even put on an album is perhaps the biggest crime Pulp ever committed. A fantastic ten minute ode to the joys (or not) of living on the infamous Kelvin housing estate in Sheffield. As this song is actually about a council estate, it makes it a dead cert for being included on the soundtrack of a story about one. As it is, this is beautifully apocalyptic, timeless, and scary.

Muse - Nishe (from the single 'Unintended')
Beautiful laid back track that sounds like it was recorded in some bedroom really late at night, like 3am or something. Would suit a night time scene in a film or story such as mine, and the fact that it's an instrumental swayed it for me! (Isn't all good film music instrumental?)

Suede - We Are The Pigs (from the album 'Dog Man Star')
Another Suede track, and one suitable for an opening track, playing over some credits at the start of a film (God, I am sounding a real nerd now). This track, full of soaring chords and interspersed with seedy sounding trumpets, is a real winner. It's just that little bit less commercial than something like 'Animal Nitrate' which would give it a bit more credibility in a film.

Kraftwerk - Mitternacht (from the album 'Autobahn')
Although it could be argued the entire 'Radioactivity' album could have been the soundtrack to some odd, experimental art film, this effort from Kraftwerk's fourth album shows how atmospheric they could be, even in 1974. All the feeling and sounds of a walk through a city at midnight are conveyed here, from dripping water, to echoing footsteps, whooshes of steam from factories and dark, descending chords bringing across the sense of a walk down some dark, deserted street.

Orbital - Transient (from the album 'The Blue Album')
Orbital hit their cinematic peak in 1996 with the amazing 'Insides' album, but this effort from their final studio album captures that film-music style one last time. Sounds like a piece of incidental music from some futuristic science fiction horror, which...hmm, didn't they record in the shape of the soundtrack to 'Event Horizon'? The original choice from the Hartnoll brothers was the full length, five-part, thirty minute version of 'The Box', but that would have been heavy going even for the most difficult of films!

The Orb - S.A.L.T. (from the album 'Orblivion')
Paranoia packed and apparently narrated by radio's very own Mark Radcliffe (I'm sure it's not), this is dark, wavering techno punctuated by some bloke going on about prophecies, strange marks on hands signalling the bar-coding of society, and an unhealthy obsession with the number 666. It picks up as it goes along, twisting from a meandering song you definitely shouldn't listen to when walking home late at night to a full blown techno overload.

Babylon Zoo - Is Your Soul For Sale? (from the album 'The Boy With The X-Ray Eyes')
OK, not the most fashionable band ever, but this track from the groups' first album is a worthy film-closer, and for some reason I keep imagining a small plane carrying survivors from a great fire away from the smouldering ashes of a ruined London. Maybe because of the line 'London town is burning, and the mice and men are running...'

Muse - The Gallery (from the single 'Bliss')
Quite experimental in that Muse haven't really ventured into the world of synthesisers and treated drum machine beats that often, but this veers nicely away from the rock guitar sound they do so well. Like the other track of theirs used here, 'Nishe', this is futuristic in sound, but still retains an eeriness associated with things like the end of the world or lots of death. Which my story would have in the truckload.

The Auteurs - School (from the album 'How I Learned To Love The Bootboys')
If you need any evidence that Luke Haines, lead singer in The Auteurs, can do film soundtracks, watch 'Christie Malry's Own Double Entry'. This is a frankly disturbing song gentle in stature, but with a sense of menace just bubbling underneath the surface.

Orbital - I Wish I Had Duck Feet (from the album 'Snivilisation')
There was a song they always used to play in Drama class at school, which was really, really frightening and had a woman singing in distorted vocals with the line 'what...is behind the curtain', and it used to freak me out completely. I had the same sort of feeling listening to this, another cinematic wonder from Orbital, which is all about freak shows. Yes, freaks, nuclear war, death, violence and general horror. If my story is going to be a film, methinks it will be an '18' rating!

So there you go, music lovers. If you like the sound of some of your favourite songs being in a film, why not start pestering the film makers to fork out the cash to use them? After all, its only by fluke that Godspeed You Black Emperor were used in '28 Days Later' - you know, the music that builds to a great crescendo as the lonely guy wanders around a deserted London... and that song rocks!

Classic Albums: Guns 'N' Roses - Appetite For Destruction

Author: Richard Cosgrove

Though it seems like a distant memory now, and to those in their teens maybe even a myth, once upon a time Guns 'n' Roses were not only the most dangerous band on the planet, but they made what is easily one of the best rock albums ever produced, the seminal Appetite For Destruction.

At the time, rock music's rising stars included the likes of Motley Crue, Ratt, Poison, Cinderella and a whole host of other bands whose main priority was to look good and play good time rock and roll music, in that order. To be in these bands the main criteria was that you could apply your eyeliner correctly and tease your hair just so. If you could play your instrument well (or at all in some cases) and sing then so much the better, but it wasn't the most essential quality needed.

