What do you do when the world forgets to listen to your bands second album. Well, you go about attracting people's attention the only way you know how. First of all you write some sublime tunes and then you invite some superstars of the underground music scene around to help you record it. And that's what Snow Patrol's Gary Lightbody decided to do. Snow Patrol's 'When It's All Over We Still Have to Clear Up' may have had the critics salivating but it hardly set the world alight. A bit of a shame really because songs like 'Ask Me How I Am' were pretty darn special. Lightbody's seized his opportunity at a drunken gig in Glasgow when he approached his mates from some other local bands about the possibility of recording an album together. A positive response had him penning over a dozen songs in lightening quick time. The album was subsequently recorded in the Ca Va studios in Glasgow in 10 days. He and the other 14 artists who collaborated with him became collectively known as the Reindeer Section. 'Y'All Get Scared Now Ya Hear' became one of the unexpected delights of 2001.

'Will You Please Be There For Me' is the terrific opener. Fragile, simple and stripped of electricity Lightbody's vocals sound like they have been recorded in the hull of a submarine. The gentle strumming wouldn't be out of place in Honolulu and as such don't deflect from the intimate wording. 'The Opening Taste' is similarly lavish in its skeletal approach. It has a remarkable hushed beauty and a simple melancholy that is truly haunting. Jonny Quinn of Snow Patrol provides the nervous drumming, scared that his interruptions could somehow deflect from the tunes subtle intricacies. This is surely music to watch the squirrels go by. Gill Mills, a presenter on BBC radio Scotland sings on '12 Hours It Takes Sometimes'. His voice is coarse and the composition has Will Oldham written all over it. Scattered and loose it is frequently touching especially when the piano keys tinkle delicately in the background. 'Deviance' is equally erratic, kind of shambolic but never enough that you lose interest. Failure was never on the cards anyway with Richard Colburn's (Belle & Sebastian) on percussion and Willie Campbell (Astrid) spinning bright chords.

'If There Is I Haven't Found It Yet' is the first real signal of Mogwai's John Cummings significant involvement. It may be lo-fi but there is intensity in the chord progression that smacks of deep rooted rock action. As Gary Lightbody sounds lost and forlorn Eva's Jenny Reeve sweeps in with a consoling violin. Jenny Reeve takes over on vocals on 'Fire Bell', a beautiful ballad that benefits from the most tunesome of keyboard doodles. 'Fire Bell' would be right at home on your collection of the best Gentle Waves songs ever. The fact that it's all over in 2 minutes makes it even more precious. 'If Everything Fell Quiet' has that by now familiar ramshackle rhythm that is infectious. From 'I've Never Understood' on things start to gather momentum. Gareth Russell of Astrid pummels out a bass line while the wheezy guitar sound seems almost neanthrathal when compared to the innocent vocals. Colin Macintyre of the Mull Historical Society duets with Lightbody on 'Raindrop'. The drumming becomes more assured and the distinct riff gives the whole operation an unprecedented groovy feeling. As it turns out 'Raindrop' is only the warm up act for the albums centrepiece 'Sting'. Where the early album basked in it's simplicity, 'Sting' develops into a jangling opera, a multi-faceted beast that is sure to become one of the singles of 2001. Mick Cooke of Belle & Sebastian adds a jaunty trumpet to seal matters.

After this high, the quality temporarily dips on 'Billed As Single', a diluted effort that is a bit of a chore to endure. 'Toute Le Monde' is slightly better and drifts a little closer to the Snow Patrol blueprint of crashing guitars and flailing cymbals. With the brief aside into sonic mayhem dispatched it's left to Arab Strap's Aiden Moffat to restore the generic Reindeer Section sound. 'Nightall' is a perfect vehicle for Moffat's almost lazy patter. The summer breeze instrumentation that shuffles round his warblings is the perfect cocktail. ‘The Day We All Died' comes complete with a flock of pigeons, put there intentionally to mask the singer’s flight of fond farewells. Once again the song's inspiration is simplicity itself and its execution is close to masterful. With some many cooks involved, this particular broth could have failed to catch the imagination. Luckily the myriad of performers go out of their way to give the album a unique blend. 'Y'All Get Scared Now, Ya Hear' is an album of disparate parts that will doubtless enthral everyone who owns it. It provides an intoxicating listen and much credit must go to Lightbody who took a big risk with the project. His risk taking took him close to the precipice, where for once the final straw didn’t come close to breaking the camels back.

