In the early noughties it seemed as if electronica was about to become the frontrunner in throwing up the best emerging artists. At the head of pack was Four Tet, Boards Of Canada, Mum and Canada's Manitoba. The latter's 'Up In Flames' (2003) was a joie de vivre romp through the mind of Dan Snaith. You could picture him in a small room with a clapped out computer dreaming up songs about crayons and living on a dirt road. A bizarre lawsuit over naming rights meant that Snaith had to rename his band Caribou. Thankfully the change was cosmetic only as 'The Milk Of Human Kindness' rivals 'Up In Flames' for musical sorties of the digital kind. There is a slight shift away from Spaceman 3/early Spiritualized psychedelia that so empowered ‘Up In Flames’ but the songs retain an abundance of melody delivered in an off-kilter slant.

As is Caribou’s nature the tunes come in two formats. The laidback instrumental with a hint of under-the-breath vocals or the elegantly wasted one without the humans. ‘Hello Hammerheads’ is an example of the former as Snaith hums his way through a notepad of love scrawls while a gentle riff supplies the atmosphere. ‘Bees’ treads a more distant time, the bass nuances are direct from a forgotten 70’s cop show, the wooden flute appears like a message in a bottle from the Isle of Wight while the incomprehensible words show us it’s a production from this planet. ‘Yeti’ is slimline, pared down Caribou. For once the extras are trimmed to leave a lean approximation of electronic cool. The looping keyboard drones add the necessary suspense but the guiding light is Snaith’s vocals that sit comfortably alongside the artificial flow. ‘Barnowl’ will have you howling for Snaith to get out of the grass such is the cloaked menace that it inspires. A Laetitia Sadlier type vocal augments the hypnotic arrangements. If all of this gets too much to take there are fragments of songs like ‘Drumheller’ to act as a sorbet before the next avalanche of ideas. The Mellotron designed violin sounds like the vinyl recording has buckled until the hopelessly gorgeous guitars swamp the glorious mess. And watch out for the cello plucks at the end, it’ll have you picturing Ollie, below zero, in the snow.

There are a clutch of distractions to rattle the taste buds like the 19th century Vienna alleyway cast off ‘Lord Leopard’ and the laboured ‘A Final Warning’ that while initially intriguing loses its appeal at the 5-minute mark. ‘Pelican Narrows’ is equally disappointing, like it should have stayed by the shore of that lake with all those swans. To counter these inefficiencies there are explosions of exhilaration like the wonderous ‘Brahminy Kite’ which floods the senses with enough beats to have drum and bass fans flummoxed. The words are minimal but perfectly realised and the assorted backdrop of squelches, reindeer bells and synthesized brass could surely have even the drunkest swaying in time. This is certainly one of the most fulfilling caches of musical compositions and every time you hear it you’ll feel like it’s your birthday.

Caribou are by no means tied to their electronic devices, seeing them live is an illuminating experience as the dual drummers whip the skins with such ferocity that all you see and hear is a whirl of hands and perfectly synchronised beats. There are guitars too, flashing in and out of consciousness like pleasant mushroom flashbacks. The live visuals supplied by Dublin's Del9 are also a treat, perfectly illustrating the music, adding dimensions you could easily miss without them. 'The Milk Of Human Kindness' brims with good tunes that are just begging to be exploited by a savvy ad man. It will appeal to those normally put off by electronica's oft intension to bury the goodies so deep that only the most ardent of listeners are fulfilled. The fact that the vocals aren't squeezed through a tangle of wires makes the music even more tangible. Caribou play it simply by polishing a good idea until it's ready to hatch, all the listener has got to do is enjoy the crack.