Towards the end of 1986, however, Kerrang! magazine began to run small pieces about an LA band (weren't they all in those days?) who were taking the Sunset Strip by storm, selling out gigs and shifting copies of their debut EP Live ?!*@ Like A Suicide like there was no tomorrow. Unusually though, these were no pretty boys, they actually looked like they came from the street (which as it happens they really did, living together in a squat in Hollywood) and even more unusually they played their instruments like they knew what they were doing. The icing on the cake was their singer, W Axl Rose, whose vocals ricocheted from low growls to high pitched screams that Iron Maiden's Bruce Dickinson would have been proud of, all with the greatest of ease and with an authoritative tone that was missing from the rest of the pack.

After teasing the UK rock audience by releasing It's So Easy in June of 1987, and following it up with three nights at the Marquee (accompanied by the Star's claims that "a rock band even nastier than the Beastie Boys is heading to the UK"), the band's debut album Appetite For Destruction hit the shelves and thus began four years in which the rock world belonged to Guns 'n' Roses. But was it THAT good, really? Let's take a look.

Kicking off with Welcome To The Jungle, the LA quintet effectively laid out their stall for the next 60 minutes, asking us "You know where you are?" before informing us that "You're in the jungle, baby. You're gonna die." The staccato main riff conjours up the atmosphere of 1986 Los Angeles perfectly, and even before the world had become accustomed to the accompanying video, it was easy to image the boys swaggering down the Strip, whiskey bottles in hand, fags hanging from lips and groupies in tow.

It's So Easy's opening bassline, played by the bastard son of Sid Vicious, Duff McKagen, heralds one of the great attitude songs, all punk sensibilities and razor sharp observations. This, in short is the song that Nikki Sixx would love to have written, but would never have gotten away with with Vince Neil's crybaby vocals. In what might have been a foreshadowing of the perfectionism that would later tear the band apart, Axl tells us that "Nothin' seems to please me", and then delivers one of the great rock lyrics of our time, "I see you standing there, you think you're so cool, why don't you just, fuck off!". Couldn't have put it better myself.

Nightrain follows, borrowing heavily from Slash's surrogate father, Joe Perry of Aerosmith fame, and speeding along like, well, a night train. Guns' ode to chemicals contains more imaginative soloing that a whole rack of Poison albums and left many an air guitarist out of breath on the dancefloor back in the day.

The best way to describe Out To Get Me is to imagine an ACDC album played at 45rpm. (For those of you who don't know what a "45rpm" is, go ask your dad about those 12" black circular things he's got stashed in the attic.) "Some people got a chip on their shoulder, and some would say it was me", sings Axl, and never a truer word was committed to vinyl (amazingly this album is that old it came out before the advent of CD!).

Mr Brownstone is up next, all swagger and attitude. Those of you old enough might imagine the Hoffmeister bear
shuffling down the street to the sounds of Mr Brownstone. This is one of those songs that if you hear it in a club and it doesn't get your hips and shoulders moving then you're probably dead. Another ode to pharmaceutical stimulation, it seems ironic looking back now that Axl eventually threw Steven Adler out of the band for drug abuse when their whole image was originally based on being the pinnacle of the sex, drugs and rock'n'roll lifestyle.

The next track needs no introduction, and has graced everything from rock festivals to weddings in the 17 (count 'em!) years since it was released. Paradise City, along with Sweet Child O'Mine will remain Guns legacy to the world. Both were songs that while they fit firmly into the hard rock mould, had enough about them to cross over into the mainstream, and send Appetite into the stratospheric record sales company of Bon Jovi and Def Leppard. Back in the days before CDs when you had to turn the record over after the end of side one, this was exactly the kind of track that drew the first half to a satisfying close, yet left you wanting more.

My Michelle. A classic stop start guitar riff that segues into a fast and furious chorus. If there was a filler track on Appetite (and there isn't) then this would be it. On any other album of the era this would have been a standout track, but measured against the rest of Appetite, this is definitely the runt of the litter. That said, it's still a belter of a track, forcing itself out of the speakers with a nasty attitude, and in many ways the perfect start to side two of your old vinyl album. It's good, but just wait until you hear the rest of this side.

Think About You is an effective juxtaposition of loud, abrasive guitars with the first of two surprisingly tender lyrics on the album (well, tender when put against the grime and venom of much of the rest). "It was the best time I can remember, and the love we shared, is lovin' that'll last forever," Axl sings, and you actually believe him. Even urchins from the street need love and you get the feeling that this is the closest you're ever going to get to hearts and flowers from Guns.

