Boces released in 1993, was Mercury Rev's second album. Named after a juvenile rehabilitation programme in New York it is perhaps a good indication of the mental state of the band at the time. Promoting the LP, they embarked on a support slot with Spiritualized. Their performances were consistently hindered by infighting and substance abuse became a nightly occurrence. A sloppy indecipherable song like 'Girlfren' from the album, highlights the inner and outer demons that were taking their toll. It is quite disturbing and really should not have been chosen to tie up what is otherwise an impressive, if quite flawed, album. 'Meth Of A Rockette's Kick' is the audacious opener sounding like a schizophrenic conceived it. The song literally trips itself up under the weight of its distracted meandering. The fact that the sweet brass sounds filter through at all is remarkable as the cacophony of voices, French horns, percussion, screeching guitars, trombones and tinkling piano keys threaten to strangle the life out of them. Very nice, but if bustling city centres are not your want then avoid.

After the peachy nerve of the opener, Mercury Rev go on and ruin it all by spluttering through 'Trickle Down'. Sounding like a cut from a soundtrack to a particularly bad independent movie, it features some of the lousiest humming this side of hell. Lucky then that the ecstatic charm of 'Bronx Cheer' brushes your teeth clean of the previous tunes bad taste. 'Bronx Cheer' is one of the few examples of Mercury Rev playing it straight. Creating the perfect pop song is one thing but making it sound fresh after 20 listens is another. It splashes about enthusiastically, falling just short of manic but those rushing chords do cause a few flutters. David Baker's sweet lilting vocals are accommodating, warm and fragile. Baker left the band soon after 'Boces' was released leaving full vocal duties to the principal songwriter Jonathan Donahue (who started out as a member of the Flaming Lips, it’s all making sense!).

The fuzzy singing on 'Boys Peel Out' adds to its lazy charm. The bass playing just about musters a riff and the whole atmosphere adds to the feeling that it was recorded at six in the morning after one too many whiskeys. Towards the end there is a mini jazz jam to round off that laid back vibe. 'Downs Are Feminine Balloons' is even classier. Purpose built guitars shimmer on the horizon and the delicate flute playing is divine. Baker's vocals are subtle and charming and don't distract from the accomplished musicianship that swells around them. Like a quieter Dinosaur Jr foray into abstract pop, listening to it makes you feel warm inside. The album's unchallenged highlight comes when all the effective parts to Mercury Rev's sound fuse seamlessly together. 'Something For Joey' dons its persuasive cap with the most eco friendly of sounds. The trombone is partially hidden by some delightful guitar playing, the momentum is aided and abetted by the clearest of flutes and the harmonies have genius at work written all over them. It all comes to an end too quickly so perhaps some of the bands trademark doodling could have enhanced the musical drama.

'Snorry Mouth' reintroduces the uneven mess theme. The words lack focus but luckily it contains just enough qualities to warrant attention. Pity the same can't be said for 'Continuous Drunks And Blunders’, which is just a waste of plastic. I guess it would be fine if you're about to embark on a course of meditation but otherwise it is redundant. 'Hi-Speed Boats' restores a little direction to proceedings. Donahue and Baker share vocal duties, taking control at intervening moments while a post-rock gale whips up the ante. It's got a start, a chorus of sorts and it doesn't drag its heels so be thankful for this simplistic approach. Trying to make sense of the images on the album's cover is difficult. Two wooden figures, one naked, the other perched underneath wearing a 'I love mum' T-shirt. There is humour in the image but the smile raised is awkward. Pushing the listener or merely provoking discussion it is certainly eye catching. Jonathan Donahue has described 'Boces' in his own unique way; 'your rebellious second kid who doesn't pay attention to one word you say and is always in trouble'. Yeah, but you gotta love the little mite all the same. Mercury Rev are one of the most important bands in the world at the moment, try to saviour their glorious present but don't forget to admire their deliciously shady past.

