Up to recently I had avoided solo artists like the plague reasoning that something was always going to be more interesting if it came from a group of people. This rather pathetic logic was turned on its head after I discovered Nick Drake, Badly Drawn Boy and Sparklehorse. So where once I would have treaded neatly around stuff released by artists like Matthew Jay, I now head straight for the nearest listening post. Draw does not disappoint; the production is lush, the ideas are creative and at intervals it is liable to leave you in various stages of exhilaration.

Matthew Jay was born in Wales (which ultimately led to lazy David Gray comparisons in the press) to a musical family. When his father lost his job as a coalminer, he turned his hand to making guitars. With his parent’s love of folk music and a ready supply of instruments available on his doorstep, Jay junior set about writing his own songs from a very young age. After much effort and on the point of jacking in all in Jay was eventually signed to Food Records (Blur). 'Let Your Shoulder Fall' was the first release from 'Draw' and became the single of the week on Mark and Lard's Radio One show. It's hard to argue with their decision because 'Let Your Shoulder Fall' is an upbeat jive with a classy guitar centrepiece. Matthew Jay's voice has a soft lilt but it manages to swoop and soar in a way that conjures up a happy Nick Drake (!). 'Four Minute Rebellion' is the quaint opener on the album, although the not so subtle swearing comes a little bit of a surprise.

There is an underlying nostalgic feel to a lot of 'Draw'. 'You're Always Going Too Soon' for example is a remarkably studied pop song delivered with style and panache that has an internal spirit that harks back to the summer of 1976. While Jay’s voice is timeless the music sounds like it has been beautifully preserved in a sealed casket for decades. What a double bill he and the Webb Brothers would make! 'Only Meant To Say' evokes some better Lightning Seeds moments (particularly 'Sense', although this makes more), happy music designed to make you smile. It starts out with some shimmering spacey guitars and a wandering vocal. Then, quite by surprise, the tune gets possessed by a fully fledged demon of a chorus. Quite simply a sunshine tune that bursts at the seams with gleeful attitude.

The guitars on 'Meteorology' sound rather close to something Noel Gallagher would cook up. Jay's delicately hushed vocals elevate proceedings while the distant strings add the necessary class. It is quite stirring and beautifully slows things down momentarily. 'Call My Name Out' had me thinking of the theme to Hill Street Blues (or was that Taxi?). The 'hey na na na na' bit sounds a little borrowed but the good vibes do help you overlook this minor quibble. Not for the first time Jay employs a double vocal that adds to his music's rich texture. 'Molasses' is this albums only instrumental (save for a light female hum) and could easily be a cut from Doves masterpiece, 'Lost Souls'. The acoustic riff and tick-tock electronic beats act as a subtle comedown and provide an opportunity to catch your breath from the preceding waves of aural candy. 'Please Don't Send Me Away' turns the spotlight on Jay's lean vocal deliveries again. While they hog the attention, the music that surrounds them is startlingly accomplished.

'Remember This Feeling' includes some input from ex Six By Seven (Nottingham noise meisters) member Sam Hempton. Hempton carves out wondrous sonics using a drumstick to play his guitar. The song is positively drenched in bygone signposts; 10cc are the closing influence that springs to mind. 'Become Yourself' is as exquisite a moment as finding a lemon tree in your back yard. The sense of joie de vivre that is expelled will paint rainbows in your mind and have you miming the great harmonica player you once dreamed you'd become. 'The Clearing' is unquestionably Beatles territory a la 'Lady Madonna' right down to the old style black and white vocal production. While it certainly is a blast it lacks some of the intense melody that the other tunes on 'Draw' exhibit. The piano laced 'A World Away' also has fab four leanings. Paul McCartney gets a wink of admiration and the mystique of the harmonies puts the perfect seal on a genuinely thrilling debut.

Matthew Jay's one and only album will draw you in straight away. It is rich in melody and semi-acoustic guitar riffs. Almost every song has true worth and the album is a powerful indictment of Jay's talent. Two years after recording this album Matthew Jay tragically died after a fall from his 7th floor apartment in Nottingham. He was only 24. ‘Draw’ is a fine legacy to his undisputed talent.

Rating: 6.5/10

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The cover of Ritual De Lo Habitual contains a paper mache threesome involved in quasi cross gender pollination. Harmless stuff but its ambiguity does warrant some attention. Jane's Addiction have an offbeat take on modern rock. Most of the tunes on this their most rounded album contains an uneven pattern that varies between quiet introspective and scattergun hectic moments. Perry Farrell's voice is unique but strangely enigmatic so it is easy to recognise his bands material. Part female, part adolescent his incessant outpourings are quite dramatic. On the classy far eastern mantra 'Of Course', his voice sounds totally at home amongst the acoustic violin and maracas infested vibes.