What more can be said about the next track that hasn't already been said. This track is undoubtedly the most recognised Guns track, and a sure contender for the best loved rock track of the 80s. Sweet Child O'Mine is the song that almost never was. Slash has always maintained that he never wanted a ballad on the album, and right up to the last weeks of Appetite's gestation, this track wasn't even written. Fate intervened, however, and an impromptu jam session turned into Sweet Child, and the rest, as they say, is history. A timeless and classic intro riff that will forever define Guns 'n' Roses in the eyes of the world, but what a way to be defined.

Where to go from the triumph of Sweet Child? Well, how about the aural assault that is You're Crazy. Though redone to much better effect as an acoustic song on Lies, this was the perfect antidote to Sweet Child, rudely reminding you that Guns were a hard rock band. You want Foreigner, great. Just not here. Short, loud, abrasive. What more do you want?

My Way is more of the same, with Axl telling us "My way, your way, anything goes tonight." On the strength of this, you don't doubt him for a second. "Tied up, tied down or up against the wall," the choice is yours.

Appetite draws to a close with what can only be described as a cinematic rock experience. Rocket Queen is the kind of song that gets played over montages of debauched LA rock clubs in movies. Picture the scene. Our hero walks into the club, amid a writhing mass of scantily clad bodies. We pan past girls and boys with mascara and piercings, their faces illuminated by the pulsating light show, as this track plays, loudly. This is no throwaway song at then end of a album, this finishes off Appetite with both a bang and a final plea from Axl that "All I ever wanted was for you to know that I cared."

Classic album? Definitely. Listening to Appetite again as I write this review, it stands out as one of the few rock albums that has stood the test of time. While I still like Motley's Shout At The Devil, Ratt's Invasion Of Your Privacy, Cinderella's Night Songs and even Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet, Appetite has that attitude and certain "je ne sais quoi" that many of the 80s rock albums lacked. In short, if you like you guitars loud and your rock hard, this album deserves a place in your collection..

Classic Albums: Helen Love - Radio Hits

Author: Silke

Sometimes a glum and miserable day (as we've been having of late here in London) can be cheered up in an instant by the most ridiculously simple thing. It can be the tiniest bit of news, a song on the radio, a call from someone and suddenly "hey ho" your "heart goes boom".

For me a wave of sweet and warm happiness overcame me when I heard the news that Helen Love - who I had thought to be one of the many groups from the early 1990s that hadn't stood the test of time - are due to release a new EP called "The Bubblegum Killers EP" in the New Year. The news immediately made me dig out Helen Love's first CD album Radio Hits and I was cheered up beyond believe listening to it. To be honest I had totally forgotten how peculiar and wonderfully kitsch and jolly it is!

For those of you unfamiliar with Helen Love, the group was formed in Cardiff in 1993 by Helen Love (vocals), Sheena (guitar), Roxy and Mark (Casio keyboards and drum machines) and the members are Wales's self-proclaimed biggest fans of the Ramones.

"Radio Hits" is a repackaging of all the Helen Love singles and EPs up to 1994 and thus a short but sweet, jovial introduction to their early lo-fi punk sounding trash-pop tunes.

I know it sounds cheesy but their music can only be described as The Ramones meet bubble gum pop: with supersonic punk guitar riffs, poppy and tacky keyboard jingles and drum machine beats and of course the shout-along punk grrll vocals. What I love about it most are their uniquely innocent, simple and silly teenage-like lyrics though.

For example in "Formula 1 Racing Girls" Helen sings "I bought these jeans to make you love me / I cut a hole so your hand would fit" and Riding Hi has probably the laziest lyric in the world: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, it's great to be alive".

"Joey Ramoney" and "Greatest Fan" are tributes to guitarist Sheena's favourite Ramone and it just says it as it is: "Sheena's in love with Joey Ramoney / Wants to be his one and only / Sheena's in love with Joey Ramoney". (Incidentally, Joey became a great supporter of the group).

Pure happiness weaves itself throughout the album and "Summer Pop Radio" and "Love; Kiss; Run; Sing; Shout; Jump!" both remind me of hanging out in the summer sun and being in love.

However, my favourite track on the album is "Punk Boy 1" as it is full of romanticism and sweetness. Helen sings "Do stars explode when he walks you home / On a cool and clear evening / D'you wanna put him on like your favourite song / Or never wanna hear him" and it sounds really stupid, but to this day I work on the very same principle when I meet a boy! Because if your heart doesn't go boom when he walks in a room, then he is quite clearly not a punk boy!

I reckon we should all remember this, and obviously listen to Helen Love and also remember (as she announces in Punk Boy 2) to "Stay young and beautiful, / 'Cos that's what you are / That's what you are!"

Music Event: A top ten singles of 2004 overview by Aurliea Wilson

The year 2004 was a year of great debuts and great follow ups. I compiled a list of the top ten greatest singles of 2004.

