Shout And Twist

Album Of Last Month

2009-11-01T00:00:00.003Z

Mumford & Sons 'Sigh No More' (Island)

Folk, Wikipedia will have you known, was devised circa the mid-19th century as somewhat of a pastime for the working classes. Ironic then, that south-west London's reawakening of the breed some years back is about as working-class as Lady GaGa is plausible. Not that social stratum has a thing to do with Mumford & Son's long-expected debut record. Well, sure The Enemy wouldn't name their next shipment of Undertones covers 'Sigh No More', but it skilfully embraces the sorta wholehearted schmaltz and despair each and every one of us naturally endures on occasion. And that is what makes these albeit faintly rekindled chord marches from the 1800s/'Harvest'-era Neil Young so fresh and appealing.
In 'The Cave', band leader Marcus Mumford's anguish and persistence to "find strength in pain" are doused with pure sincerity. Heck, come away from it short of a Kleenex wetter than the Yangtze and count yourself soulless. 'Winter Winds', though, prides itself on alike neurotic-about-love sentiments but via what sinks in as the thewy banjos and organs of a Leonard Cohen-staunch orchestra. Heartening, to put it mildly.
Good M&S devotees will already be wise to the staggering 'Roll Away Your Stone', 'White Blank Page' and the timeless euphony, buoyant refrain and gutsy drift of 'Little Lion Man'. All of which makes 'Thistle & Weeds' so much more stupefying. "Spare me your judgements and spare me your dreams, 'cause recently mine have been tearing my seams... Rain down, rain down on me," a forsaken Mumford whispers over an almost as-solitary guitar line. Again, it's his/their lost-yet-dogged thinking that prolongs 'Sigh No More'. Discounting the existing hyperbole of electro to boot, this bears on every era since the Mesozoics were knockin' about. It's real, it's honest, it's just wondrous.
Later comes 'Dustbowl Dance', whose poignant keys and piecemeal build into a 'Fix You'-kinda mélange marks the LP's strongest track. Closing is 'After The Storm', in which Mumford declares, "And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears... With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair". Whether or not the latter ditty is a direct allusion to Florence Welch's tresses it's hard to confirm, but really this track is the only fitting way to finish off proceedings - Utter optimism.
So then. Minus one or two obscure and unforgivable remarks of "God", Mumford & Sons have simply made one of the most exquisite records of the decade. The biggest occurrence to supervene on pop music in the year 2009? This is it.

Best Track –
'Dustbowl Dance'

The End Is All I Can See

2009-10-06T15:33:00.007Z

"What you know is gonna change the world forever?" (Anna McDoogles)

"Just like The Office and Extras, you're gonna watch it for the comedy. But I am gonna sneak in some other ideas, an emotional journey and some drama," Shout And Twist's 4th Favourite Comedian Ever Ricky Gervais told BBC Radio 5 Live's Simon Mayo of his directorial debut The Invention of Lying. Having just watched it, though, he more than 'sneaks' in these other ideas. Heck, the whole picture turns from romcom-with-an-angle to a pro-atheism sermon on why it's healthy to look beyond what 'they' tell you.
Really, it mocks the ignorant world like Sacha Baron Cohen did with Ali G/Borat/Brüno, but in a trackway where Gervais plays a God named Mark. Jennifer Garner is splendid as the vulnerable Anna, the one who rebuts her surrender to fakery by choosing what to give credence to all by herself (albeit via an unnecessary romantic subplot).
It's depressing in a good way, too. Anna sadly represents the bulk of humankind's illiteracy, but her picking to take in her heart even after Mark tells her that there actually isn't 'a man in the sky' is what one hopes from all of Christ's kids. Or at least their kids.
What does let it down a little is its lack of humour, but then we already knew Gervais left his finest hit wonder back in a Slough office.
So, following the poor showing that was Extras (and the Hollywood adventures), RG is seemingly back in the best way possible.

DL –
Muse 'Thoughts of a Dying Atheist'

The Greatest Author On Earth

2009-10-06T01:33:00.005Z

If like me you have more than half a brain, you'll be fully aware of the fact that there is no such thing as God. However, the nearest thing to an all-empowering skipper we do have - and this one is actually a real human being - is Richard Dawkins. I have read much of his material on evolution over the years, only now he seems to be getting some much-deserved and much-important recognition.

Here's a nice quote from him -
"There is a truly pernicious idea going about that everything is just a personal opinion and everybody is equally entitled to their personal opinion whether it fits with the evidence or not – as if there's nothing special about evidence, evidence is just a patriarchal, chauvinistic way of learning about the world.

"Evidence is evidence! Evidence is how we know what's true. Of course you can hold views that are contrary to evidence if you want, but don't expect anybody to respect you for it."

And here's a link to buy his new book The Greatest Show On Earth.