Rating: 7.5/10

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The Cardigans third album revealed a band on a creative downward spiral. When they first appeared they were a breath of fresh air with each new release displaying unique pop sensibilities. While they hadn’t quite hit the dirge of say a band like Texas yet, their sound has become somewhat paralysed. The 2 singles 'Erase and Rewind' and 'My Favourite Game' flatter to deceive. The latter was needlessly played to death on the radio and MTV. Initially it was a sweet burst of melody and energy but like low-grade sugar it can sometimes leave a bad taste in the mouth if overused. That chunky guitar riff is quite addictive but after a time it does begin to grate. Good music needs to be handled with care, use sparingly and over time you'll appreciate it more.

'Erase and Rewind' takes a little while to sink into consciousness and when it does it turns out to be remarkably slight. Ok it could pass for nice background music in your local coffee-house but outside of this it is quite dull, lifeless and has some of the most inane lyrics imaginable. The Cardigans have it in them to conjure lots of pretty little tunes like 'Rise and Shine' but stuff like 'Erase and Rewind' sees them take a step backwards in order to appeal to an ambivalent public. Elsewhere 'Starter' is just short of middle of the road, pity that, as a spot of road kill would have saved us from its limp application. I just can't stand lazy music and this song is the Cardigans letting a somewhat malfunctioning autopilot take the controls. 'Marvel Hill' is deceptively enjoyable but its attractive kooky weirdness is ruined by a risible but overwhelming foghorn sound that runs right through it.

Gran Turismo is not a complete failure however. 'Explode' has a beautiful forlorn quality. Nina Persson's voice is crystal clear and sympathetic and the backing instruments sound gorgeously out of time. 'Hanging Around ' is repackaged Garbage (the band) but at least it has a certain oomph that is lacking elsewhere on the album. Persson's morning skylark vocals are an enjoyable feature on all Cardigans releases but here they don't come close to saving the day because more often than not the guffaw that surrounds them is too safe. 'Higher', for example, is just so twee, the accompanying sounds so risible you'd imagine they were generated by a third party gently using the hand of the sleeping guitarist to strum the strings of his guitar.

What disappoints most about Gran Turismo is that it sounds so sickly produced and packaged. It's a bit too wet behind the ears, like the band were usurped by their marketing department's sales aspirations. The album certainly gave the Cardigans a larger audience but this compromise means that the lively spark that defined their early recordings has been quenched. If you are still into the cassette format and own this album, make a copy of the remnants of quality and then rewind and erase.

Rating: 4/10

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What a curious band British Sea Power are. Here you have a band that are seemingly enthralled with nature, the countryside and rose tinted nostalgia but are also open to playing a gig on a North Sea oil rig. Their live performances sees them dressed in World War One regalia and a propensity for audience bound propulsion would do any grenade worth its salt proud. If this sort of behaviour sets the bait it’s their song writing talent that will have you coming back for more. Their debut 'The Decline Of British Sea Power' was an understated gem full of camouflaged melodies that ensured that the Brighton based quartet would have their hands full to build on the promise. ‘Open Season’ may lack the weighty numbers like ‘Heavenly Waters’ and ‘Lately’ that so illuminated their debut but British Sea Power have crafted an affable, inviting and memorable follow-up. Here the tunes are less confrontational, the melody is openly divulged and the hit is almost immediate. That’s not to say that after a few spins that the whole thing becomes listless as there is an unmistakable panache in the way the songs are put together.

‘Open Season’ could easily be a greatest hits collection such is the innumerable pointers to greatness on show. Take ‘Honeycomb’ which sees frontman Yan sporting what sounds like a slight head cold. His nasally afflicted vocals summon the wherewithal to turn a warm chorus into an intimate experience. The chord playing, keyboard dashes and punchy drums all add up to a hugely dramatic event. Yan can sound like a young Bowie and there is an edge to his singing as if the words are digging into his cheekbones. On ‘How Will I Ever Find My Way Home?’ the singers delivery descends from rational to chaotic within the space of a couple of minutes. Thankfully these unsettling experiences are countered when the band veer closer to pure pop like on the incandescent ‘The Land Beyond’. Straight-forward gorgeous melodies meet a melancholic string section that’ll tug at your heartstrings.