1. Ride- The Vines
2. Walk Idiot Walk- The Hives
3. Can't Stand Me Now- The Libertines
4. Reptilia- The Strokes
5. Take Me Out- Franz Ferdinand
6. Somebody Told Me- The Killers
7. Slow Hands- Interpol
8. Our Time is Running Out- Muse
9. Float On- Modest Mouse
10 Great Heights- The Postal Service

Live Review: The Darkness at Brixton Academy - 23rd November 2004

Author: Kate Milner

The Darkness are a stadium band. It's obvious, from the costumes to the enormous lighting rig to the pyrotechnics. Pity then that this show was incongruously set within the confines of Brixton Academy. And lucky thing too that very soon, they WILL be filling stadiums and if Justin closes his eyes and hopes hard enough, maybe he WILL turn into Freddie Mercury at Live Aid. After all, he seems to think he is already.

Anachronisms aside, the Darkness are a very entertaining band and it made for a memorable gig. After an averageish set from support The Answer (disappointingly not Ash in disguise, as rumoured), the lights darken and the band strut on, Justin wearing what can only be described as a leather/lycra bondage jumpsuit. With glitter. The pre-pubescent girls in the front row sigh and shriek which only reassures Mr Hawkins that he is in fact a sex god, something that most normal people would disagree with. But whatever the crowd at this gig is, it's probably not normal. In fact, the crowd is an unholy mix of 12year olds in Darkness t-shirts, middle aged men pogoing ferociously and families with kids. This is the ultimate "stadium gig" potent - under normal circumstances, who would take their kids to Brixton? On a school night? As I said, this is not normal.

Halfway through the first song ("Give it up") , it seems that the Darkness might just give us too much too soon. Justin solos then throws his plectrum into the crowd, he wiggles his arse, there are pyrotechnics (again on a stadium scale...a bit toasty when you're only 5 metres from the stage!!) and this all in the first three minutes. There's a fear that they'll burn out too soon but this fear proves unfounded. They bounce through song after song with equal amounts of passion. The first singalong song, "Growing on Me" provokes a roar of approval from the crowd and some people maybe even start thinking that Justin is starting to "grow on them"...is he actually quite sexy? Well, maybe for a man with bad teeth and hair. What he does possess in spades is charisma and this elevates him to the status of his icons, fellow jumpsuited, dentally challenged glamrock gods Bowie and the aforementioned Freddie.

Why all this fuss about Justin Hawkins? Well because he's one of an increasingly rare breed, Proper Rock Stars. He dances, dresses and probably brushes his teeth like a rock star. And that's what makes the show interesting. Of course, this is not to detract from the talent and style of the rest of the band...Dan Hawkins solos confidently and quite frankly rocks out. Probably a childhood dream of his, given his Thin Lizzy t-shirt. Frankie shows off his new poufier afro hair (with bandana...nice) and Ed drums. Well, that's what all good stadium bands need.

The gig itself is actually very good. What they have - apart from the image is The Songs. It's easy to forget, in this era of bland faux-indie acoustic type rock (stand up Keane, Snow Patrol, yes you there Coldplay...it's all your fault) that bands need Tunes and the Darkness have an entire set full of them. Songs that feel instantly familiar, as if you've known all your life (or maybe that's just because of my hubby insistently playing the album all year). "Friday Night", "Black Shuck" and "Love is only a feeling" all get warm responses. At one point, Justin disappears and reappears in a bacofoil trousers/little jacket combo and visor. Also with glitter (this time, with "Justin" stencilled on the arse. To match his tattoo). He strides to the front of the stage before asking the crowd "Do I look fat in this?". The little girls scream no and Justin asks if he should remove the jacket. Oblivious to our cries of "No! Put it away!" he does so and continues to monologue for the next few minutes about his growing beer belly before concluding that he "can't be arsed to go to the gym", not even for the sake of the fans and plays some more music. He clearly enjoys interacting with the audience, indulging in a little "follow the leader" singalong based around the main lyric of "Get Your Hands Off My Woman". He then hands the microphone to the crowd so that random audience members can try it...with varying results. Also notable was the introduction of Justin's "keytar" (chosen by audience vote over "geeboard"). Watching the Darkness is a little like a pantomime. Which is no bad thing.

The sound is a little disappointing, given the huge stack of Marshall amps a la the "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" video. Probably turned up to a little less than 11, in consideration of the younger people there. Despite this, it was a good tight RAWK sound and the vocals - as always- dominated. There were a couple of new songs which were fairly unmemorable but generally the gig highlights were the Ones Everyone Knows. Of course, when they left the stage for the first time there was one notable gap and it was to everybody's relief that they returned and broke into "I Believe in a Thing Called Love", Justin by now wearing a holographic jumpsuit with admiral detail and an admiral's hat. Clearly a man who likes to cover all his fashion bases. One blast of "Love on the Rocks" later and they're off again.