DL –
Eugene McGuinness 'God In Space'

Album Of Last Month

2009-10-01T00:00:00.001Z

The Cribs 'Ignore The Ignorant' (Wichita)

Weird, this. 'Ignore The Ignorant' is the worst Cribs record to date, yet it's still the best album of the last four weeks and a brawny, tasteful 40-odd minutes. The addition of Johnny Marr on guitar was an out there move to carry out; it was unnecessary and probably made out of 'Well, he's Johnny Marr'-type vindication than for the good of the group's progression. And really, it doesn't work for the first half. Hell, nothing does. 'City Of Bugs' and 'Hari Kari' are grossly rushed, which is unnerving for a band who only need to rely on their first three LPs' prowess in order to excuse there way in line at Koko on a Friday night. But then 'Emasculate Me' happens - at last The Cribs we recognise - and the title track, followed by 'Save Your Secrets' and 'Nothing'. Principally, half number two has the chompier strings and extra sentiment advancements we were hoping for, Marr or no Marr. A shaky and teetering start but thankfully 'Ignore The Ignorant' embraces an archetypal resurgence to pull off a rather decent record. Well, it is The Cribs, after all.

Best Track –
'Emasculate Me'

Pictures Of Something I Saw

2009-09-28T00:29:00.009Z

I've never done a gallery on my blog before, though that's probably cause I rarely take my camera to a show. Coldplay's turn at headlining Wembley Stadium last weekend was the perfect opportunity, however. Enjoy...

Album Of Last Month

2009-09-01T00:00:00.001Z

Julian Plenti 'Julian Plenti is... Skyscraper' (Matador)

Some solo albums are just destined. Peter Gabriel post-Genesis; Billy Corgan betwixt dropping/re-upping Smashing Pumpkins; Noel Gallagher (eventually) mid-Oasis. And then some just come straight outta left field. Thom Yorke; 80% of The Strokes; Scarlett Johansson. A further for the latter is Interpol's Essex-born and seemingly timorous Paul Banks. Or, as his debut solitary record will have you known, Julian Plenti. Points already for the equivocal moniker change - Paul Banks sounds way too English. And a good few extra for what is one of the best records put out this year. Banks', sorry, Plenti's baritone larynx works a treat on such wistful, elegiac ditties. And it's addictive, too. Heck, 'Unwind' is more a shock than the actual album - it's the most anti-Interpol, R and R-inducing ball, like, ever. Seriously, swap Plenti for Wayne Coyne and you wouldn't notice one iota. So, a startlingly excellent piece of record.

Best Track –
'Unwind'

Happiness In Magazines

2009-08-30T00:51:00.001Z

Album Of Last Month

2009-08-01T00:00:00.002Z

Florence and the Machine 'Lungs' (Island)

Well then. Florence Welch. A histrionic go-thinking hitmaker residing in her own G-darn dignity. Or, a niggling pest ate up by a yearning for fake flowers and empty birdcages. Tough to call really, one can deftly come away from her live show supposing both. On record though, notably this - her Paul Epworth ('Silent Alarm'/'Intimacy'/'Everything Is New')-produced debut, it all most definitely dwells in the former. 'Lungs' really shines out almighty because of its majestical tunes and Welch's chin-dropping chords, and not the need of some irksome props. Singles besides, 'Howl' is Winehouse minus the fag breath, plus some pop-screeching strings. 'Girl With One Eye' is sassy, brassy and cat-fighting hysteria. And the finale cover of 1991 dance track 'You've Got The Love' is, albeit disposable, one last cast-back of Welch's categorical prowess. So, a word to the womenfolk seemingly suffocating the good music at present - this is the album you wanna stare up to.

Best Track –
'Howl'

I Broke The Neck On My Guitar...

2009-07-30T14:59:00.005Z

The best new band in the world, Wave Machines, have made a video for their new single and the best song I've heard since November 21 2007, 'Punk Spirit'. I'm not really sure what to make of the clip, it'll probably take a few more spins for me to figure it out. Something about running away, anyway. Watch below. Gaze in awe. Buy it when it comes out on August 24.

Sigh No More. It's Ready...

2009-07-29T01:39:00.006Z

Last year the best gig I went and saw was by Mumford & Sons at some pub in Chiswick, London. At the time I said it was "perfect". Then, I made them my top tip for 2009. After which, I got so darn excited at the prospect of their new EP, I posted the artwork just for the sake of it. They are pretty much one of my favourite, favourite bands and they've not even released an album yet. What is that about?

ALBUM is called 'Sigh No More'. RELEASE DATE is October 5.

DL –
'Little Lion Man'

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That

2009-07-12T22:49:00.006Z

"Not that there's anything wrong with that," howls Jerry, rebutting an NYU student's belief that he is in a loving gay relationship with George. "No, of course not... My father's gay," proclaims the latter. One of America's most-spectated television sitcoms - Seinfeld - had just prided the normalcy of homosexuality one step further in the name of egalitarianism. Yet for all that, despite seven million Britons voting for a gay winner of Big Brother, and even with terrestrial telly hustling out the odd queer chat host every other primetime, it only takes a wee gander at California's bewildering Proposition 8 to realise homophobia is still alive. And in all its downtrodden, oppressed and sickly nature to boot. Some might say such cluelessness'll never melt away. But if there's anything else to assist in vanishing the ignorance and opening the door for closeted teens and the fully grown - it's Brüno.