At times Jane's Addiction do wander into creative cul-de-sac's or so you think. 'Obvious' initially seems all bluster giving off the impression of a tune with surface value only. By giving it a chance though you'll see that there is a pretty good melody superbly camouflaged in the mix. 'Then She Did...' is a powerful indictment of Jane's Addiction song writing ability. It is genuinely innovative and its eight minutes duration hardly leaves you time to draw your breath. It took years for 'Been Caught Stealing' to win me over. I couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Having it play alongside Cannonball and Waterfall seemed inappropriate. But it finally clicked with me at an out of sorts night last year. As Perry Farrell crones with aplomb, those dog barks signal a bubbling entourage of offbeat guitars. From there its kooky confidence will work it's magic with your state of mind.

The album has a few weak tracks. The opener 'Stop' lacks bite, the guitar dynamics are too frenzied to be alluring and there is a distinct lack of melody. Although 'Ain't No Right' has some neat metal aspirations it blunders on too many occasions to be effective. Right in the middle 'Three Days' lives up to its name by sprawling over 10 minutes. With a bit of careful editing this could have been a much more enticing proposition. As it is 'Three Days', verges on epic bombast and that slash type solo has me blocking my ears every time. It's the good tracks that make 'Ritual De Lo Habitual' so periodically vital. 'Classic Girl' is certainly out of sync with its neighbours. Farrell for once subdues the dramatics, taking a laid-back stance and the guitars shimmer gloriously in the background. At various stages 'Classic Girl' shifts a gear to mould a two-part opus. The drumbeat/bass equation is unique and elevates the whole affair. 'Ritual De Lo Habitual' is probably more suited to the huge rock scene in the US. It certainly has plenty of memorable moments but remains a little short of being a great album. A little more 'Classic Girl' and a little less 'Three Days' and things could have been much better.

Rating: 7/10

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It was hard to understand the pious attitude towards James in the media. On the face of it here was a band that had the gifted knack of coining off the shelf airs full of energetic melody. On its release the critics scoffed ‘Seven’ at its supposed stadium oriention. That somehow James had forgotten their humble folk-rock beginnings and had turned into would-be rock gods. That's progress in my book and looking back ‘Seven’ is a monumental improvement on their previous efforts 'Stutter', ‘Strip Mine’ and 'Gold Mother' which lacked the finesse and imagination of the follow-up. There's an energy to the music that went some way in translating the spectacle that James concocted in concert. One such show was recorded by MTV around the same time ‘Seven’ was released. It remains a landmark film of a band at the peak of their powers, where cartoon flowers elegantly waltzed with an effortless montage of sound.

'Born of Frustration' is smothered in luscious trumpet sounds (supplied by the appropriately named Andy Diagram). Don't know what it is about that instrument but when it's used properly it gives me the shivers. The songs ingrained spirit is precocious and endearing. 'Ring the Bells' is as streamlined a pop tune as you're likely to hear and as Tim Booth hollers it's hard not to mimic his puppet dangling in the wind dance moves. 'Sound' has a similar theme that sees Booth once again successfully reprise his werewolf persona. When James sail close to the good ship U2 on 'Live a Love of Life', retribution would be forthcoming were it not for 'Don't Wait that Long' which is an exhaustive example of how a love song should be written. The song broods by way of a dalliance between Saul Davis’ fingers and the chords at his disposal. This is the sound of the human body straining to control too many wounded ventricles. ‘Next Lover’ showcases the aftermath and the knowing frayed playing subtly coaxes the required imagery from the words. The album engineers its way to the summit with a couple of James most notable achievements. 'Heavens' is as angelic as you'd expect and proves without doubt that Coldplay weren’t the first band to devise memorable piano riffs. It’s the title track, however, that encapsulates the essence of the piece. Shimmering above the strain of sweet guitar strings and classy brass sunsets Tim Booth pulls on his most affecting persona to steal the girl of his dreams.

We have a lot to thank James for. Their t-shirts alone kept me in fashionable tops for years. While these may be passé now, their music still sounds contemporary and vibrant. Later albums like ‘Laid’ and ‘Whiplash’ were accomplished affairs, which while never losing sight of the tune lacked the adrenalin rush that so propelled this album. ‘Seven’ is all the evidence that was ever needed to prove that James had the ammunition to be greats. Unfortunately in 1992 the sound of Seattle had swept all diversions aside so much so that ‘Seven’ never garnered the attention it warranted. What a shame then, that this great band will be remembered for a novelty hit. It’s enough to make you sit down in sympathy.