British Sea Power oft stay clear, in as much as is possible, of the generic theme of boy meets girl. Instead under the guise of chirping birds Yan implores all to ‘Drape yourself in greenery, Become part of the scenery’ over and over again on ‘North Hanging Rock’. While this could all sound about as interesting as watching said greenery grow the band deliver such a heated brew of delicious sounds the singer could be waxing about an oily stage from the previous night and we’d still be transfixed. ‘Oh Larsen B’ is undoubtedly the best song ever written about a continental ice shelf. The bass structures are predictably towering and aloof and Yan does his best to sound serious when he begs the monolith not to fall on him. 'True Adventures' may appear at the end but it sticks out like a sore thumb even if it’s covered in a rich blend of flavoursome toffee. The ideas splatter about like a fan with plastic streamers. While so many jolting arrangements might seem contradictory on a single tune, a couple of listens reveals a composition that is perfectly coherent. This is about as challenging as ‘Open Season’ gets, elsewhere wholesome tunes like ‘Be Gone’ flitter about like young cottontails.

'Open Season' flows like a mountain stream, its ideas are clear, melodies pour freely and its stock cleverly navigates against the current mob of new-wave sycophants. Paradoxically, from time to time the album feels as if it has emerged from an earlier decade. That said this collection sees the band take a giant leap forward in sales potential. There is very little (aside from ‘True Adventures’) to startle those who dine on the top 40 and with some careful promotion British Sea Power could soon stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Snow Patrol or Coldplay. ‘Open Season’ is an engaging listen from start to finish and British Sea Power seem to be well on their way to becoming one of this century’s true contenders.

Rating: 7/10

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He's friends with Ryan Adams, jams with Jack White and enjoys the odd Chinese takeout mid recording session but besides all that who the hell is Brendan Benson? With a name like his you might be forgiven for thinking that a smattering of cool soul numbers was heading your way, but you'd be wrong because this Benson has an altogether contemporary take on what pop music for the 21st century should sound like. Surprisingly, Brendan Benson has been around for a while. His debut album, 'One Mississippi' (like this album it was co-wrote and partly performed by ex-Jellyfish man Jason Faulkner) was released back in 1996. Long regarded as a lost classic 'Lapalco's success should bring about its re-release. 'Lapalco' takes its name from a street in Benson's hometown Harvey, Louisiana and was rightly lauded as one of 2002’s best albums. At its heart is a collection of simple pop songs. Remember that its the simple things in life that are often the most precious and 'Lapalco' is chock full of obvious ideas that appear at your ears like winning numbers on a lotto ticket. As Benson himself elegantly remarks it only takes an oyster and a grain of sand to make a pearl.

'Tiny Spark' has the sort of ignition that would give the Breeders 'Cannonball' a run for its explosive power. Over its short life it manages to squeeze out enough goosebumps to make the listener resemble human sandpaper, its incendiary nature is enough to energise long since abandoned steam trains. The whole thing has a fluid concoction of verse and buzzing guitars, not to mention the industrial organic drools that would have Gary Numan running for the hills. Following on from this heart stopping adventure the initially understated 'Metarie' reveals several neat musical turns. As Benson strums acoustically the fallout of a disintegrating relationship produces a flush of emotions that eventuates in a chorus to die for. As he opines 'There's something I've been meaning to say to you, I'd like to move out of this place, Change my name, Get a new face' his disquiet is lost in the wonderful din that surrounds the words. 'Metarie' has the curious distinction of being both uplifting and sombre inducing but it nonetheless leaves an indelible mark.