But not for long. Justin returns and - sitting at the keyboard- plays the opening chords of "Do They Know it's Christmas" before saying "And now for a real Christmas single!" and breaking into "Christmas Time (Don't Let the Bells End)" A little snide Justin, considering you're on the new Band Aid single. Maybe it's because he's still sulking about not being allowed to sing Bono's line. If it wasn't for that pesky Bono being there again... "Christmas Time" is delivered immaculately and poignantly and - as the band exit - giant glitter cannons release powerful showers of glitter into the arena, choking the front three rows and later being spotted as far away as Camberwell... A final overblown gesture from a band who are too big for Brixton. They deserve to be.

Live Review: Scissor Sisters at London Brixton Academy - 31st October 2004

Author: Richard Cosgrove

So, for the second time in two weeks I found myself at a Scissor Sisters gig, although I have to honest, I didn't go dressed as Leatherface to the Royal Albert Hall! I'm not alone in dressing up tonight, though, as a very impressive portion of the audience seem to have heeded the Scissor Sisters' call for this to be a costumed affair, and costumes there were of all shapes and sizes. As we walk down towards the Academy, we decide to stop off at the Goose for a quick drink and there in front of us is a scene straight out of Psycho. Literally. In what is easily the most original costume I've ever seen, this guy has his own private shower stall complete with white curtain draped around him - genius!

Inside the pub there were vampires, werewolves, Homer Simpson, Superman and Supergirl, a group of demonic nuns, and Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, complete with sparkly ruby red slippers. We were definitely not in Kansas, Toto. Once inside the Academy itself there were more costumes, painted faces, and more more homemade scissors than you could shake a, well, homemade pair of scissors at.

As previously, Kiki and Herb are providing support, and somehow it seems perfect than on a night like tonight there is a transvestite torch singer and a deranged keyboard player entertaining the crowd. They depart the stage and we have the pleasure of a live DJ who knows just which musical buttons to push to keep the crowd at fever pitch.

As it's Halloween, the Scissor Sisters have gone that extra mile, and the lights go down to reveal a makeshift screen onto which we first get projected film of Jake Shears singing 'Bicycle Of The Devil' in a kimono before removing it to reveal some rather natty bondage gear to screams of encouragement from the audience. Following this we get a short horror movie called 'Wait Til Carol Comes' in which Carol Channing ends up
murdering Shears and Ana Matronic.

Cinematic interlude over, the band are suddenly silhouetted onto the curtain, which swiftly falls to reveal a special halloween set, complete with huge tombstones for each of the band. The band themselves are in full Halloween mode, dressed as characters from the Rocky Horror Show, with Shears cutting a particularly fine figure as Frank N further, lunging around the stage on impossibly high platforms.

Opening with 'Laura', the band play the same set as they did at the Royal Albert Hall, and are just as entertaining, but in a completely different way due to the wildly different feel of the venue and the nature of the evening. Where the Royal Albert Hall gig was all about pomp and music hall stylings, tonight is all about letting their hair down and reveling in the fact that they are throwing the best Halloween party in town with five thousand of their closest friends.

The unique nature of the evening aside, one of the Scissor Sisters' greatest strengths is the banter between Shears and Matronic which comes across like a conversation between great friends that we're all a part of. The ease with which they engage the audience and bring a sense of vaudeville to the proceedings ensures that the barrier between artist and audience is as minimal as possible.

As the show draws to a close after some ninety minutes, the sea of grins on the audience's faces is testimony to the fact that we've not only seen a great gig here tonight, but we've also been to a bloody good party, albeit one that ends far too soon and could easily have carried on until dawn. Here's hoping they come back next year so we can do it all over again.

Live Review: Modest Mouse at London Astoria -18th November 2004

Author: Silke

Usually it's not too difficult to get rid of a spare ticket to a gig, because there's always a friend who wants to go as well. However, with a spare ticket available for Modest Mouse at the Astoria I encountered lots of "thanks, but no thanks", "modest mouse, who are they? Cheers, I'll pass sweetheart" from my friends and acquaintances. Nobody seemed interested enough in joining us.

Even outside the venue there were no ticketless fans only lots of rain and puddles. In the end I got a tenner for the ticket from a dodgy tout which annoyed me a lot as I hate touts, but as soon as I heard the first few Modest Mouse tracks I forgot all about it. The gig was truly phenomenal! At the risk of sounding smug, I can only say to all those of you who turned down the opportunity to join us in the Modest Mouse fun: YOU MISSED OUT!

For those of you whose reaction would've been similar to those of my philistine friends (i.e. "modest what? who the heck are they"), Modest Mouse are a mighty fine indie band from Issaquah (in the US state of Washington) and have been around since 1993 and came back with a bang this year with their album "Good News for People Who Love Bad News".