Rating: 7/10

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Pavement's final album 'Terror Twilight' displayed how the wheels were well and truly coming off this ingenious enterprise. It seemed to have been made with a sigh rather than a smirk even though there was some typically shiny pop tunes included. With the subsequent sad demise of the band, lead singer Stephen Malkmus somehow rose phoenix like from their ashes to produce a solo that, at least, occasionally harks back to the glory days. Stephen Malkmus is classically based on the Pavement blueprint of beguiling guitar manoeuvres, strong vocals and deadpan lyrics. One wonders though, how Malkmus expected to achieve anything more than he had with Pavement when he peddles a similar set of wares.

With Malkmus you get generous hauls of jangly guitar hooks and a vocal that expedites a slacker attitude. 'Church On White' is a case in point; just another song where you crack open the oyster, worrying only how big the pearl inside will be. There are little nods to other artists between the grooves. 'The Hook' has a neat Stones riff; there are faraway echoes of Clapton on 'Trojan Curfew' and some gentle Velvet Underground nuances on 'Discretion Grove'. Outside of this, the rest is of Malkmus' own making. Who else could conceive musical piety in the form of 'Vague Space’, which is a little disturbed, a little lo-fi and more than a little brilliant. 'The Black Book' sees a noticeably more mature Malkmus play it straight for once which acts a good foil for the bubblegum genius that follows it.

'Phantasies' has a sunny grove complete with handclaps and xylophones. Thankfully it is about as light and throwaway as the album gets. Elsewhere the melody is carefully masked resulting in a more jagged listening experience. Like on 'Jo Jo's Jacket', a disjointed tune that slowly weaves its magic as its disparate parts gel. As was the case with Pavement, some efforts are unconditionally gorgeous. 'Trojan Curfew' spins off at a divine tangent, only after it has coolly lulled you into the false impression that it's a homespun effort packed with lilting piano's and Malkmus' fireside vocals. 'Discretion Grove' which became a single is Malkmus by numbers, which in itself is no bad thing but it remains a strange choice to announce the album. True, there are some lovely chord changes but it lacks a killer chorus that would have the uninitiated listening in with interest. 'Deado' is a lot more amiable, low slung and inebriated on melody it is Malkmus gently tugging at our heartstrings and succeeding.

Pavement left us with a sublime pop legacy. Stephen Malkmus has a big task on his hands to emulate their achievements but his solo debut is a tidy start. Pavement could have taken some choice cuts from this and turned ‘Terror Twilight’ into a nourishing addition to their own legacy. Perhaps Malkmus was keeping the better songs in reserve foreseeing the end of the band. As it is Stephen Malkmus is a patchwork quilt of the great, the good and the average, which means it just falls short of being a winner. That said this album is neither a crisis nor a boring change.

Rating: 6/10

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It was with a teary eye that I first heard Lowgold. They sounded so perfect, deriving from the blueprint for innovative guitar fused melody. After that, there was no turning back. Isn't it great that in a time of unprecedented amounts of appalling music doing the rounds, that bands as special as Lowgold can release gorgeous records like Just Backward of Square. Surprisingly not all of the critics have lavished praise on Lowgold's debut even though it possesses a massive untapped potential. Ok, there's nothing revolutionary going on except straightforward indiepop but it is delivered with a panache and enthusiasm that is altogether too rare. All of the songs bar one were written by singer Darren Ford and while he doesn't depart from the template too often, it hardly seems to matter when this sort of thing has the ability to charm the birds from the trees. His voice is slightly distorted at times adding to the lo-fi feel that many of the tracks possess.

The fact that there are so many precious moments on this album means that it's hard to pick highlights. 'Beauty Dies Young' is certainly one, however, as it takes its lazy attitude and comes up with terrific sonic creations that are as infectious as an airborne virus. 'Open the Airwaves' has a staggered stomp; Ford's vocals melting seamlessly into the mix as a tirade of guitar interruptions surround them. 'Never Alone' evolves from its humble beginnings into a fully fledged orchestral wailing guitar montage. It seeks out those hairs on the back of your neck and toys with them until they stand up and take notice. 'Mercury' is another slow burner that has a chorus to die for as flailing guitar bursts spit fire all round it.