'Lapalco' reveals a plethora of happy tunes with unhappy themes. If like me, you go for the tune before the sentiments then 'Lapalco' is likely to be a humour lifting experience. 'Folk Singer' races by at such speed that you become more concerned for the condition of your ragged hair blowing in its wake than the melancholic situation the singer finds himself in. Who cares if he's not John Lennon when he can create blunderbuss as exciting as this. It is only when the momentum slows down that the lyrics take on a greater resonance like on 'Life In The D'. As the nasally delivered vocals hint at a 24-hour sobbing session you can't help but wonder where the aforementioned spark has gone. That said as a comfort cushion 'Life In The D' is the perfect fix for anyone feeling sorry for themselves. 'Good To Me' is much more like it, even if the chaotic happenings mask what is quintessentially a shallow idea. 'What' could have really destroyed the middle section of 'Lapalco'. Luckily the temporary doodling at the start is replaced by Benson's trademark grasp on how to please those looking for a sing-a-long chorus.

With one or two disappointing exceptions each of the albums tracks revolves around a winning idea. Just listen to the laidback beauty of 'Eventually' with its country chords and learn how to stand upright and feet tap simultaneously. 'You're Quiet' could be deemed a little twee and sure enough after a few listens it does begin to cloy. It takes its references from 80's hipsters the Cars and is a jaunty escapade that partially hides the singer’s frustrated state of mind. Like on several of the other tracks Falkner helps out on vocals giving the sound a nice kick in a different direction. The romper stomper thrill of 'I'm Easy' appears out of the blue. Carting at the speed of a patriot missile the songs imagination is fuelled by someone else’s ideas but that said, the chorus is about as tempting as sweet smelling fresh apple pie in Eden. Just imagine your agile grandmother giving it loads at an alcohol fuelled wedding and you can imagine the lust for life it possesses. 'Pleasure Seeker' is equally attractive, Benson takes on a Stephan 'tintin' Duffy lilt and the jangling guitars struggle to contain his vocals, as they turn particularly syrupy.

'Just Like Me' manages to quell the furore of the previous tracks without diminishing the power of the songwriting. Its easygoing nature could appeal to the whole spectrum of musical tastes. Imagine a latter day Paul McCartney writing as if he wasn't preoccupied with appealing to the cloth eared masses. 'Jet Lag' has Gilbert O'Sullivan's ear for emotional injury and a cosmos peering keyboard arrangement that leaves the listener like putty in Bensons chewed hands. As the encore reprises 'Metarie', without the fireworks, you can almost anticipate the standing ovations from 100 different Brendan Benson shows to be held sometime in the near future.

Brendan Benson deserves success. With Lapalco he hints at what could be achieved with a little encouragement (namely decent sales). Over its duration, the album occasionally loses focus through a nagging hint of repetitiveness. Just when you feel a yawn coming on, however, a shiny pop song emerges giving you adequate ammunition to impress your Lapalcoless friends. Let's hope next time around he will be teaching the world to sing.

Rating: 6.5/10

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Need a 3-minute break from the rubbish that is modern life? Then, Brakes could be just the tonic for you. This is a band made up from a couple of defectors from the Electric Soft Parade (Tom & Alex White), a Tenderfoot (Marc Beatty) on leave and a splitter from British Sea Power (Eamon Hamilton) just shooting the breeze. With such gifted raw ingredients the resulting output was always going to be interesting but 'Give Blood' surpasses all expectations through a rattling joie-de-vivre mixed with a refusal to put up with contemporary annoyances. Don't be put off by the 16 tracks; you won't have to clutch your thinking cap like you would with a My Morning Jacket or Mew opus. Most of what Brakes dish up only hangs about for 2 minutes so if you don't like the cut of their jib ya needn't worry, as there's another nugget revving up just around the corner. Besides, a couple of the tracks are merely snippets, which ensures this pleasurable delight is wrapped up after a mere half an hour.