The gig started with a couple of slightly odd and confused minutes when the band came on stage to "get ready" with leading man Isaac Brock getting changed into a snazzy stripey boating jacket and white trousers in plain view (showing off his massive anchor tattoo on his back) whilst the rest of the band fiddled about with their pedals and instruments.

The band then launched into what can only be described as an amazingly eccentric and stirring set (mainly consisting of tracks from their latest album) with lots of crazy and eclectic instrument changes (including string bass, banjo, keyboards and various percussion implements).

Modest Mouse's frontman Brock stood stage-left (I guess determined not to be the "frontman") but he certainly led the rock 'n' roll mayhem which included highlights such as their latest single "Float On" with its highly contagious guitar line, the amazing banjo playing on Bukowski and the anthemic and fabulous "Trailer Trash" (from their 1997 album "Lonesome Crowded West") which had me dancing up a sweat and singing out loud.

Brock's between-song banter was completely unintelligible but it made me giggle and altogether the gig had an incredibly happy feel and showed off a more upbeat side of Modest Mouse. More frustrated, angry and morbid songs like "Bury Me With It" and "Dance Hall" were left off the set list. Instead, the very final encore, a rousing romp through the hopeful "The Good Times Are Killing Me" was just the perfect way to round off such a remarkable and uplifting gig for me! I loved it and if Modest Mouse are ever back in town I recommend that all of you who didn't get the chance (or refused the opportunity!!!) actually go and see them. You won't be disappointed.

Live Review: Har Mar Superstar at London Astoria -12th October 2004

Author: Alexa Evans

Sliding, gyrating, sizzling, the man, the legend, Har Mar Superstar. Boy oh boy he did not disappoint. As he oozed on to the stage in a white suit featuring backless and frontless Christina Aguilera style chaps and a tight red vest we knew we were in for a treat.

An earlier sighting of the rare Bill Oddie in the upstairs bar had already made it an all-star gig but once Har Mar started to belt out the tunes that excitement had doubled. The combination of sultry tones with funked up beats and an awesome selection of dance moves confirmed Har Mar is not a gimmick. The man simply breathes sex, yeah on the street you wouldn't look twice but up on that stage with that aura, voice and moves he becomes a sex god! The room was full of panting women and envious boyfriends all lusting after one man and some even offering their women to him as a sacrificial 'if you won't snog me then have my girlfriend' type offering.

As he glided from "The Handler" to "Body Request" with those beautifully melodic tones you got the feeling that his latest album was a homage to early Motown greats such as the Jackson 5 and Stevie Wonder and he did not disgrace them one bit. He didn't falter a single note as he pranced around the stage and it was evident he was relishing in the fantastic atmosphere as much as the crowd were. When "DUI" started playing the crowd went mad and as far as the eye could see cracking dance moves were braking out as if the venue had just been stormed by a large group of Pan's People.

Just when we thought it couldn't get any better he left the stage to return wearing nothing but a pair of tight red hot pants and socks. There wasn't a dry flange in the house!

The highlight of the evening for me was Har Mar Superstar at his filthiest and most flirtatious performing his classics from the first album "Powerlunch" and "Ez-Pass" and the stage was covered in bras! Being a mere 5"4 I had a bit of trouble seeing the stage at times but the atmosphere more than made up for it. Sweaty dancing, singalong sleazy moments and the knowledge that at least half the crowd were gonna go home for some nookie (probably including Bill Oddie) made it a night to remember.

My First Gig: Pink Floyd

Author: Dollyrocker

I will always remember my first gig. Aged 14, that band ladies and gentlemen, were the Pink Floyd. Apart from for about 10 months between 1966 and 1967, I don't think that Pink Floyd had ever been cool. I wouldn't know what to blame it on, Nick Masons tache? The Wall? The almost complete lack of singles? Or maybe, it's because post Syd, they were not really interested in the concept of being pop stars. So if you look at what was happening in say; 1972, (Ziggy, T-Rex, Eno, Roxy etc etc) and then look at what the Floyd were doing at the same time (Nick Mason asking the studio engineer for apple pie without the crusts and inventing the future look for 118 118, Rick Wright sporting a fine array of hideous jumpers knitted by his nan complete with gravy stains, Dave Gilmour rewriting the rulebook of modern rock music whilst still being the only guitarist to fill Jimi Hendrix sadly missed shoes, and Roger Waters, ah yes here comes the good bit, bashing gongs to within an inch of their life in the ancient ruins of Pompeii, being the badest maddest 'rock star' not to touch drugs, cussing studio engineers and producers for 'not understanding music', write albums with 20 minute orchestral pieces and the putting an Essex cow, yes a real one! on the front cover, being the most well spoken frontman ever and still saying the F word every ten seconds, and INVENTING BLEEDIN' TECHNO!, it would be fairly unreasonable to even INSINUATE that Floyd were ever cool. So now we have that out of the way, lets fast forward to 1988.