According to early US box office reports, Sacha Baron Cohen's latest character movie has taken $30.4 million in its debut weekend. So somebody will have learned something, surely. Much like Borat acquainted with racism and bigotry, Brüno is not only a very, very, very funny comedy; It's a lesson to be yourself, be tolerant of others and to not take life too seriously. Sure, you'll get such scripture from about ten minutes of Sesame Street, but Cohen has done this via the slightly more adult extremities of homosexuality. Just because US presidential 'candidate' Ron Paul refused to spend the night with the gay Austrian fashionista, it doesn't mean he's homophobic. But the 'God Hates Fags' sign-bearers, the martial artist trained in punting away dildos and the trio of Southern hunters who passed up on naming the Sex And The City cast - that denounced a cold, unassertive society jammed with unhealthy subjection.

What with said-Seinfeld/said-Borat/Curb/Entourage helmer Larry Charles governing proceedings, it's fucking hilarious too. Picking out the wittiest moment is like coercing Angelina Jolie to choose her next toddler. But the Harrison Ford 'interview', the African gayby, the porn swingers night collaboration - all utter comedy gold. And on top of its great significance to civilisation as we know it and letting alone the knee-slapping satire, is Cohen's/Charles's seemingly world-weary take on celebrity philosophy.

Fellow clueful native Ricky Gervais has blasted the matter of reality TV many a moment - heck, The Office's David Brent was born out of regular person's desire to be a star. As is Brüno. Evidently talentless, he just wants to be famous for the sake of being famous. And that drive carries throughout the entire film, of which by the end, he is. But not down to the African baby, his 'celebrity' talkshow series or by attempting to turn straight. Brüno became a big name by being himself, coming out in front of herds of dogmatistic idiots by the means of making love to his assistant Lutz in the middle of a wrestling cage.

Actually, that last scene is Cohen's genius wrapped up in a ball. Jovial humour = Brüno and Lutz getting it on in ring. Social importance = Uninformed schmucks venting homophobic abuse exposed. The message = Brüno's outing broods on the emanation of self-assurance. Ahhhh, just perfect.

So if that's Ali G, Borat and Brüno wrapped up for good, where next for one of the finest comics of our time? Well, whatever path Cohen chooses, he's already given about as much as to humankind as any politician. Probably.

Freedom Fighters

2009-07-07T00:58:00.000Z

Florence first. I first saw young Welch at the Liverpool Barfly early last summer as part of Sound City. The fake flowers and the empty birdcage were all a little galling to be honest, but then her chin-dropping vocals made up for it. But then at times such histrionic recoils of flakiness also came off kinda vexing. But then she covered Mystery Jets' 'Flakes' - worth all the annoyances put together. But then I came away thinking there just weren't enough moments of utter straight-up nubtastic pop sensualness blathering out at me. So, as she and her machine shot offstage, really I wasn't sure what to take heed of. Course then the hype followed while she shlopped over to some Hackney synagogue to make the all-important debut...

And La Roux? They, or rather she, I pretty much fell in love with straight off. Away from and regardless of their 'lil mania of hype, Elly Jackson is a shining light for Grey Britain. A forward-thinking, young, no-dressin'-like-tart, cooler-than-thou, R&B-dissin' piece of musical perfection. Not to mention the songs. So, understandably, I expected her first full-disc outing to be rather strong. Which it is. Heck, it really is. But - something I feel shameful to type - I was, well, surprised at how quickly I grew bored of it. It was meant to blare out of my iTunes nonstop for at least a week and a half, but after a day or two, I dunno what happened. It was just... odd.

But not as odd as my reaction to Florence's 'Lungs'. I figured it'd react on me like when I saw her live - very half-great, half-irksome. But it hasn't. This is the album I've been listening to day after day after day. The songs sound huge, production is a perfect size, the melodies are about as addictive as M&S all butter chocolate chunk cookies. It's fantastic, it is majestic, it is everything I didn't think it would be and more.

And yes, the two are very different. But both are female, both albums came out within 8 days of each other and both are actual gleaming evidence that the globe is not all swine flu, poverty and Proposition 8. Who's better? Welch, then. Which really wasn't supposed to happen.

PS Little Boots' atrocity of a debut is obviously not even in the same ball park.