'Give Blood' starts out in the strongest possible way with the first 5 tracks whizzing by at an alarming rate each firing off cheeky melodies like a machine gun spraying Wonka's scrumdidlyumptious's. 'Ring A Ding Ding' is typical of the fare on offer with its toxic concoction of fuzzy guitars and Eamon Hamilton's quirky outpourings ('Oh no, I keep on scratchin' but it still won't go'). It's followed in quick succession by a quart of tunes that blaze an impressive trail in the shortest possible time. Despite the fact that Hamilton can come across as an easily pissed off chap ('Hi How Are You', 'Pick Up The Phone') you can't help feeling that his frustration is one to snigger about when he's not looking. There isn't that many albums that are genuinely funny but 'Give Blood' throws out pithy lines with the same consistency as the elderly throw breadcrumbs in city parks. 'Chasing girls and bailing hay' is how he describes his life on the south coast and who can argue with him. 'The Most Fun' spews lines like 'The most fun that I ever had was the night the gypsies came to town, lit up these streets like they'd never seen and never seen since' underlining the sheer boredom of life in a provincial town.

'Give Blood' casts a wide net; for much of the album a change of tune means a change in direction. So 'NY Pie' reveals some honky tonk, 'All Nite Disco Party' is a Franz Ferdinand kind of dance floor stomp and 'Fell In Love With Girl' is new folk as practised by Bonnie Prince Billy. 'I Can't Stand To Stand Beside You' reprises old style Idlewild with blistering guitar forages and uppity vocals. Right in the middle there is even a flourish that would give the late great Cable a run for their money. With so many disparate styles flying about it's not surprising that the collective hit the bullseye more often than not. There are 2 undoubted peaks, however, where everything falls completely into place. 'You're So Pretty' is so unimaginably quaint you will probably have to fight back the tears. Hamilton manages to pull off the most forlorn performance of the year and in the background floats the sort of riffs that Steven Malkmus was capable of in the mid-nineties. There is so much passion in the singers plea it's hard to see how any girl could ever f**k him up. 'What's In It For Me' is another classic; imagine the White Stripes with a couple of extra guitarists riding at breakneck speed in the back of a horse drawn trailer through the Wild West. Floor filler or floor killer this will be consigned to memory with giddy ease.

And when they don't write the songs themselves they make some great choices on what to cover. 'Jackson' is presented in a way Johnny Cash would have approved of, just breath in that youthful vigour. 'Sometimes Always' is less successful but considering the original Jesus & Mary Chain/Hope Sandoval rendition is beyond reproach it's gotta go down as a decent effort. 'Heard About Your Band' is as close as you can get to the Frames 'Pavement Tune', at least in the opening moments. Thankfully it takes on a life of its own down the track dissing the robotics of an ordinary Joe Soap as he steps on that drab career ladder. 'Give Blood' is such a delight it will put the groove back in your heart. Its wide horizons are neatly encapsulated in short sharp bursts the likes of which haven't been seen since the death of punk. The album can be dissected and played at any point without losing any of the impact. It's as if the band has been thriving for decades in a parallel universe and this is a collection of their greatest hits. In fact these Brakes are so effective you may have to periodically check for skids on your underclothing.

Rating: 8/10

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Much was made of Blur's foray into US alt slackerism. While many viewed it as a contrived attempt to become the British Pavement, it nonetheless pushed Colchester's finest into mainstream American consciousness. This was an achievement that 'Parklife', their biggest selling album, never quite managed. 13 continues on the same thread deployed by their eponymous album and offers an enjoyably eclectic listen. It's yank leanings are obvious with titles like 'Trailerpark' adding to the American feel. There are mountain top highs every few songs but the weaker tracks veer far too close to the murky waters of the canyon below. There is an off-kilter lounge music backdrop to a lot of the album, thanks in no small part to producer William Orbit.

‘13’ opens with the gospel tinged 'Tender'. It could have been so terrible but luckily there is an appreciation of the form that makes it sound like Blur are old hands at this type of thing. When 'Tender' was unleashed it sounded unlike anything Blur had ever released. It highlighted a maturing Albarn looking beyond the obvious and enabling Blur to expand on their repertoire. Of course as is customary on any Blur LP there are suitably gifted pop epics like 'Coffee and TV'. Graham Coxon takes over on vocal duties and carries the whole thing off with distinction. 'Coffee and TV' came complete with an adorable video and is a feel good trip that never seems to outlast its welcome. It's the sort of tune Blur (or Coxon on his own for that matter) could probably write in their sleep but often decide to take the scenic route instead. That’s why Blur give us the punk racket that is 'B.L.U.R.E.M.I.' and everyone squeals for track 3.