The list of aural pleasures just goes on and on and there's scarcely a duff track in sight. You will look long and hard for an album that consistently lives up to JBOS's high standards. It reminds me most of Wheat's Hope & Adams. It has a cool charm all of its own without ever sounding like it is pushed or hurried. There are also echoes of Doves and early Mogwai peppered throughout which gives JBOS a cosy familiar feel. Intelligent, low-slung guitar movements perfect for public consumption. Start digesting at your earliest convenience.

Rating: 7/10

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For a band that seem to press all the right buttons it's a little surprising that the Lemonheads haven't achieved more success. Here is a band with a singer who is easy on the eye, possess cheery tunes aplenty and purport to moral values that don't require a parental warning. It's a Shame About Ray was their first album to tweak any interest outside of their native America and offers a glowing account of their potential. Evan Dando is the Gram Parsons adoring singer who writes all the music. His countrified drawl rarely changes pitch throughout the album, which is a bit of a pity because his lungs could probably offer a more wholesome workout. Ably helping him is Juliana Hatfield, the bass player and backing vocalist. She has had a moderately successful career with her own band, the ingeniously monikered Juliana Hatfield 3. Their song 'My Sister' went on to dent the outer reaches of the charts.

'It's A Shame About Ray' is a subtle album that could play in the background without ever offending anyone. The melodies spill generously from each of its 13 tracks and every once in a while you have to sit back and admire the consistent quality at work. The title track for example is so overtly wonderful; given the right exposure it could have drunks up and down the land attempting it in unison on their way home. 'Rockin Stroll' opens proceedings at a frantic pace. The guitar shards fire every each way as Dando attempts to rein in the chord bluster and chaotic drumming with some controlled vitriol. Against this backdrop the delightful 'Confetti' sounds close to sane. It remains one the album's highlights, swinging as it does from the coat tails of the cleanest of acoustic riffs. If you were to paint a picture of the images the tune conjures then a large ballroom with hundreds of twirling evening gowns would come fairly close.

'Rudderless' turns out to be nothing of the sort. The chord arrangements are clever and Hatfield's periodic vocal intermissions are fresh and dainty. 'The Turnpike Down' is equally impressive, with guitar and bass sequences recalling New Order while Dando produces a vocal delivery as slick as hair gel. This is the sort of music that just begs to be listened to. 'Buddy' is about as slowcore as the album gets, it is quaint but a little half-baked and droll. Many of the tunes pass by in a flash, hovering around the 3-minute mark. 'Alison's Starting To Happen' is less than 120 seconds long but its feverish makeup will blast a hole in your shirt. It all sounds like the band had purposely thrown their instruments into a washing machine in the hope that something melodic would eventually come out in the wash. Thankfully the experiment pays off handsomely with the result that 'Alison's Starting To Happen' is bold, dazzling and a riel treat.

The song that catapulted the Lemonheads to fame was their cover of Simon and Garfunkels 'Mrs. Robinson' from 'The Graduate' soundtrack. As well as introducing a new generation to the film, it breathed new gusto into a song that was over 20 years old. David Ryan's drumming is particular prevalent and beautifully adds to the songs scuzzy tact. Calm down there Juliana, when she does 'Bit Part' opens up to divulge the story of an unrequited friendship. What it lacks in substance it more than makes up with an energy that could power a hydroelectric station. Much more substantial is the rollercoasting 'Kitchen', the sometime dual vocals superbly keeping up with the lightning guitars. With several nods to Nashville 'Hannah & Gabi' rustles a strong melody from the unlikeliest of sources. The vocals are underplayed, the words lack self-esteem but the emotions that are central to its cause will have you tearing up. On a similar thread 'Frank Mills' sounds like it was recorded in a barn. Not very distinguished unless you are perched on a blanket, sitting around a fire taking periodic glances at the starry night sky.