Album Of Last Month

2009-07-01T01:00:00.001Z

Wave Machines 'Wave If You're Really There' (Neapolitan)

If the thought of yet another Wii-possessed electro clan fills you with more fury than Alice Glass devoid of her morning blood-shot espresso, Wave Machines may just be the whizzes to save your spirit. Stationed at the fore of Liverpool’s artsy underground, they fashion their ‘sound’ inside a disused church loft by day and perform behind masks of their own faces by night. Sure it all seems about as screwy as some pious Rob Zombie fan club, yet this debut album is one bountiful grab bag of Beta Band-mannered thrums, superhuman psych pop elation and Travis Bickle-type slurs on humanity. Heck, ‘Punk Spirit’ is charged on enough emotion-bottling to make you weep. Then come the Hot Chip-fired bleep bops of ‘The Line’ to let out the tension. Damn bizarro but doubtlessly glorious.

Best Track –
'Dead Houses'

Sleep Now In The Winter

2009-06-30T01:37:00.005Z

I probably first heard of Wintersleep a couple years back, but just never paid much attention to their existence. Then Zane played one of their tracks a couple months ago, and again, nothing about it karate chopped my mind or anything. And then Edith - who FYI grates on me like an uncomfortable ulcer - played the same song about two weeks back, however again it never got hold of my breath. But last week, rather dumbfounded at how quickly I grew bored of La Roux's prominent debut, I decided to search their name on Spotify.

Which was weird. Cause like I say, they weren't forefronting my mind by any means. So I decided listen to their latest album, 'Welcome to the Night Sky', in full. And fuck me. I am not convinced by the holy trinity but I cannot help but think I was meant to listen to that record. Like, I can't imagine my life without it. It's so good. Sure there are a few frail minutes or so, but generally, it's bloody awesome. My favourite track 'Dead Letter & The Infinite Yes' (below) is one of the best things I've heard all year.

Not even Edith Bowman can stop me loving Wintersleep.

Download –
Wintersleep 'Dead Letter & The Infinite Yes'

The 10 Greatest Things From The First 10 Years Of The 21st Century

2009-06-26T01:00:00.000Z

The close of this year not only marks the cessation of another annum, but also the end of the first decade of the 21st century. Now, it's pretty arduous to brief up 9/11, reality TV and the rise of the internet in half a sentence. So what I've done is sift out what I deem are the best records, the best TV shows, the best movies, the best brands, the best things, the best people - essentially telling why pop culture has been rather majestic this past tensome or so...

10. Big Brother - Find one human being in the UK that hasn't seen Big Brother. Unconditionally treasure it or abhor it with your every power - it's impact on our culture, our technology, our media, is inimitable. Really, this is a point for the mount of 'reality' TV in general, but BB has made by far the biggest significance, and in my book, some dazzling entertainment and actual 7-million-people-voting-for-gay-winner-type significance.

9. Death Cab For Cutie ‘Transatlanticism’ - I'm not certain Death Cab For Cutie will ever make a better record than this. Wallowing in the screaming sun on Santa Monica beach or ducking down amid Hamas rockets in the Mid East, this album's every sweet soar of inspiration, staggering keys-coated rapture and devilishly heart-rending lines will forever make me feel all warm inside.

8. Bloc Party ‘Silent Alarm’ - How can you tell when an album is great? You go back and listen to it some years after its release, and if it still sends those same ol' blissful shivers through your spine, then it's great. Such goes for this - Bloc Party's debut. They've arguably bettered themselves with 'Intimacy', but the callowness and vivacity swamped within 'Silent Alarm' means more to me than any other.

7. Original Penguin - Sometimes when I see a fellow human lolling around, just so completely unconcerned by society and its trendy, sticklerist conventions, sporting somin' no-one would ever deem happening, I sorta... respect them. Like they're brave or something. But then I think, 'Wait, how can they not care?' I mean, if you've figured yourself out and whatever, then you know what works. You're proud to show yourself off and your garb says everything. 'S'all about relation, hence my lust for Original Penguin.

6. Little Miss Sunshine - There's been some killer pictures out this past decade, most of which were directed by the legendary pissed-off Clint Eastwood, but this has got to be my dearest. 'Everyone pretend to be normal' struts its tagline, flapping disfunction right in the mug of downtrodden suppression. And I usually hate to watch people sing and dance - which FYI made up the dramedy's most prolific scene - yet I was more than happy to demur at myself for it. Seen it? Great. Love it? Even greater. Hated it? That much better. Or just go fuck yourself.

5. The Office - See, growing up on Saved By The Bell followed by Sister Sister then Home Improvement proceeding Friends etcetera, I sort of developed a real hatred for British telly. Partially because we call it 'telly' but chiefly cause it sucks. Obviously I made an exception for Only Fools, but that was about it. Then came Ricky. And don't get me wrong, I was well disappointed with Extras. But The Office? It really is the best thing this country has ever, ever, ever produced - barring what else is to come on this list and is from Britain. It's so real, so funny, so perfect it hurts.

4. Sacha Baron Cohen - I don't love Ali G, Borat and Bruno because they're funny. Which they are. In fact, they're very funny. Three of the funniest characters known to mythical man. But I love them, well, Cohen, because he's the most important comedian out there. In case you didn't get the drift, the whole point is to shed light on the absurdity of homophobia, racism and gosh-darn ignorance. He is a genius. So there.