'Battle' is a little pretentious but that goes with the territory and anyway when something is this delightful it hardly seems to matter. 'Battle' swings gracefully on Albarn's murmurings and the neatest of keyboard shuffles. ' Trimm Tramm' is an understated gem that isn't that obvious at first but slides into your mind like an advert you can’t remember seeing. 'Bugman' is more straight laced, resembling a whacked out 'Song 2' played through an electric jigsaw. At regular intervals on Blur doodle about a bit too much and the results can sometimes resemble a spaghetti dish without the bolognese. Like on ‘1992’, which is too long and shatteringly boring. Elsewhere this unstructured approach is more successful like on 'Caramel' with its colourful montage of sounds where nothing is obvious except the crude guitar flashes. 'Mellow Song' is as near to quaint as you’re likely to get and includes a blissed out last minute that is intoxicating.

The album finishes up with the Blackpool pier carousel 'Optigan 1' that Damon is wont to trying from time to time. Check out the soundtrack to the 'Ravenous' movie for more of the same. On the whole ‘13’ is a more than satisfactory listen but unfortunately Albarn's experimentation falls flat on its face occasionally. So to wrap up, ‘13’ eclipses the lacklustre 'The Great Escape' but comes up way short of the majesty of 'Modern Life is Rubbish' or 'Parklife'. A sort of Blurry 'Kid A' then!

Rating: 6/10

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For many the Boo Radleys will be remembered for their candy caked hit 'Wake up Boo'. This song does not even come close to defining what an important band they were. Its success proved to be a double edged sword. Those looking for more of the same were disappointed, while those looking for something a bit more tangible would have been put off. Martin Carr, much admired drinker and now steering the Brave Captain ship was able to conjure melodies at will and provided the ammunition for Sice's magnetic choirboy vocals. Giant Steps released in 1993 represents the Boo's at their imperious zenith and is undoubtedly one of the albums of the nineties. Such a strong statement can only be rationalised by listening to its mammoth scope and innovative directions. Ideas are packed like sardines into each if its 17 tracks. At times it shuttles about with abandon scaring small creatures that are within listening distance. Many find it unkempt but a small amount of patience reveals a luxurious wealth of winning ideas. No wonder it got the album of the year in several magazines in 1993. No other album stood a chance. At first the eclectic wanderings on 'Giant Steps' are overbearing and indeed can be too much to take in. It is only after you've ingested the frentics and absorbed its scattered approach that you realise what an album you have on your hands. The opener 'I Hang Suspended' was a minor hit but is likely to blow you away on a tide of rushing guitars and the sharp vocal performance. Lyrics like 'You Know The Facts, But You Haven't Got A Clue' would burn ears if thrown in the right direction.

'Lazurus' is nothing less than epic. Brass noises as sweet as cane and as intoxicating as Jack Daniel's rise out from a dub intro to create a multi-coloured path to planet melody. Again Sice is a lone vocal amongst the cascading sound that builds around it. As the deluge of sound fills the room everything makes sense as those trumpets blaze a trail right through your heart. It is without doubt the Boo's defining moment. Other pop gems such as 'Wishin I Was Skinny' and 'Take The Time Around' are strewn around 'Giant Steps' like toys in a nursery. When the occasion takes them, the Boo Radley's search their very soul for extravagance. They pull it all off with aplomb and the grandiose approach on songs like 'Butterfly McQueen', while initially off-putting, makes total sense. As the ragged My Bloody Valentine glory of 'Rodney King' mops up the excess, it is left to the dulcet tones of Meriel Barham (of the heavenly Pale Saints) to restore the equilibrium. Elsewhere there are thoroughbred weirdo's in the shape of 'Run My Way Runway' and 'Upon 9th And Fairchild' that may frighten the naive but delight the most mature listener.