My eldest brother Dean, a man of (mostly) sound musical taste had introduced me to Floyd earlier that year. 'Wish You Were Here' was the first I heard, then 'Meddle', and then I went carwashing at weekends until I had earned enough quids to walk the two mile hike into town to buy another Floyd album on tape. I think I had to cadge a lift to London Tower Records and beg my dad to buy me 'More', and I think I picked up 'Relics' for 2 quid from a secondhand shop. Other than that, it worked out that I had to wash three cars to listen to one album. Don't worry kids, this was before I was old enough to even THINK about girls.

'Early 15th birthday present Chris?' 'F*ck Yes'. 8th August 1988 then. Pink Floyd playing Wembley Stadium as a 'three piece' but with about 15 dreadfully uncool session musicians, mainly in mullets and chinos. No Roger Waters (he stormed about three years earlier after years of decaying relationships with, er everyone actually, and launched a very successful solo career). But hey, I'm 14, drinking beer on my brothers shoulders, watching (I wouldn't want to be held to this) Paul Young (christ!) and waiting for Floyd to come onstage and wheel out the classic Waters songbook. Wish You Were Here indeed.

I can't recall what they played and in what order, but I am positive that it opened with 'Shine On You Crazy Diamond', which in itself justifies the concept of stadium gigs. It was getting dark, lazers, sound, hippies, I'm getting shivers down my back even thinking about it, and thats in a GOOD way. A fair chunk of 'Dark Side Of The Moon' got aired, and the thrill of a real hospital bed flying over our heads from one end of the stadium to the other will live with me forever, soundtracked by the futuristic headf*ck of 'On The Run', (see I TOLD you Waters invented Techno!).

We got the inevitable new Waterless album, 'Dogs Of War' was truly dreadful, 'Learning To Fly' with Gilmour at his most lyrically imaginitive (NOT) was actually passable in that kind of 'everyone swing their arms' kind of way, and 'On The Turning Away' was kinda atmospheric (I think I was on my second beer now).

So there you have it, fast forward another six months to 1989 and I had discovered the Mary Chain, The Clash, The Mission et al, but that was my first gig, and I am actually very proud. Thanks Dean! .

Live Review: Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds at London Brixton Academy - 12th November 2004

Author: Greg James

Last night was for me a baptism of fire in the ways of Old Nick. A man who's been casting his narrow shadow across music for over twenty five years along with a band of spindly alien mad men. Old enough to have fathered most of the alternative rockers bouncing and whining their way across the airwaves, Nick Cave showed that it pays to respect your elders otherwise they might just come around with the devil and tear your face off.

There was no highlight because each song was one. The Bad Seeds attacked and tore apart every moment they were on stage with a mad-eyed bleeding intensity. This was real heavy music, the heat given off would make mullets fuse to leather jackets and spotty skins boil away in seconds. This was music fuelled by a spiritual fire, it scalds you when you get too close. A vibrant passion infused every note to the point where I was lost in a blinding fusion of blues, gospel, ballads, jazz and weeping piano laments - it was all blended so seamlessly it should be impossible that it happened.

But it did. It was more real and alive than most bands can dream of being. There were no breathers and no respite was given. Like the hardcore punk scene where the Bad Seeds were sown, this band were here to tell you something, to pass a feeling whether it be beautiful or ugly and they're not going to let you up until it's pumping through your veins. This was just a relentless outpouring of the kind of music which is born inside and has to get out of you otherwise it will kill you for trying to cage it. This was beauty, anger, sadness, love and hate all barely bound by words and sound.

There were two sets but neither trounced the other instead it was more like the overdose was followed by a full-on cardiac arrest. The raging gospel of the first set passed away leaving the mournful bitter ghosts of the second set to haunt us. In the end, the night closed with a ferocious take on The Mercy Seat as acoustic strumming erupted into a blasting militant funeral march which left me with a few tears in my eyes. When live music gets you that bad, you know it's not been a good night but one of the best. If this is what the brandy of the damned tastes like, I want more.

