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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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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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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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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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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