There are touching moments aplenty. Sice voice sounds so brittle and touching on 'Thinking Of Ways' you'll most likely hug the person beside you under it's emotional presence. The trumpets and guitar shrieks stream in and out of consciousness but those divine vocal chords will submerse you in the music. 'I've Lost The Reason' produces an adrenaline soaked bass buzz on 2 occasions but in between the silence is only interrupted by a bright flickering vocal. 'One Is For' may be only 90 seconds long but being a puppy like standard it loops in a curious direction that will snag your heart forever. 'Giant Steps' was an experiment where everything that was attempted came up trumps. So when the noises from outer space hijack what would otherwise have been normality they merely round the song off. The straighter laced tunes like 'Barney (...and me)' cower for cover like butterfly's amidst the frenzied soundscape around them.

At the end as the mayhem begins to die down and the dense experimental fog clears, up comes the sun in the shape of 'The White Noise Revisited'. An obvious homage to the Beatles it contains a wafting 'Yeah Yeah Yeah' that will send tingles down your spine. It proves to be the only option available to close an album that drifts off in so many distinct patterns while still maintaining a remarkable cohesiveness. It's like throwing 14 different coloured t-shirt's into a wash set to a temperature of 100 degrees, making a wish for a miracle and finding them appear at the other end in your favourite colour white. Yeah, it shouldn't have worked but it does. 'Giant Steps' is absolutely beyond reproach. I pray for the day, they get around to letting us in on any other half baked ideas the Boo's never got around to releasing. Never has music that makes so much sense taken so long to make itself known. If you have the 'Wake Up Boo' single, listen to the b-sides and you can realise the enormity of Martin Carr and his bands talent. Boo Forever!

Rating: 10/10

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At first you could be scratching your head wondering what on earth Londoners Bloc Party are at. On the surface they appear to be bashing out an incoherent racket that you’d normally not give a second chance. But if you persist the nuances become clearer as do the gilded shapes of sound. Silent Alarm reveals Bloc Party as a band with 2 distinct guises. Each is equally mesmerising, the periodic switch between the 2 ably refocusing the listener’s attention. On the one hand you’ll encounter a rush of primeval drumming, lightening quick chords and fizzy vocals. Then there’s the studied lush approach, where the melodies are intentional, lithe and downright heart wrenching.

Leading the charge for the frantic, sporadically focused yet alluring tact is the albums opener ‘Like Eating Glass’. It all starts so amiably until Matt Tong delivers his trademark armpit soaking beats. A bass line skulks in the shadows as Kele Okereke’s vocals swab the injuries inflicted by the spiky playing. The raw production continues on ‘Helicopter’, the unstoppable energy sustains the listener as Okereke pleads ‘Are You Hoping For A Miracle’. It’s not until 4 songs in that Silent Alarm takes on an instantly digestible form. ‘Banquet’ is a hot flush of a tune, brimming with attitude, swaggering along like Bez with a new set of maracas. The riffs may be as basic as a rich tea biscuit but the chorus has the attitude and appeal of a whiskey chaser. The words provide added edge, storylining a Friday night encounter.

Things get even more chaotic on ‘She’s Hearing Voices’ where the feisty beats and Ian Curtis like vocals bask in a Cathedral of zigzagging sounds. ‘Positive Tension’ has such a patchwork array of variances it’s easy to be put off. The heavy Cure influence stems from Okereke’s near perfect take on Robert Smith’s early morning drawl. Perhaps drawl is the wrong word as his lyric delivery is oft as nimble as Jack B. To counteract the shredded delivery of tracks like ‘Positive Tension’ and ‘Luno’ there are more measured efforts like ‘Plans’ and ‘Pioneers’ that still bring forth a sprinkling of interesting ideas but don’t hack off your ear in the process.