Rating: 7/10

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January’s vocalist Simon McLean has a hugely ambitious streak matched only by Sarah Peacock's lavish guitar strokes. Signed to Alan McGee’s Poptones label the bands influences are easy to pinpoint, splicing Teenage Fanclub's ear for melody with occasional My Bloody Valentine molten guitar assaults. Wherever you look on this album you'll be struck by the arch melody ingrained in January's music. It has a laid-back acoustic stance but is certainly not limited by this ambition. There are quite a few introspective moments liked 'Fused' and 'Invisible Lines' but the album exudes a sonic energy that belies it's somewhat minimalist approach. 'Invisible Lines' is a particularly absorbing, harmonious slice of shiver inducing pop. Just perfect for the moment you discover that elusive Thai beach.

'All Time' starts off so acoustically, it’s hard to pick up on the chords. Quite out of the blue then it attains the aura of an epic, the guitar layers fuse and play off each other perfectly. McLean sounds star struck yet powerful and the whole effect is uplifting even though its inspiration has its roots in melancholy. The final minutes contain some supremely ragged guitar effects that propels the whole affair. 'Sequence Start' has a fragmented feel to it with the jaunty guitars camouflaging the carnivorous riffs that lie ahead. Taking surreal pointers from the Kevin Shields handbook of hazy distortions is one thing but conjuring something that the great man would be proud of himself displays January's immense potential. 'Sequence Start' is one of the outstanding tracks in an album filled with highlights.

'Contact Light' has Peacock pulling the sweetest of guitar chord progressions this side of jangle city. Not for the first time the singer sports that familiar shoegazing vocal of old. It is wispy, ethereal and imbued with a heart breaking sadness. In the context of the most sublime of riffs, this is deeply affecting stuff. January remind me most of a Scottish band called Whiteout who were capable of writing little pop gems (and releasing them on the b-sides of their singles). 'Projections' has a crawling country chord. Its sweet harmonies are a constant feature of the album as a whole. 'Through Your Skies' has notions of 'Carnival of Light' period Ride with vocals that resemble Mark Gardner, while Sarah Peacock could easily be Andy Bell toiling with a slide guitar in the background. Elsewhere 'Eyes All Mine' has a neat repetitive bassline, sandwiched between gorgeous guitar slivers, moog dalliances and Mclean's weeping vocals. Live favourite 'Falling In' is like that track you normally uncover at the end of a truly great album where the band rawk out under a blaze of guitar fury. Thankfully this approach more or less succeeds even though it sounds curiously not of this time, in an ea rly Verve type of way.

I Heard Myself in You espouses a forever changing guise. It resembles a collection of songs taken from several different albums. While the music often takes centre stage it is hard not be taken in by Mclean's words. There are glimpses of January's influences on nearly all of the tunes but their sound is robust enough to stand proud as their unique creation. This band is supremely gifted and 'I Heard Myself In You' is a courageous album full of promise. Anyone with a soft spot for shimmering guitars and soft textured vocals will be blown away. It is surely only a matter of time before the world becomes entranced by their spellbinding music.

Rating: 7.5/10

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Shortly after the release of the Streets' debut album Mike Skinner was asked about how he was faring writing his second album. His response was along the lines of ''it’s taken me all my life to write the songs for my first album; how can you expect me to repeat that in such a short space of time?''. A reasonable reaction, and one that goes some way to explaining the cliché that is the sophomore slump, though in Skinner’s case, I suspect he may have been overplaying his concern; it’s difficult to imagine anyone sweating over time restraints when they could deliver something as assured and cohesive as ‘A Grand Don’t Come For Free’ within two years. The same two years separate Interpol’s Antics from it’s older brother ‘Turn on the Bright Lights’, perhaps the only other debut of 2002 that matched the rapturous reception received by the Streets that year. This was a album of heartache and isolation, that could have you strutting to the stabbing guitars of Obstacle 1, and the next minute leave you breathless in the face of NYC’s cinematic slow-motion. ‘Antics’ arrival was met with a level of expectation no band should be burdened with. That’s the price, I guess, of putting your best foot forward, for leaving the starting blocks in a sprint. (God help The Arcade Fire.)