Perhaps it's the album's distant lack of shock value or the ease at which the tunes sound amiable that has hindered the progress of this album. The lyrics tend to drift from the simplistic to the banal adding credence to the thought that Mr. Dando's mind was perhaps resident in a parallel universe (ceiling fan in my spoon, anyone?) during the recordings. There is no denying, however, that 33 minutes in the company of the Lemonheads is time well spent. An album you'll keep returning to even if something replaces the guitar as pop music's greatest invention.

Rating: 7/10

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The La’s mainman Lee Mavers discounted their one and only album when it was released citing he's unhappiness with the way the songs ended up sounding. He promised a follow up that was not to be. This prompted bass player John Power to form his own band, the excruciatingly bad Cast. Lee Mavers is still talked about in hushed tones in his native Liverpool, his low profile only fueling the legend. Mavers possessed a unique grainy vocal style that was adept at reinventing itself within the confines of a single tune. As a result of several years gigging his band became accomplished at providing jangling guitar moments at every turn. The La's sound was made up of a hybrid of influences from the sixties with token modern ingredients to make it sound contemporary. At various times through the album you can hear seminal bands like the Beatles and the Byrds filtering through.

The La's contains the ubiquitous 'There She Goes' but there are several other tracks that are just as intoxicating. 'Looking Glass' is the work of an unequivocal genius. It builds up to an apocalyptic crescendo over 7 gorgeous minutes. Mavers sounds particularly vulnerable as the acoustic guitars swell around him. Powerful lyrics like 'Tell me why I'm bound to tear the pages open, Turn the world around' spill gorgeously over the seismic musical backdrop. As a steam train momentum cracks the early peace, watch as the delph on your kitchen table rattle under its rollercoaster spirit. 'Doledrum' is like a Gomez take on Mexicano, far removed from the conventional view of pop music but it is sassy, confident and uplifting all the same. 'Feelin' is perhaps the best song Paul McCartney never wrote. The guitars have a resplendent retro appeal, while Mavers vocals skip the light fantastic all within the blinking of an eye. A perfectly formed jewel of a song for the price of 104 seconds of your time. 'Way Out' continues the unwavering quality, full of scattershot guitar bolts and sweet summertime harmonies.

There is not much you can say about 'There She Goes' that hasn't already been said. A little known rumour that went around when it was originally released supposed that the song was written about heroin addiction. References to 'pulsing thru' my vein' and 'racing thru' my brain' perhaps adds a little credence to this argument. The subtext hardly matters anyway when those sunny harmonies and shiny guitars kick in. There is no question that 'There She Goes' will permeate through the vagaries of time and fashion. For some reason 'Timeless Melody' used to remind me of James. Lee Mavers doesn't sound like Tim Booth but there is a melodic swing that could have easily fitted onto James' album 'Seven'. As it is, even though Mavers vocals are to the forefront the guitar riffs are clear and exquisite. 'I Can't Sleep' is another high mark for the album, a simple chord change is all that is required to weave a rich sonic tapestry.

Not everything Lee Mavers turned his hand to turned to gold however. 'I.O.U.' rattles in under a cowboy hat and marks an album somewhat running out of steam. Its ill defined approach is refreshing but the song veers too close to the shoe box marked duds to be very likeable. 'Freedom Song' is almost a pantomime routine that wouldn't be out of place on the soundtrack to Last of the Summer Wine. It is a plodding dirge and perhaps goes some way to explaining the indignation Mavers holds towards the album. 'Failure' is also a little rough and ready, sounding like little effort was put into its construction. Perhaps if these hiccups had been dealt with, the La's could have been genuine contenders. The La's were the genuine article unsullied by a marketing department's hand. Their album may be flawed in places but it remains a beautiful attempt at recapturing the glory days of distilled inventive pop. Look at the cover and imagine how their notions were firmly set in the present with one big eye trained on the glorious past.