3. The Internet - I vaguely remember life without it. Or at least getting excited by the prospect of going to my dad's work because he had it there, as I printed off the homepages of countless Friends fansites just because I could. But now? Now I get pissed off at the fact that my street isn't wireless. Or aeroplanes, for that matter. Ooo, can I bung the iPod in this number and all? Course I can. It's my blog.

2. Home Box Office - Reiterating my embarrassment for 99.9% of British TV, HBO is mine and every other perspicacious spirit's shining light. The Sopranos, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Six Feet Under, Entourage, The Wire, Da Ali G Show, True Blood, Little Britain USA, Flight Of The Conchords, The Comeback and Big Love. Case and point.

1. Coldplay ‘A Rush Of Blood To The Head’ - Well, here we are. This is it. Number one. The champion. The best. The most greatest thing that I think has occurred in the last ten years. I could easily and quite self-centredly spend the next few hundred words pounding on about why, but nothing I say will do it justice. Well, I will say this though. It was the first record I ever truly fell in love with. It was the first record that brought me in to the whimsical abundance of good music. It was the first record that made me happy. Every living soul has an all-time favourite, and though I've got the rest of my life to find another, I just don't see it changing.

Taking Back Monday

2009-06-22T11:16:00.005Z

'Bout time I started jawing 'bout music again. And I cannot think of a better way to do so than this. Yes, they're back. The well-deserved champions of my Albums Of 2008 list, Noah And The Whale, have a new single to swank from their second LP 'The First Days Of Spring'. Wanna hear it? Me too.

And that's why I'll be tuning into Zane Lowe on BBC Radio 1 tonight from 7.28pm in order to do so. Can't wait? Me neither.

Really can't wait? Download the live version from their gig earlier this year at Shepherds Bush Empire then. It's below.

Download –
'Blue Skies Are Calling'
'The First Days Of Spring'

The Top 5 Seinfeld Scenes Ever

2009-06-14T00:00:00.001Z

Picking out my favourite Seinfeld episode is like coercing Angelina Jolie to choose her next toddler. Well-nigh impossible. What I have done though, purely outta the goodness of gosh-darn fun, is settle on the very best scenes - those all-important moments of utter genius that merely stand for the greatest of the great.

5. "Shut up and pack!" - Though this clip is taken only from the show's second season, I think it's Julia Lewis Dreyfus's best ever moment. Her outright anger and zeal to rid away her boyfriend just beams through her sheer tireless doggedness. All she yens for is to get him out of her life, and by throwing absolutely everything into it, it mirrors the out-and-out strength yet instability of the wonderful Elaine Benes.

4. "Shut up you old bag!" - See, as one from a certain ethnological background, the significance held on certain edible delights from a certain bakery is pretty darn high. All of which shimmers though this ep - as Schnitzer's marble rye - like the best thing since sliced bread. The whole Costanzas-Rosses intrigue is categorical brilliance, though for me, Jerry himself stole it all with this little ditty. Just look at him sprint!

3. "Tippy-toe, lemen tree!" - Only a downright neurotic, twitchy, phobic gent would actually go to the trouble of changing another's answer machine tape - after leaving a series of as-maladjusted phone messages, of course. Right outta the mind of Larry David and straight into the measures of George, it means everything this show is about. That over-analysis in Jerry and George's planning, the psychopathy that led to it all in the first place. Exquisite.

2. "You just need a nose job." - Kramer, Kramer, Kramer. Much like the above exemplifies the series, this scene conveys all of which Cosmo is about. That lack of sensitivity for humans juxtaposed with a care others'd be lucky to possess, "You're as pretty as any of them," he comforts George's girlfriend re NYC's prettiest of ladies, "You just need a nose job". So perfect, so funny it hurts.

1. "I'm not even gonna ask you." - And this is my all-time favourite Seinfeld scene. Georgey Boy being my favourite character and all, maybe it's not as desired as those few above, but it represents his dementia like no-other. Best. Scene. Ever.

Ize Of The World

2009-06-13T01:24:00.010Z

This is first and foremost a music blog. In fact, it is entirely a music blog. Only sometimes the odd globe-shattering story will break, making for just a short yet polite intrusion...

I still don't think it's sunk in yet. Literally the whole planet has been banging on about it, but the thought that Cristiano Ronaldo will never play for my team, Manchester United, ever again seems so unreal. Even if it was always going to happen. Ever since he uttered the words, "In the future, you never know", to some Sky Sports journo merely days before the 2008 Champions League final in Moscow, I knew that my favourite footballer wouldn't be a United player forever.

See, aside from music, I think football is the greatest thing in the world. And I've followed United since the age of 5 - now 17 years ago. Though I grew up in north London, I can't stand glory-hunters as much as the next guy. I think fans should support their local side, and though I don't believe in the Almighty, something serendipity happened to me that day in that Golders Green sports shop, as my guileless eyes were drawn to the firey red of some 1991 Sharp-sponsored, Adidas-manufactured jersey.