Hats off, then, to Interpol for keeping up the pace. They haven’t forayed far off the course they started on, but seem to have settled into a stride, or at least a more defined sound on ‘Antics’. Take ‘Evil’, two tracks in, that combines the elementary ingredients of a four-piece band to satisfying effect. It starts with a simple repeated Carlos D bass riff and adds Paul Banks’ distinctive low voice, now clearer than before and not buried deep in the mix, and then a basic drum beat. Unfussy, uncomplicated, the barre chords punch in at the bridge and do the dirty work at the chorus. There is little else, save for some piano notes that collide with the learner-friendly guitar solo. This may sound sparse, but the production is full-sounding, solid and weighty. It also may sound charmlessly efficient, but the key here is that this is simply a great tune, it carries the whole song effortlessly, and can hold its own without adding layers of strings or synthesizers, or going overboard on the reverb pedals. The prototype was the uncluttered ‘Leif Erickson’, one of the later tunes penned for ‘Turn on the Bright Lights’, but now less somber, more playful. The ‘Marquee Moon’ trick of holding back just about everything else during the guitar break could become an Interpol trademark on the back of this record, but the real upgrade is that at least half the songs here have a chorus you can dance to, in the case of ‘Evil’, like a possessed puppet. ‘I spent a life with no cellmate’ is a moving line, but it will get your feet moving too. ‘Evil’ is unstoppable, at once anguished and angry, not a crease in the suit, not a hair out of place. Really though, really, they should have called it ‘Rosemary’.

Several of the songs on ‘Antics’ follow this template plus-or-minus – ‘Narc’, ‘Slow Hands’, ‘Length of Love’, and Interpol’s poppiest moment to date ‘C’mere’, are churned out as if writing great tunes came effortlessly. ‘Take You on a Cruise’ slows the proceedings with some haunting, droning guitars, by turns tender (‘Baby it will be alright’) and thunderous (‘I am a scavenger between the sheets of union’). The real tour-de-force is the monolithic ‘Not Even Jail’, which starts with an almighty bang and proceeds to pound its way through five mirror-smashing minutes of intense, insistent guitars, then leaving a stunning two-string guitar break to fade out. Here’s a thing though: at times Interpol’s sound communicates more to the listener than the lyrics themselves. The frustration is palpable as Banks’ pleads ‘Can’t you feel the warmth of my sincerity?’ but there are times when the message is less clear. Okay, so ‘I’m subtle like a lion’s cage’ may hint at unvented anger, but really what he means by ‘I will bounce you on the lap of silence’ is quite beyond me. This was also a symptom of ‘Turn on the Bright Lights’. Songs are dotted with evocative snippets of loneliness and despair (‘Can’t you see what you’ve done to my heart and soul? This is a wasteland now’) but the tendency is towards the obscure and unfathomable, bordering on meaningless, with words seemingly randomly juxtaposed. ‘Combat salacious removal’, anyone? How can you explain following the lucid, literate ‘Now seasoned with health, two lovers walk a lakeside mile’ with the unintelligible ‘Try pleasing with stealth, rodeo…’ except to say they were looking for a rhyme? And don’t get me started on ‘I’m timeless like a broken watch.’

The music, however, compensates with yards to spare. On ‘Antics’, Interpol have come closer to a sound that is identifiably their own, distancing themselves from comparisons with that band. The shift between where they’ve come from and where they are is made apparent with the closing track ‘A Time To Be So Small, which takes a backward step to the brooding ‘Turn on the Bright Lights’, the mood gloomy, the vocals buried, the lyrics macabre. They’ve followed up an exquisitely atmospheric debut with a collection of tuneful, energetic songs. So perhaps this means the expectation will be compounded come their next release. But hey, who’s on trial?

Rating: 8/10

Tony Kelleher

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Signed to the imperious Dead Elvis label, In Motion left a small yet indelible impression on the local Dublin scene with their one and only album 'The Language Of Everyday Life'. The production was raw at best, decidedly creaky at worst, yet the abiding feeling of joyfulness on listening to this album of technicolor melodies is one to savour repeatedly. In Motion first appeared out of the blue on ‘No Disco’, Ireland’s much loved but sadly defunct foray into alternative music. The scattered images of ‘Hollow Blow’ portraying an ordinary ramble though Dublin City Centre were soundtracked by a haze of fuzzy guitars and a rollercoaster collage of mouth-watering vocals. Imagine standing in the Gobi in the midst of a snowfall; the effect is mesmerising, emotional even.

‘The Language Of Everyday Life’ is in essence a distillation of the jangle pop genre, where the chords lightly shimmer in unison with vocals that effortlessly spin pretty patterns. ‘Until My Dreams Come True’ is the stunning opener where the rampaging guitars melt into the sucrose vocals. The seamless playing is orchestrated by lyrics as unsullied as ‘In the corner of your heart, is there a place I can hide?’ Alan Kelly applies such integrity to his singing you’ll likely retreat to your cuff at every available opportunity. ‘Splitting The Seams’ and ‘Honey Sweet Soul’ sit side by side on a wave of Slowdive machinations. The pace is close to static, the chopping guitars resembling waves on a calm day. Why bother with that whales sound cassette when artificiality is as good as this, who needs a soother when you have the aural equivalent?