Rating: 7.5/10

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Dublin collective Michael Knight released their debut with a minimum of fanfare. They also appeared out of the blue from a country that is adept at uncovering troubadours yet has a slightly anaemic record in producing exciting new bands. That may be about to change, however, if Michael Knight achieve what their music ultimately deserves. With a Clap Your Hands Say Yeah net savvy they could soon be the sensations of the underground because hidden inside their shiny armoury are bundles of sonic joy. There are justifiable Belle & Sebastian comparisons but their influences also span the several degrees of separation between the Beach Boys and Burt Bacharach. With such a varied game plan it seems entirely appropriate that they decided to call themselves after a 1980’s TV character. What the bright red shorts wearing, million record selling crooner thinks of it all is another matter altogether.

It’s that early Belle & Sebastian energetic quirkiness that hits you first. ‘Waves To The Shore’ is a superb piece of affecting kitsch with attendant vintage keyboards, Richard Murphy’s warm vocals and glorious background harmonies from Edel Coffey and Lynn Millar. The piece is perfectly off-kilter yet exuberantly innocent. The bands most successful efforts are based around a lavish chorus where the boy/girl interplay is perfectly executed. ‘Leaving Town’ is a ravishing example; the piano interlude at the beginning barely reveals the sweetness about to be unveiled. There is a children’s daytime programme feel about the way Murphy delivers his lines, one half jolly the other fabulously silly. That’s not to detract from the joy of it but it’s only when the trio combine to furnish a multi-layered chorus that the magic occurs. The result is otherworldly, completely timeless, effortlessly dispatched yet utterly compelling. This is a certifiable modern day classic. The title track is almost as good, for once Patrick Freyne takes over the lead and his near santa like voice provides the perfectly foil to the gentle ahh’s of Richard and the girls. The music that sits in the foreground is playful, understated and the tinkling piano is the only thing that steals the limelight from the singers.

The quality is evenly spread throughout the album but some tracks take a bit more time to reveal themselves. ‘Bright Eye’ showboats quirky structures and unveils offbeat melody at every turn so it’s easy to overlook it initially. By letting it mature slowly, however, it grows into a multi-faceted pop entity. ‘The Lights Go On And Off’ is frenetic and as dispassionate as the record gets. Murphy pulls a note perfect Stuart Murdoch impression while the guitars sound like they have just returned from an enjoyable eastern escapade. ‘Lead Me Down’ is a lot gentler, the piano sounds comfortably familiar, the strumming is campfire friendly and the tiered vocals gel so seamlessly together you may find yourself singing along in an unrehearsed shower moment. ‘Crown Of Thorns’ has a Wilsonesque feel to it and even finds time to include a whistling solo into proceedings. What takes this fine debut out of the classic category is the presence of a couple of disappointing numbers. If they had been culled then we’d be looking at one of the most flawless introductions since Tigermilk. ‘Success!’ is inexplicably dour and out of sync with the rest of the happy go lucky fare. The vocals are tired, off key and the instrumentation would suit the moment the funeral cortege enters the graveyard. ‘No Second Best’ is slightly better yet slight nonetheless. Perhaps it could work ok as a b-side but it struggles to find any meaning throughout its stunted life. But, disappointments are certainly in the minority and a couple of seconds in the company of tracks like ‘Seasons’ draws a colourful crayon smile in your psyche. ‘Foals’ was the albums first single and is perfectly pitched indie folk that you can dance to. If Arthur Lee had had Richard Murphy’s voice this perfect ditty would have made it onto the ‘Forever Changes’ masterpiece without much ado. The guitars even have a country twang that is semi Morricone in nature.

