The impact of Doves debut album in 2000 was enough to rescue more that a few lost souls who believed that alternative music had died. Its scope was far reaching; the core melodies were intricate and uplifting even if the album espoused a deep melancholy. It is one of the great debuts and will likely be spoken about in hushed tones by your children. Living up to such accomplishments often hinders second comings. Radical debuts are often followed up by meandering affairs, ideas appear in a watered down fashion as if the deep well of inspiration had been usurped in the initial burst of creativity. Not so here. The Last Broadcast sees Doves change tact a little; the vocals are now shared between Jimi Goodwin and Jez Williams lending a delicate-ever-changing subtlety to proceedings. Sean O'Hagan, formerly of Microdisney and partial member of Stereolab, joined the fray on arrangements fitting in tuneful obscurities that go a long way to illuminating Doves sound.

If you could imagine Lost Souls as a smouldering piece of artistry then 'The Last Broadcast' is a digital camera’s output as the flame takes hold. It may lack the overall cohesiveness of its predecessor but there are points on this album that soar beyond the stratosphere. The fire is stoked by the bell torn intro, imagine the anticipated start to a brand new day that promises so much and then delivers in spades. The album proper opens fluidly with a glimmering guitar jangle that hits the mark immediately. 'Words' has such a straight forward eye trained on what Teenage Fanclub have been doing for years it's no wonder you'll feel like embracing complete strangers. Jez Williams voice is innocent and acute at drawing the most from the power of the playing. 'Words' perhaps lacks the longevity of some of Doves output due to its immediacy so try to ration the exposure to lengthen the buzz. Special mention must go to Martin Rebelski on glockenspiel who dares to complicate the mood.

Starting out like a vaudeville pantomime 'There Goes The Fear' finds another gear chock full of clear percussion and swanky moods and directions. It flies at right angles when you least expect it as Goodwin purchases the perfect vocal tact and the whole ensemble blends like a fine warm malt on the palate. As the song proceeds the elation in the momentum becomes impossible to quell, lumps refuse to budge from throats, feet feel free to frolic with the nearest open space and the man on the moon eats cheese like its going out of fashion. Acid flashbacks and happy smiley faces drum up the past towards the end, it ain't no good resisting. 'M62 Song' named after a road in middle Britain is an oddity. Borrowing from King Crimsons 'Moonchild' it is as heart-warming as tuneful fairytales get. Drenched in acousticism with Jez's skewed vocals suitably adding a childlike innocence it takes some getting used but inevitably wraps you in a warm layer of sound. 'Where We're Calling From' finishes the job by tucking you in. With the sound of Slowdive re-awakening this is dreampop pulled straight from the 'Souvlaki' sessions.

'N.Y.' is much less complicated. With percussion that sweeps like tidal waves over giant boulders there is a coming together of several forces to create a patchwork quilt of a tune. The guitar play blusters like Bullet the Blue Sky but Goodwin sails his ship clear of the storm in that nonchalant nasal way of his. Low key and brooding 'Friday's Dust' harks back to that driving ambition that engineered the bands first cut. The strings and woodwind create an eerie spectre and the whole atmosphere sees Doves enter pastures that are braver than any of the other tracks on the album. Spiritualized's descent into gospel led operatics was a shame. Where they once bled poetry from their instruments they now require a cast of dozens to make their point. Once every other album is acceptable, but beyond that and you start to smell the indulgence. Blur also had a brief fling, with 'Tender', that was partially successful if a tad short on shelf life. Doves also threw their hat into the MOR ring and the whole genre is redefined. 'Satellites' remains one of the bands lesser achievements but the choir ensemble and rattling guitar breaks turn the limp wristed momentum towards a satisfying crescendo.

Delicately poised between sonic rocket fuel and potentially fatal goosebump inducing noise 'Pounding' flits like a humming bird on speed that has a penchant for sharing its honey. It opens excitedly like Reni has found a new band. The drumming is primeval, the lyrics less so ('I can't stand there, to see you disrobe') and the way Jimi Goodwin bends and twists honeyed melody through his vocals is to be cherished. Quite why the guitar playing turns towards U2's the Edge just adds to the mystique. Turn it on as you climb aboard a particularly bumpy rollercoaster and you'll be fine. The title track boasts a wistful thoroughfare of sound, the spacey flights of fancy hanging perfectly on the central guitar jingle. As the tune makes it merry way down the yellow brick road the celestial feel goes into overdrive. 'The Last Broadcast' would have you making like Mary Poppins if such things were acceptable in today's society.

Cartoon characters with serious intellectual brows are further dreamed up on the magnificent 'The Sulphur Man'. This is a perfect partner for 'The Man Who Sold Everything' because it squirts great wads of enthusiasm from its unbridled hypnotism. The bass contours like an epileptic snake, furrowing great hooks that are there to be adopted by anyone who shows a flicker of interest. As the lights go down on 'The Last Broadcast' a stellar cast join together to offer thanks for what went on before. 'Caught By The River' is Doves breaking out of their own complex songwriting methodology. As it turns out, it may not be an auspicious way to close this album but it's one that leaves a sweet ring in your ear. 'The Last Broadcast' saw Doves wrestling the initiative from their contemporaries. Their imagination has gilded an album that is fraught with such intoxicating beauty that it sometimes takes your breath away. The goalposts haven't moved radically since their debut but the world-weariness has lifted somewhat. 'The Last Broadcast' (apart from the singles) is a LP that has to be discovered, there are hidden journeys aplenty and the ride is one that is worth taking time and again. It is within touching distance of the infamy that genius deserves.

Rating: 8.5/10

25 FREE Downloads. eMusic for your iPod® or any MP3 player

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rating: 6.5/10

25 FREE Downloads. eMusic for your iPod® or any MP3 player