The second part of the album is where In Motion’s inner fireworks finally ignite. ‘Hollow Blow’ is machine gun pop with gum drops for bullets. ‘In Daylight’ is possessed by frenetic jangling guitars while Liam Ryan (Drums) keeps them in line. In an album of aerobatic vocals the swooping volleys by Kelly are heart wrenching. The albums soul comes in the form of ‘Five And Twenty Thousand Days’. The bass bumble (John Duff), the chugging riffs, the affecting singing and the heavenly trumpet as 20th century Scaramouche create an intoxicating mix so that by the time ‘Filter’ appears your heart will have already surrendered. And what a way to say goodbye. Right down to the gorgeous synth foray this is the sound of a broken heart saying goodbye. And at just 30 minutes this will be one of the shortest yet most enduring relationships you will ever have with a collection of songs.

‘The Language Of Everyday Life ‘is not a conventional album. Only 1,000 copies were ever shipped from the Dead Elvis’ offices. The production values alone make it sound like a demo recorded in a damp garage. It would be easy to dismiss but the ideas and warmth are of a band so special it is upsetting to realise that the world never even noticed. The only other release of note from the band was the ‘For An Evening’s Velvet Ending’ single (Mucksavage Records) which included ‘Hollow Blow’. In Motion members are still making music in projects as diverse as electronic Decal (Alan O’Boyle) and slowcore The Last Post (Alan Kelly). Whether either can ever reach such sonic heights is doubtful but having a pop sphere like ‘The Language Of Everyday Life’ in their back catalogue must be as comforting as a particularly downy duvet set. Seek this album out with the intensity of a mislaid winning lottery ticket.

Rating: 9/10

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Taking their name from the hiding place in the 'Anne Of Green Gables' book this is a foursome that have the wherewithal to flabbergast. 100 Broken Windows was their third album and comes complete with at least a dozen compilation tape favourites. 'Little Discourage' opens the noise fest with a crafty confidence. While it had minimal impact sales wise its classy internal streamlined guitar displays highlight a maturity that was often lacking in their gorgeously ebullient debut 'Hope Is Important'. Singer Roddy Woomble comes off sounding like a youthful Michael Stipe with lyrics that drip with irony.

Idlewild's genius is their knack of conjuring tunes that aren't all that obvious. While immediacy certainly has its place there is something more soulful in the adventure of uncovering a hook you didn't think existed. That's why so many of Idlewild's tunes stand up perfectly to multiple listens. 'These Wooden Ideas' trips up its own title because it is positively full of intricate loveliness. The pacing is fluid with little nooks and crannies exposing giant realms of sketchbook genius. Find some surround sound home cinema speakers and float Dead Sea like on a massive jamboree of cartoon notes. 'Roseability' seemed like an odd choice to promote the album but it is entirely probable that you'll be humming it 2 days later while you struggle to work out where such a nice tune came from. What 'Roseability' lacks in hidden grooves it more than makes up with adrenaline fuelled aggression and stable percussion.

A well-known trick with clued in guitar blended bands is to pitch effortless harmony after a elated period of meaningless crashing guitars noise. So we have 'Idea Track', where Roddy Woomble tears his vocal chords over a horrendous montage of misleading chords until out of the blue a chorus that would clean dirt from under your fingernails swoops in with all the grace of swan. As Woomble forages onwards and upwards for more meaning the effect is thrilling, a piece that could have been tacked onto 'Nevermind' with minimal fuss and maximum effect. At the end the storm subsides and the viola recreates the foggy scene over those hushed and humbled words. When it seems that your emotions could hardly be aroused to any greater effect 'Let Me Sleep (next to the mirror)' ambles in to rock your world once more. Here the playing is a little more controlled; for once Rod Jones on guitar lets the singing do the talking. The heartbreaking image whisks you away on the white horse displacing that knight in shining army who had played that tired old trick dozens of times. As the sunset beckons the sound of freedom comes from four Northern British blokes.