In some ways ‘I Did It Biff’s Way’ is an altogether separate direction for the band but as a closing track there’s no denying its genius in capping a marvellous record. It reminds most of something that the underrated Swedish band South Ambulance can conjure. Right from the off the pulsating riffs set the momentum with Murphy’s vocal riding the entourage with graceful dexterity. You can picture the end of gig antics as the band decide its time to ditch the balanced harmonies in favour of a sublime feast of chugging noise. This is indie rock at its most ebullient and its greatest achievement is the way it reveals hidden nuances with repeated listens. The circular disposition is shattered toward the end when the roof blows to reveal the sun, moon and the stars. Michael Knight are quite likely the most essential thing to come out of Ireland since Damien Rice decided America was for him. Up to now their sales likely only run into the thousands but if there is justice Murphy et al will need to look for extra wall space to accommodate lots of round platinum things. ‘Youth Is Wasted On The Young’ is the only musical kitt you’ll need for your home, portable or, of course, your car stereo.

Rating: 8/10

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Outcasts in their hometown of Bergen in Norway where death metal is the only musical form, the Kings of Convenience are likely to be embraced everywhere else where their music is played. You see the Kings of Convenience produce little tuneful vignettes that are as quiet as a mouse but as powerful as weil's disease. Erlend Oye and Eirik Glambek Boe are often photographed in large duffel coats and schoolboy thick rimmed glasses. But before you start calling them the Scandinavian Proclaimers, check out the gentle intelligence of their melodies gloriously swathed in those crafty acoustic nuances. And not many albums get this acoustic. Save for a few slivers of electricity this is a closest thing you'll get to an eco party this side of the Green's summer picnic.

'Winning A Battle Losing The War' sets the scene from the outset. Guitars are gently conjoled, intermittedly uncovering a dazzling riff, to produce a wonderful fondue base for the sweet vocals. While the sense of acousticism is acute, there are a surprising number of instruments on show. 'Singing Softly To Me' for example has a lingering trumpet shadow that skirts in and out of attention, going some way to deflecting the utter tweeness of the vocals (nice thought they are). At the start of 'Toxic Girl' you almost expect Damon Albarn to damage his tonsils a la 'Song 2'. Thankfully the sultry whirl of 'Toxic Girl' has a lot more to offer. Erlend and Eirik don't exactly work themselves into a sweat but this tunes value comes forth from a combination of sweet harmonies, non-apologetic flights of lust and a fine fusion of meandering laid-back guitars.

At times you have to marvel at the ingenuity of it all. 'I Don't Know What I Can Save You From' uses the most basic of ingredients but somehow creates a tune that is close to shiver inducing. There's not a hint of a drum in sight yet the vocal driven melody is hugely powerful when it fuses with the melancholy of the trailing cello. This intensity continues unabated on the single 'Failure'. The music comes close to resembling the Badly Drawn Boy template but the vocals are nothing short of luxurious. Who needs electricity to power the instruments when it's hanging in the air like pollen. Things are toned down a little as the innocent joy of 'Weight Of My Words' floats feather like from the speakers. The delicate vocals are matched by a musical backdrop that is as light as a diet wafer. Confusing as this may sound, it packs a huge emotional punch. Just pity the elderly and hard of hearing for missing out on such a fragile thrill.

As Quiet Is The New Loud progresses you'll find yourself tilting up the volume as it seemingly drops into unconsciousness. This is of course intoned by the albums title but sadly as it gets quieter the level of quality diminishes slightly. The first half of the album is drenched in melody but in the latter stages the ideas seemed a little stretched. 'The Girl From Back Then' suffers in comparison to its close relative 'Singing Softly To Me'. A case of a morning bell getting one too many tolls. Half way through and there's only one moment of distraction. Its not bad but 'Passenger' sadly lives up to it's name. Devoid of any real inspiration, it plods along rather like a spluttering banger without a steering wheel.