Anyway, I digress. I've never felt an affiliation with a player quite like CR7. I couldn't give a toss about what he's like as a person, or whether he dived every other skim of the ball in his first few years in Manchester. For me, it's his battle on the field. Not Tevez-run-around-like-where's-me-pinky-type-battle, but his fighting psychology to be the absolute greatest he can be. Yes, Cantona was a legend. Keane was authoritative. And Ruud was pretty much a goal mechanism. But Ronaldo was my first real actual bona fide favourite. I enjoyed the game that bit more because he was playing.

After months of bawling over the loss of DB7, I was there when He came on as a sub against Bolton on August 16 2003. You could sense even then that there was something truly remarkable about him. I actually bought all the tabloids (something I never do) the day after so I could spread his magnificent debut all over my bedroom wall. Though it was his performance in the 2006 World Cup where he really started to flower. I, like every sane United follower, stood by him after the Wayne Rooney winking incident.

Following that came Oxford United in a pre-season friendly, which I was also at. The boos started there. And it was through his complete and utter duel against this which led to his success of recent years. He had something to bear out and the heckling only made him tougher. First in the league came Fulham, and after three years without our rightful Premiership title, so did a 4-0 lead merely 20 minutes in. Most of which was down to Ronaldo's flair.

I think he played his best football for us that season - before he scored The 42 Goals. There was this sense that he was taking us somewhere, on an expedition to achieve the greatest of things. Now we've won the league for the last three seasons, took home the Champions League, forgot to show up the next final, and won everything else bar the FA Cup in between. And for me, Ronaldo is the chief reason for that. His combat, his goals, his genius - he did what was needed when it really mattered.

What? You need proof? 06/07 - He scored more goals than any, the most vital of which came in the 87th minute away to Fulham, all but engraving our name on the trophy. 07-08 - The 42 Goals, his opener in the Champions League final, that header v Roma away. 08-09 - He came back later than most but was still our top scorer, securing our place in the Champions League final again by pushing aside FC Porto and Arsenal.

Cantona never attained all of that. Neither Charlton, Law or Best. Giggs has now, but not at Ronaldo's age.

Will his statue ever stand erect a pavement away from Sir Matt's? No, probably not.

But arrogance, decline in fan adoration and 4-year-old dreams for a Manzanares boat-house all aside - Is he the greatest Manchester United player ever? I think so.