'100 Broken Windows' spreads the full spectrum of alternative attractiveness. At times it swaggers under a torrent of inebriated noise, elsewhere it is as delicate as a embalmed butterfly. 'Quiet Crown' successfully marries both persuasions. The jangling guitars suggest a solemn ditty but as soon as you settle down for another cup of cocoa a tidal wave of electrifying notes bleat beneath the surface as the frontman twists and turns under the weight of his own talent. With all the artificial ingenious of a wind tunnel 'Actually It's Darkness' has the credentials to quite literally blow the cobwebs from your ears. 'Why Can't Your Be More Cynical' he screams while all the time perfectly retaining the sense that he is creating something beautiful that people might like to listen to in their living rooms. Hurtling down the same tunnel at the speed of light 'Listen To What You've Got' is for all intensive purposes the aerobic teachers worst nightmare. At best liable to incur refunds and at worst heart attacks it is a wonderful expression of youth let loose on unsuspecting instruments.

While Idlewild have several reference points that become obvious as the album progresses they retain their own ID throughout. 'The Bronze Medal' could be Mogwai if they lent full throttle to their wayward vocal tendencies. Perhaps the result does come across a little lame, which is a pity because the swansong should have sealed this classic. 'Rusty' is as dark as moody as any Joy Division piece. On occasions it contorts to uncover a fine chorus that fits in perfectly with its own idiosyncrasy. Idlewild certainly have the product and imagination to make something of themselves. There predisposition to touring in the outer reaches of the earth (the Orkney Islands for instance) means that the ambition and will is there in abundance. It seems that unlike its binary equivalent '100 Broken Windows' is refreshingly bug free.

Rating: 8/10

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If you were to go by the early soundings on Hope Is Important you could be confused into thinking that a diet of hard rock awaits. That's because 'You've Lost Your Way' is thrash metal with incoherent screeching vocals producing an aural meltdown. No wonder Scottish band Idlewild regularly retreat to the northern offshore islands to conduct their gigs. This sort of noise would not be permissible in urban areas where everything is within shouting distance. As 'Hope Is Important' progresses, however, the foot is lifted off the pedal a touch and the album proper kicks in. 'A Film For The Future' has a clued in knowledge of melody and while it uses a battering ram guitar riff, it contains a pleasant toffee centre. 'Paint Nothing' has a rich harvest of raw dynamic sounds and is the quintessential indie rock stomp. Short and sweet, it does enough with its basic driving guitar nuances and soft/harsh vocals to raise eyebrows and the odd teenage heartbeat.

The all-encompassing 'When I Argue I See Shapes' represents Idlewild going at full throttle enjoying themselves. It has a pure honed vision with Roddy Woomble spitting out words that are dripping in irony while all the while the guitar jangle provides some salubrious company. More than any other track 'When I Argue I See Shapes' sets up 'Hope Is Important' as a delightful debut heralding plenty of promise. Idlewild have a burning talent that shines through over and over throughout this, their proper debut (not counting mini album ‘Captain’ released in 1998). 'I'm A Message' is the type of pop nugget that eventually leads to something altogether bigger and more valuable. It has the kinetic energy to power small villages. As is customary the song flits by in a flash, not without leaving several beads of perspiration on the listeners’ forehead, however. 'Safe and Sound' is a lot less hurried possessing a beautiful epic feel with the background strings bolstering its sound perfectly.

By keeping their influences close to their chest (although 'I'm Happy To Be Here Tonight' is an unmistakable R.E.M. pastiche and 'You Don't Have The Heart' has definite Pixies leanings) Idlewild's sound is remarkably familiar but at the same time fresh and rewarding. At times the songs contain adrenaline overloads like on '4 People Do Good’, which is like a hurricane trapped inside your ear lobes. Just remember to tell folks with hearing aids to take the batteries out when you play it. With so much to say, Idlewild perhaps rush some of the tracks when a more studied approach could have yielded a better, if a little less frenzied, album. Maturity and an ability to step back a bit would produce a more rounded album in '100 Broken Windows', the follow up. The last song on this album 'Low Light' resembles a torch song for marching into battle and on this showing Idlewild would take on all comers with consummate ease. 'Hope Is Important' is Idlewild's ingenious attempt at adding yet another fruit to Glasgow's already tasty muesli of indiepop delights. They are a band for the present and hopefully the future.

Rating: 7/10

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Another album to be emitted in the year that Madchester enveloped the pop world. 1990 saw the alternative movers take centre stage and for an all too brief time cutting edge music was infiltrating the charts. For a while there it seemed like the four blokes from the House of Love could actually be going somewhere. Their most successful album, 'Babe Rainbow', had yet to be conceived but their eponymous album still sparkled with shiny pop gems including the bands most enduring standard 'Shine On'. The House of Love's inspiration more or less evolved from singer/songwriter Guy Chadwick. From 1986 to 1994 he and his cohorts created some of the most rapturous jangle pop possible. It would interesting to see the reaction to the The House Of Love if it were released today. It has a subtle touch that could probably fit in whatever the fashion. 'Hannah' the opening cut has all the confident swing of a Stone Roses b-side; the guitars shimmer and dive to mask the partially inadequate lyrics. Just as you begin to tire of the idea, the chords like sirens of 'Shine On' whip up the ante. There is an unrelenting curiosity about this song, so straightforward yet enigmatic in its own way. Lacking in inspiration or inspiringly diverse; still can't make up my mind.