The Kings of Convenience lack the lyrical expanse and fluidity of contemporaries Belle and Sebastian which is a shame because when music is played at such a low ebb the words tend to attain greater resonance. The duo are also prone to the odd whimsical flutter. 'Little Kids' for example borders on the inane, even when it's Simon and Garfunkel style points to something bigger and better. Thankfully there are also moments as precious as 'Summer On The Westhill' to erase any feelings of short changedness. Where the Kings of Convenience could easily slip into frivolity, they go and defy the odds by making something that is frighteningly quiet sound altogether more intriguing. The final salvo 'Parallel Lines' also sounds grand; the chopping chords display imagination while the vocals could easily be culled from a Nick Drake composition.

The Kings of Convenience have gilded 12 fragile tunes that will have fans of modern folk licking their lips. At times the Norwegian duo slip too much into acoustic melodrama, when raising the decibel level from time to time could have perhaps provided a more fertile option. 'Quiet Is The New Loud' is nonetheless an impressive debut. It is surely the perfect accompaniment for those lazy days spent swaying in a Mexican hammock while all around you the world struggles in vain to catch up with itself.

Rating: 6/10

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Take a bunch of anglophiles from Las Vegas, add a giant slab of retro cool, sprinkle a pinch of concentrated melody, boil under the midday sun and what is get is the sumptuous aural feast that is Hot Fuss. You should know them by now and even if you don’t recognise the name you’ve been whistling their tunes. This album certainly captures the zeitgeist, a band with influences clearly derived from the past adding their own spin and making it sound contemporary. Straight from the off the chords are big, forceful and while ‘Jenny Was A Friend Of Mine’ might not always hit the bullseye it colours itself in a neat Cure like embrace. ‘Smile You Mean It’ is similarly inclined with Brandon Flowers aping Robert Smith to great effect as the soaring keyboards reign supreme.

‘Somebody Told Me’ has been with us so long it almost seems as if it comes from a different age. Its underlying rhythm is hypnotic, the momentum quickly switching between frantic to downright epileptic. The production is raw often coming across as an energetic demo. ‘All The Things That I’ve Done’ is a lot more amenable to the casual listener. The riffs are round and welcoming and the chorus has an anthemic cigarette lighter in the air quality. It even boasts a line that could well be the Killers tag line ‘I got soul, but I'm not a soldier’. ‘Mr Brightside’ is as good as guitar driven pop gets. There is no faffing about as the song kicks off with the clearest of intentions. All the ingredients are present; the driving riff courtesy of David Keuning, the angular vocals and a chorus so wholesome you’ll feel like pinching its cheek. This is a modern classic that will be with us until we’re eating mashed bananas. ‘Everything Will Be Alright’ has the aforementioned goth’s angst in spades marking itself out as the only slow effort on the whole disc. Flowers vocals sound as if have been squeezed through a Korg after one too many pints of imported bitter.

There are so many highlights on ‘Hot Fuss’ it comes as a bit of a surprise to discover a fair sprinkle of clunkers along the way. ‘Andy, You’re A Star’ is one such, turgid guitars underpin a stop-start lyric delivery that should never have developed beyond the embryonic stage. ‘On Top’ is better but suffers under the weight of ordinary ideas. The Killers hold sway in the efficient delivery of a winning chorus but here a patient wait results in minimal reward. ‘Midnight Show’ also flatters to deceive, it blusters about, cutting an impressive silhouette but underneath the exterior beats a hollow yoke. Thankfully ‘Change Your Mind’ has none of these problems; this could pass for a winning Strokes effort. The guitars march persuasively, organs drone like well oiled engines and the clean beat tidies the package into a perfectly formed bundle of noise.

Hot Fuss is not a genetically cohesive unit, it falters from time to time but its working parts are practically superhuman. All in all it is a stellar debut spiked with several moments guaranteed to brighten up your day. There were better albums in 2004 but the Killers knack of knocking out drop dead gorgeous tunes has meant that this albums profile rose meteorically with each single release. Hot Fuss provides a good argument for downloader’s whose preference it is to pick-and-choose album tracks rather than buying the whole product.

Rating: 7/10

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