The other Bloc Party stands up on ‘Blue Light’, as refreshing and sweet as a sorbet. For the first time Tong’s drumming is restrained and Russell Lissack draws a shimmering display from his instrument. ‘This Modern Love’ is achingly beautiful right down to the clean guitars slivers that delicately wrap the phone line vocals. As it sits in a pretty puddle of sound its posture become more athletic colouring the imagination and unclogging stubborn arteries. ‘So Here We Are’ is Bloc Party’s first true classic and will devastate you every time. Suffice to say if all music sounded this powerful there would be no such thing as war.

Silent Alarm is a hugely impressive debut imbued with a fulsome energy and emotional depth. Bloc Party display a degree of flexibility, which bodes well for their future. They have several avenues of progression available to them, each rich in sonic possibilities. Even if they persist with their blend of acrobatic assaults of sound and occasional timid pop jewel they can attract a huge following. For the time being, however, Silent Alarm is a wake up call to other young bands in how to deliver individuality without losing attractive familiarity.

Rating: 8/10


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If you've never seen her, she is exactly how you would have imagined. Right down to those fake pearl tears on the cover of Debut, Bjork is an enigma in that special way that popstars can get away with. Back in 1993 when Debut was released she was voted babe of the year in NME and judging by the stunning shots on this and the single 'Big Time Sensuality' it's hard not to argue. Bjork made her first recording aged 13. She had been a member of the Sugarcubes before she went solo. The Sugarcubes spun off beat dramas that defined an alternative market in the mid-late eighties struggling to find its feet. Bjork's talent was their distinctive selling point though and they may have suffered without her powerful vigour.

Debut is infused with a huge dance sensibility. A lot of the tracks have appeared elsewhere in altogether different guises, suitable for packing dancefloors en masse. Most of the time, these reworkings are loyal to their inspiration and dutifully prove how powerful the original recordings are. The first sign of Bjork's solo output was 'Big Time Sensuality' that came complete with 5 remixes. It has a didgeridoo electronic beat that skips frothily for its duration. Bjork doesn't croon, she just adds suitable splices of cool vocals.

'Violently Happy' creeps up on you like a wayward iceberg and knocks you for six as the delicious white hot beat distils pure alcohol into your shaking torso. It is overwhelming stuff made all the more bearable by the perfect comedown of 'Venus As A Boy'. The song has the comfort of a candle in a dark cave but the warmth of the vocals wrap you in the fur of a fresh bear kill. Just when you think you have a handle on Bjork's vocal range she disappears beyond the horizon. Those put off by the notion of a beat fantastic album shouldn't worry because Debut is much more than this. For every 'Violently Happy' there are at least a couple of seamless vehicles for Bjork's astonishing voice. 'Play Dead' for example boasts a huge orchestral wall of sound and a chorus that wonderfully climbs to the summit of her vocal range. 'There's More To Life Than This' has more than a Moloko ring about it, but then this was released aeons before they had honed their sound.

Elsewhere 'Come To Me' contains all the trappings of a fairytale with the requisite plinking dew drops, distant wailing strings and little red riding hood pretensions. It sashes by with enormous clarity, charming is too underwhelming a word to describe it. 'Aeroplane' is beautifully uneven and hints at that 'It's Oh So Quiet' theme that her second album would so successfully adopt. Listen to 'The Anchor Song' and you can imagine village life. As the prayers for returning fisherman are answered the most serene of lives continue happily as the outside world scrambles for a few hundred more worthless shares, squashing the weaker in society underfoot in the process. There is a natural feel to the album despite all the technology employed. On occasions, like on the rather shallow 'One Day' Bjork drops her quality guard. To recompense the white label take of this song is close to perfection. 'Crying' is another notable disappointment with a vacuous centre, but hey there is a neat doodling session near the finish that almost saves the day.

Aside from these momentary lapses this is a fantastic debut that you should own for its individuality, inner self-belief and consistent wide-eyed arrangements. Where else could you find a disc that will have you dancing, sleeping and crying within the space of a half an hour? Why the next Bjork release of course!

Rating: 8/10


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