To this day 'Beatles And The Stones' continues to send a shiver down my cranium. Slicing historical newsreel with a chiming guitar entourage it is enough to make a bachelor whimper. As Chadwick's silky vocals enter the fray its time to sit down and take stock of the beauty of music. Yeah it's that good, as soothing as a comfort blanket and as joyful as a dance around the May Pole. The second best song this band ever produced (a close second to the majestic 'Feel'). The mystical charm continues to plume on 'Shake And Crawl' where gorgeous guitar chugs are aided and abetted by some celestial keyboards. The singing is forlorn, distant and wholeheartedly affecting so much so that an unusually large lump could obstruct your airways. Such a pity then that reality is resolutely restored with the plodding and frighteningly forgettable 'Hedonist'.

Opening like a cider fuelled crusty fireside party 'Never' builds up an uneven head of steam as the melting pot of psychedelic strings, lovestruck poetry and lilting percussion finds its groove. 'Someone's Got To Love You' is definitely more focused and gentler. Imagine a more mature Oasis settling back in their armchairs as the video of their early years is replayed. This could comfort their frowns and scowls until the beasts were controlled and semi-tamed. 'In A Room' is the type of standard that could elevate an already fuelled feeling of euphoria. The drumming by Pete Evans is frantic yet rhythmic, the guitars are plucked deliciously at the speed of light by Terry Bickers and when the momentum finally boils over the whole affair takes on the form of a glittering pool of diamonds. Not for those affected by flash photography or Playstation 6 graphics then.

There is sadness impinging on a lot of the House of Love's back catalogue. On occasions the guitars make like they're grieving for a tiny contemporary that was dropped and broken in the musical instrument store by a spotty teenager. 'Blind' is all the evidence you need to witness the wake. Guy Chadwick pours heartfelt feeling into his delivery while the distraught musicianship plays on your soft side until you feel like paying for the damage yourself. Such grief is casually swept aside by the shattering effect of forked guitar work on '32rd Floor'. This is a song packed with all the thunder/lightening effects you'll ever need to illuminate the drama of a Premiership game. The lyrics are caustic but the brutal beauty of the music is alluring. If that wasn't enough the album turns on its head when Hank Williams is somehow resurrected to add a dusty atmosphere to 'Se Dest'. Freaky and threatening, just make sure you don't play it near the end of October. For the rest of the year treat yourself.

The albums has an eye catching mosaic of a colourful butterfly cast on a brick wall. It's simplistic but as eloquent as the music contained within. Take 'I Don't Know Why I Love You' where steady guitar pulses are spun through disbelieving words like 'Your face is like a hammer in my head'. This album is sometimes confused with the groups much lauded eponymous debut album. At times the production sounds a little tinny but, thankfully, the euphoria is hardly affected by this lacklustre knob twiddling. The House of Love belong to a forgotten time. Thankfully with one or two exceptions the music they created has proved to be timeless. 'Babe Rainbow' in 1992 would go on to reveal a more polished sound and a few better songs but this album evokes a unique inert sound of creation.

Rating: 8/10

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Emerging from the thick woods of Modesto, California, five seemingly giant hillbillies thrust their musical vision onto an unsuspecting public. While we prepared to apply copious amounts of cotton wool, the sweetest of harmonies drifted by and spun a lasso around our hearts. Grandaddy have been in existence since 1992 but it wasn't until they became a 5-piece in 1995 that their current sound began to blossom. The follow up to this their debut, The Sophtware Slump has rightly engaged everybody who has come into contact with it. Under the Western Freeway is, however, less defined yet possesses enough moments to have you on the kitchen floor like a cry-baby calling for mama.

There is a terrific sense of awkwardness about Grandaddy's music. Nothing is doctored to appease the moneymen. So songs as left-field and aspiring as 'Nonphenomenal Lineage' flit into view in sub-ugly duckling garb only to undress to reveal that dashing swan like poise underneath. The choir like keyboard directions allied with the simplest of riffs bolster lead singer Jason Lytle's delicate story of rejection. Witness the elegant swing of 'Am. 180' with its electro keys holding centre stage and Lytle's gentle nonsensical lyrics beaming any conscious mind to some dusty town in mid America. If that isn't enough to frighten you, then you should try taking on the intense melody of 'Laughing Stock'. With words like 'We do believe it ends right here', shuttling about like teletubbies on E, it's hard not to smile at the unusualness of it all. Add to this the huge undercurrent of haunting vibes and it's hard to suppress Lytle's awkward vision.