Music Feature: "What's Good?' by Whistling Al McKenzie

Author: Whistling Al McKenzie

Funny how music becomes much more than the sum of its parts - even the music you love to hate. Recently, during my many idle moments in the workplace, I've found myself whistling horrors like 'Suicide Is Painless,' (apt under the circumstances), 'Nine To Five' (The Easton and The Parton), 'Chanson L'Amour,' and 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?' (none of my colleagues responded to that last one, ironically or otherwise). Yes, gentle, expectant reader, I know; you're telling me that my brain has been raddled by all those long office hours spent eavesdropping on endless conversations about diets and Wife Swap, and you're right. But then, the pain of hearing any of R Stewart's oeuvre is equalled only by the pain of making cuts on my fingers and putting them in a packet of salt and vinegar crisps, and I've never felt a sudden compulsion to do that during work time. No, the root of this odd behaviour lies in nostalgia, and those of us old enough to remember editions of TOTP featuring Jonathan King as a harmless joker suffer from the involuntary donning of rose-tinted spectacles more than most. For nostalgia, you see, is a virus. Caught from false memories, it attacks the brain from within, leaving it as weak and defenceless as a newborn; and just as the innocent and trusting tot has no natural resistance to measles, so the brain is vulnerable to spectacularly bad ideas - the idea that Boney M were a Good Thing, for example. If only a vaccine could be developed to protect the modern 30-something from the lasting damage inflicted by childhood bouts of Razzmatazz.

The one consolation when faced with this debilitating illness is knowing that today's smug juveniles will become tomorrow's fellow sufferers. Arguably, some of them already display alarming signs of the onset of Chronic Nostalgia - how else do you explain someone declaring that 'Hit Me Baby One More Time' is the greatest pop song ever? (I made a mistake there, confusing nostalgia with plain bad taste - it's so easy to do.) Whatever The Greatest Pop Song Ever is, it certainly ain't that, but neither is it any of the Woganesque fodder I've listed before. My point is, these vapid tunes from yesteryear have a habit of entering my head unbidden during moments of extreme stress or boredom or both, purely because they remind me of childhood, when life seemed simple yet wondrous, when you didn't have to worry about urban violence and the rising house prices, and Pleasant and Exciting Things were always around the corner. (He's just being nostalgic again; his childhood was actually filled with pain and fear. - Al's Stepdad) You could hardly accuse 'Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?' of being pleasant or exciting, (although I'm sure it was exciting for Roddy to have a wet dream about himself in public), but it's what you associate the music with that matters, not the music itself; whenever I hear that song, it reminds me of my 10 year old self giggling at a very silly Kenny Everett TV sketch, in which Sir Ken paraded around as Rod in his tight leopardskin kecks, his arse expanding to balloon-like proportions as he mimed the number. So the song has an effect on me - it doesn't mean I have to own or like the record, but the keyboardy-intro bit seems so much more whistleable these days than when I was 10, and I lay the blame for that fairly and squarely at the door of Ol' Mother Nostalgia.

Similar principles apply to the music we actually like, to the point where it's impossible to tell how good something really was. Were the Fabs that great? (Sgt Pepper certainly isn't.) Are they rated so highly for their melodic and lyrical craftsmanship, or because theirs was the first serious pop music in many listeners' lives, thereby gaining bonus nostalgia brownie points? Were they just the 1960s equivalent of Busted (at least in the beginning), and we're all too blinded by nostalgia to realise it? If I was the age I am now in 1969, would I dislike The Velvets as much as I dislike Black Rebel Motorcycle Club in 2004? Do I like them because they fit my image of 1960s coolness, and it's much easier to be nostalgic about an era you never actually lived through? I knew I was infected by the virus after watching Pop Idols with some friends; I went off on a rant about how contrived pop music has become, and how no-one rails versus the corporations anymore like the Sex Pistols did. They laughed at my naivety, arguing that the Pistols were as much a product of the industry as Will Gates is, and I could see their point, yet I still get hairs on the back of my neck from the opening riff to 'Pretty Vacant,' while I genuinely can't remember anything performed by S Cowell's brainchildren. As Burt Reynolds says in Boogie Nights, 'If it looks like shit and it tastes like shit, it is shit.'

Nostalgia isn't just about the personal, it's about the hype, and older music, the music we're nostalgic about, accrues more hype than current stuff does. How many times have we seen pop quizzes and Top 100s on Saturday night TV in the past few years? If I keep hearing that I should not only like, but love Elvis (I don't, messily disproving my theory re: nostalgia for eras you never lived through), then I might believe it eventually, maybe after the millionth soundbite. Nostalgia ain't what it used to be; it's now an industry, fed by the demand for cheap clip compilations on telly, by the Internet, by MP3, and by samples of Ye Olde Pop on modern hits. The really depressing thing is that despite having a greater diversity of music available to us than ever before, we seem happy to let the media dictate a categorisation of music into universally-perceived pantheons of 'good' and 'bad': should Rob Williams be voted into the UK Hall of Fame, or are The Blur more worthy of this honour? Does anyone with an IQ above 2 really care? Like that leopard-skinned arse swelling up to resemble a planet where Bet Lynch rules by fear, not everything is so easily classifiable. The lovely thing about true musical nostalgia is that it allows us to make our own minds up about what's in our Top Tens and what isn't, and to the youthful pop-pickers of today, I say this: In the kingdom of the Impressionable, the Hall of Fame is King.