First Wave Intact

2009-06-05T12:13:00.001Z

Mosey through the belt of present-day Liverpool and you’ll happen on a lusty medley of Wombats-whetted powerpop, seemingly boundless droning infected by The Rascals, and an alarming number of Cavern Club karaokists who’re straight up convinced they channel the sweet spirit of John Lennon. And then there’s Wave Machines.
“One of the things I like about being from Liverpool is that we don’t sound like we are,” admits co-singer/guitarist/keys-minder Timothy Bruzon, sat to the right of me in the upstairs of some voguish city pub, proudly sporting his own band’s t-shirt. To the left is other co-singer/guitarist/keys-minder Carl Brown, dressed in the same Mr Benn-branded suit he models onstage, keeping to Wave Machines’ mystifying aura. Bassist/clarinettist James Walsh and drummer/sometime co-singer Vidar Norheim are off duty.
“It’s important for us not to sound like the traditional Liverpool band. Otherwise if we couldn’t, than we probably would,” states Tim. See, there’s very little amiss with Miles Kane’s fervent infatuation with 60s Merseybeat-plotters Gerry & the Pacemakers, but their township’s crying out for a shower like the planet hankers for Jack Bauer to rub out financial devastation. And Wave Machines’ moxie to fashion a debut album of synth-laden psych pop is utterly refreshing.
“If there is a scene we’re part of, it’s with the group of people that’ve worked on our gigs,” says Carl. “It’s a collective of illustrators, performers, musicians, poets, writers. We spend equally as much time speaking to visual artists as we do a band member. I feel really honoured to be apart of that creative aspect of Liverpool.”
This is the kind of band Wave Machines are. Heck, not even a band. More a collaboration. A unified team of visionary minds with something to say, of which said-album ‘Wave If You’re Really There’ is the result. If the thought of yet another Wii-possessed electro clique fills you with more venom than Alice Glass devoid of her morning blood-shot espresso, this is the record to save your soul. A rich farrago of Hot Chip-mannered throbs, superhuman euphoria and darn-meaty messages, bringing about one of the finest debut efforts this year. “We worked it and worked it and worked it as if it was the best new idea in the world, and we’re really excited about what it suggests. It’s the very first thing, so it’s not the ultimate reflection of Wave Machines. We’re already talking about taking it forward and doing the second one,” reveals Carl.
The album was recorded over the better part of the last twelve months inside what has become their lair of imagination, otherwise the loft of Liverpool’s St Brides Church. “We’re not born again Christians,” notes Tim. “It’s an unusual space to hang about in, but we used to rehearse above this mechanic place. Yet none of us were mechanics, it was just a good rehearsal space.”
They‘ve fleshed out the Albert Dock’s Tate Gallery, etched prior Chess Club-released vinyls with drawings of stricken animals, and all four members don masks of their own faces onstage. Sure it all seems about as la-di-da as Kanye West poring over the merits of Auto-Tune. But observing their live spectacle is like gawking at Alfred Hitchcock soar from his grave solely to rework Disney’s ‘Fantasia’. Only, you know, in a good way.
“The visual stuff is as important as the music. You can’t dedicate all your time to the music. We’re visual first, and auditory second. Eyes first, ears follow,” asserts Carl. And the masks? “It’s just us trying to look a bit weird. It’s a visual gag really, and we feel like it’s got enough about it to make it worth playing with,” says Tim, to which Carl adds, “If I was offstage watching this weird dark presence, I’d really enjoy that. It’s not all just bright, primary colours. Menacing is good.”
This DIY factor that peps their pop via art MO is reflected by their decision to evade the tripe of the industry and form their own record label. Bring forth Neapolitan Recordings. “We needed a vehicle to put our music out there,” tells Tim. “We needed to get the album out there as soon it was made, really. It’s quite tempting to jump at anything you get offered but this seemed like the best way for the record.”
I think ‘WIYRT’ broaches the good thoughts and the bad thoughts, all for the sake of a groove-charged happy ending. ‘Little Miss Sunshine’ on disc, essentially. Take ‘Punk Spirit’, a killer few minutes midway through the album where Tim intones, “And later when you left the room, I whispered ‘You could fucking die’. And everytime your back was turned, I put a finger in the air. And everytime you turn around, I hide it because I know it hurts”; alluding to society’s tendency to throw on a fake gown and keep schtum of its true feelings. Er, right? “It’s a remarkable thing about the English. The fact that we apologise when other people step on our toes is ridiculous,” Tim contends. “There’s a reason why it’s healthy to express what you really think… There is quite a lot of negativity in the lyrics, some quite dark stuff. But we have a fondness for poppy sensibility, so it tempers the dark lyrical angle. It’s a nice balance.”
Carl adds, “I’ve been working alongside those words for quite some time. But I’ve not thought, ‘Oh it’s all oppressive, dark and down’. Though there have been moments when I’ve wondered what the fuck going’s on inside Tim’s head.”
The disco-funk of ‘Keep The Lights On’ is as tuneful as Alice’s Wonderland. ‘I Joined A Union’ does a bang-up job of pumping life into the late Beta Band. Then there’s album-closer ‘Dead Houses’, which hauntingly casts back to Liverpool’s forsaken buildings and boulevards.
“Vidar wrote that one, it’s about arriving here from Norway. Everyone can identify with the visuals in the song. Yeah it’s about the boarded-up houses, but it can relate to anything. It’s about life that’s moved on elsewhere. The memory of a life, really. It’s got a real nice meditative mood to it too, and it’s nice having a voice on the album from a different part of the world,” tells Carl.
Okay, a cursory look at the clock opposite tells us it’s almost time to wrap up. Wave Machines, what does this all mean? Where is this all going? Is this album about to rescue popular culture as we know it? “This is where you do your Miss World speech now, Tim!” jokes Carl. Tim? “We’re certainly not on any mission to try and mean something. It’s quite egotistical actually, that’s what drives it. Not some desire to save popular culture. That would be a dreadfully misguided thing to try and do! But if by some happy coincidence there’s a small area where we can fit in, than that would be great.”
I've heard the album. It’ll be bigger than small.

Just Enough Education To Perform. No, Really

2009-06-04T00:26:00.006Z

I hate lad rock. Yes, Oasis are national treasures. Yes, I love the new Kasabian record. And yes, I actually think Tom Clarke could make a decent MP. But generally, all-in-all, day's end, I pretty much hate it.

This though, Stoke-on-Trent's New Education's 'Today' is actually not shit at all. It's good, like really, really good. King-size choruses, affirmative wordplay, Courteeners-before-the-shit-album-got-released-type effortlessness - the lot. And they don't look like they'll chastise you up if you refuse a shot of Johnnie Walker.