The title track 'Under The Western Freeway' arrives as a soft instrumental, bolstered by flute sounds and distant guitar feedback. As poised and dignified as a ballet dancer it could easily be the cutest lost puppy in history put to music. Your friendly outstretched attention may be all it needs to find the vocal it so craves. Deep breath, 'Collective Dreamwish Of Upperclass Elegance' is slowed down melancholy pampered with a playful acousticism making it hard to resist. Things go decidedly astronomical as 'Everything Beautiful Is Far Away' shudders on some rattling guitar chimes and the oohs and aahs of a man bearing his soul. The looping guitars spins the fragile piece out of control, taking everything in its path on a journey to those hills that don't seem so faraway.

Grandaddy have more or less harvested a planet of sound through the most ingenious of means. They may come across as daft, but their lyrics belie this fact. There is a deep sense of humour that is not immediately obvious ('Poisoned At Hartsy Thai Food' anyone?). But it's the fantastic obliging melody that makes this album a winner. Never is this more evident than their early single 'Summer Here Kids'. Jaunty, spunky and bolstered by a few trickle down piano keys this is music on a large scale. Just breathe in the innovation and get light headed. Towards the end, 'Why Took Your Advice' is perhaps just too slack to garner any great love. Those daft punk guitar jibes are a little too coarse to inspire but like on the rest of the album Jason Lytle's little rascal vocals afford submission. 'Go Progress Chrome' is much better. Picking up on a Sparklehorse jumble guitar sale intro it froths at the mouth in an attempt to weave the perfect musical tapestry. Like twinkling stars in the night, trying to find a word that describes it adequately is futile. 'Under The Western Freeway' will doubtless have you puzzled, wide-eyed, illuminated, confused but most of all completely satisfied. Talent like this rarely gets a hearing but if you are in the neighbourhood then prepare to spend one of the most interesting hours on your musical adventure. You'll doubtless drop in soon again, this time with a bottle of Jack Daniel's in tow.

Rating: 7.5/10

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Far from being a laughing stock these bearded wonders have fashioned a monumental piece of work. Whatever way you reach this album, whether it be through the glowing press they have received, their cathedral like live shows or their previous records nothing can prepare you for the grandeur of the The Sophtware Slump. It'll tear your heart out, brush it off and put it back where it belongs before you realise how good your day has been. Grandaddy may give off the impression of being uncultured hicks but they have it in them to create intelligent, fragile tunes that are likely to knock you sideways. That they have not achieved mainstream success is beyond me. It seems that unless you're under 23 and have glossy magazine type looks there isn't a hope you'll crack the charts. Then again though they may have appeared in Hunter monthly, Grandaddy do seem somewhat facially challenged.

For those of the music over matter persuasion, The Sophtware Slump is a rare treat. It's the type record that creates that Christmas feeling all year round. Each track has it's own kaleidoscope approach that is very hard to dislike. Maybe it's Jason Lytle's gorgeous vocal rasp or that the rest of the bands unearthly racket never sounds out of tune that reels you in until submission is the only alternative available. Opening with 'He's Simple, He's Dumb, He's the Pilot' is a brave move. Releasing it a single is even braver. Clocking in at just under 9 minutes it is a lot to cope with at first, but it's laid-back harmonies soon win you over. Perhaps it would have been more suitable as the albums finale. 'Hewletts Daughter' is a lot more accessible, perfect music for getting dressed to in the morning.

Like many great albums a lot of The Sophtware Slump only makes sense after a number of listens. 'The Crystal Lake' is the exception because on the very first listen you know there is sometime very special under way. Elsewhere 'Jed the Humanoid' shimmers on a sea of a Transylvanian organs. 'Miner at the Dial-A-View' is a song that splinters in so many directions, it's perhaps a live environment where it truly belongs. At the end 'So you'll Aim Towards the Sky' is so achingly beautiful you'll wonder why Grandaddy don't sit on the throne in pop heaven. While many were bemoaning the state of the charts, if you looked hard enough the year 2000 was a pretty good year for groundbreaking albums. The Sophtware Slump was certainly one of those and marked a fine progression from Grandaddy's debut Under the Western Highway, which they went on to consolidate with the follow-up 'Sumday'.

Rating: 8.5/10

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