Album Of Last Month

2009-06-01T00:00:00.000Z

The Maccabees 'Wall Of Arms' (Fiction)

Markus Dravs. Hmm. Markus Dravs worked with Arcade Fire. Markus Dravs worked with Coldplay. Markus Dravs worked with Wave Machines. Marcus Dravs is working with Mumford & Sons. Just who is this Markus Dravs and why is he escorting the latest productions from my dearest of bands? Well, whatever wondrous voodoo he's brandished on 'Neon', 'Viva', and 'Wave', 'Wall Of Arms' seems to be blessed with it too. You've still the squally guitars and Orlando warbling like he's about to cry (in a good way), but this sophomore endeavour also puffs a whole lot more than (albeit rather absorbing) tales of a Clapham swimming pool. Now they're slicker, there're pensive touches on the deceased, and it picks itself up and drops itself down just when it feels right. Whereas 'Colour...' felt in some ways like a band in discovery, throwing together all they had, this is an album. An album that really, in a time of never-ending electro posses vying with each other for some clunky sampler on eBay, completely stands on its own. The equally resplendent 'Love You Better' and 'No Kind Words' aside, 'Can You Give It' has an as-one roar to knock the stuffing outta Bunk Moreland. 'William Powers' mounts on a Herculean strain of munching strings just yearning for a run of sell-out stints at Brixton Academy. And 'Bag Of Bones' is 'Toothpaste Kisses' mark two, only even more divine. Yes, they've grown up. Yes, they've matured. And yes, this'll be one of the year's finest.

Why Death Cab For Cutie Are The Third Best Band In The World

2009-05-25T23:01:00.001Z

Whether wallowing in the screaming sun on Santa Monica beach or ducking down amid Hamas rockets in the Mid East, Ben Gibbard's palliative larynx make me feel safer than Sir Alex Ferguson does renewing his managerial contract. I've been on a major Death Cab-bender these last few days. In fact, 'The Photo Album' has almost overtaken 'Transatlanticism' as my favourite LP of their's. Heck, as if that could actually ever happen, right?

But rather than pull off some 5000-word essay on why the Seattle geniuses are indeed my third favourite band ever ever ever, instead I've displayed a rather splendid array of ditties that simply speak for themselves. DL em all up below...

Download –
'Army Cops Of Architects' (from You Can Play These Songs With Chords)
'Sleep Spent' (from Something About Airplanes)
'405' (from We Have The Facts And We're Voting Yes)
'Styrofoam Plates' (from The Photo Album)
'A Lack Of Color' (from Transatlanticism)
'What Sarah Said' (from Plans)
'Your New Twin Sized Bed' (from Narrow Stairs)

Bullet With Butterfly Wings

2009-05-21T11:27:00.006Z

First time I heard this I thought, 'Hmm, tad questionable'. Second time I was distracted by her decked out cat-eyes following me around watching the video. Third time, yesterday, it was just one of those moments - speeding along the throughway, song comes on the radio, volume gets amp'd up to the heavens. It sounded fucking brilliant.

And now, I just can't get enough of it. La Roux, my users, has done it again. Need. Album. Now.

Øyvind Leonhardsen who? Say Hello To Accidents Never Happen

2009-05-18T23:35:00.006Z

Accidents Never Happen ‘Accidents Never Happen’ (Dead Letter)

Accidents never happen. Hmm. What does that mean? That that bloke driving that big boat around in 1912 was really some monstrous assassin who determined that the best way to rub off 1,500 people would be to ram into an iceberg? That at the age of 24 and after two Oscar triumphs, James Dean figured enough was simply enough and decided to crash mind, body and soul-first into some other auto spinning along the Santa Barbara beltway? It’s doubtlessly a tough statement. The kind that could only be backed up by vigorous, tenacious post-rocking guitars, melodramatic At the Drive-In-branded ecstasy, and confessions about wanting to be James Dean (RIP) only gay. Good thing these Scouse-adopted Norwegians are blessed by such then, eh. Sometimes a little too-bizarro wordplay aside, Accidents Never Happen patently beam the ol’ much-needed pop nub lodged inside their punk’d up matter to actually turn some heads. They’ve self-titled this and all – a declaration in itself – proved further by the Arcade Fire less-God more-joined-up mellifluousness bawling out of ‘The Style You Like Is Going To Come Back As Gum’. Best track though is ‘Style Revisited’, where they’re either Trent Reznor bathing in the rain on Blackpool Leisure Beach one minute or Bloc Party gouging out the spirit of Mel Gibson the next. Dazzlingly wacko. “Thanks (Your name here)” cleverly offers the accompanying booklet. No Accidents Never Happen, thank you.

Accidents Never Happen MySpace

So, You Get You're Chance Again

2009-05-17T23:21:00.003Z

I hate over-produced band websites. You know the ones, where it takes about ten minutes of some irksome intro you can't even skip before you even see anything that remotely resembles news or tour dates or a bio, all this whilst being shouted at by their latest single without a mute or volume button in sight, before all these flashy, sparkly images hidden as links constantly start moving about. 1) If you're unsigned or on an indie there's no way you should be having an official website anyway, just stick with your MySpace. And 2) For those on a major, even if you have no choice whether your management pay some spicky web design team thousands of pounds to make you one, at least make sure it looks sensible. Heck, even Coldplay's looks sensible.

I don't know who London Blackmarket are on. I only just heard of them a couple days back. But I will however let their snazzy site be exempt from my rules. Why? Because 1) It's not that bad. And 2) They made a song called 'Checkmate' and it's really, really good.

No, you can't download it here. Go to their MySpace and listen to it. *Being metaphorically pushed into corner by scary industry who took down original post*