Rating: 7/10

More Info: The Reindeer Section
Buy Album: [UK] Y'all Get Scared Now Ya Hear [US] Y'all Get Scared Now, Ya Hear

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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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David Kitt had already released a mini-album that he recorded in his bedroom (if you are about to tune out, hang on it's worth it I promise you!) by the time he got around to releasing this, his proper debut. The e.p. title 'Small Moments' featured 'Another Love Song' that has attained legendary status in his hometown (Dublin) and more particularly his favourite venue, Whelan's of Wexford Street. David Kitt is the son of politician but thankfully his songs are based on more trivial matters. While Kitt grabs all the attention, some recognition must be given to his band. Diarmuid Mac Diarmada whose inspirational moments on the sax and clarinet are omnipresent on the album. Paul Smyth is the electronic wizard who has helped reshape Kitt's sound from its earthy lo-fi beginnings.

David Kitt's vocals aren't exactly unique. They resemble an modern Nick Drake (yeah another one!) and give off the impression of a master not having to reach too hard to find his range. In saying that they are wonderfully balanced and after a time they really stick in your head. Perfect for those drizzly winter mornings stuck in traffic when you're in need of a comfort fix (in other words every morning in Dublin). The album opens with 'Hope Street (Brooklyn, N.Y.)' which has been tried and tested over several years of constant gigging. It is perhaps Kitt's most obvious song, with the most primitive of beats and a circular guitar ensemble backing up the singers dried off deep fried vocals. While it might not add up to much initially, don't underestimate the power of this tune. It will lodge in your consciousness with all the accuracy of a colt 45.

Like drifting snow 'You know what i want to know' is likely to blind you to all else. There are searching brass interludes but it's the jingling guitar that Kitt's voice uses as a marker to ram the point home. At this stage you'll have noticed that most of Kitt's material runs in a loop, turning over the same ground incessantly for 4 or 5 minutes. While this doesn't sound great on paper, the reality on vinyl is close to breathtaking. While the opening 2 songs have a cock sure momentum, 'Step Outside In The Morning Light' drops down a gear. You can hear a little of Chicago in its make-up. The plinking keys and textured bleeps do upgrade the sound a little thankfully. Some tweeness and light never hurt anyone anyway. Incidentally this track originally appeared on the aforementioned 'Small Moments' e.p. in a slightly different guise.

Things go a tad atmospheric on 'Private Dance'. For once the vocals don't hog the spotlight. Instead the songs landscape is painted by a innovative approach to blending disparate sounds. It is quite short but signals where the u-bend appears in the albums direction. 'Pale Blue Light' starts out like a David Gray quick step but as Kitt introduces himself you realise first impressions can be deceiving. 'Pale Blue Light' is semi-shambolic in style, the bass is dull, the drumming is plain and the keyboard drones are unremarkable. It has a chorus of sorts but it's just too minimal to disguise the feeling of disappointment. Thankfully 'Pale Blue Light' is the lowest point on 'The Big Romance'. From there on in the recovery is remarkable. 'What I Ask' is the sound of a genius at work. With help from Sinead O'Connor and the underrated Nina Hynes 'What I Ask' blends pure harmony with a cacophony of guitar licks that could go on from now till dawn and still sound refreshing. At full tilt the song spits out diagonal shards of sounds at will, as it wilts the serene edge is masterful.

In an album with so many twists and turns it comes as no surprise that 'Strange Light' slows the pace down again. All you get is Kitt with acoustic guitar while Smyth throws in an array of electronic bleeps and skirmishes. 'Whispers Return The Sun' comes at the tail end of 'Strange Light' before it has fully bid farewell. Once again the ante and the quality is raised. There is a cosy familiar feel to the way the words are delivered but the melody is heaven sent. The xylophone moments are inspired, in fact the song could provide the soundtrack to the most precious moment you experience next Christmas. 'You And The City' could easily to bracketed into several different genres such is the disparity of sounds at work. Just as it seems to have carved out a thread, it completely changes tact. The unnerving violin screeches, the blisteringly catchy keys, the sunken vocal emotions and a dozen shades of atmospheric last stands make up a remarkable lavish opus.

At the end 'Into The Breeze' is left with a lot of work to tie up all the loose ends. In some ways it proves to be the albums most consistent song. There is a start, a middle and an end. Building with each new layer of spiritualised organic manoeuvres it is hard to quell the feeling of absolute happiness that the song embellishes. Appropriately the fuzzy electric's are superseded by Kitt himself. The Big Romance sits easily beside the better Irish Records released in the new millenium. Laidback has rarely been this inventive, this is the perfect soundtrack for those fragile small moments. Forget there's a big bad world outside, this is the CD equivalent of an open hearth fire.

Rating: 9/10

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Belle and Sebastian have released several memorable singles. Each comes complete with 3 or 4 tracks that individually have the quality to be an a-side on their own merit. Most are absent from their albums so the singles have achieved a special significance. Who could ever forget the majesty of 'Slow Graffiti' ('Modern Rock Is Rubbish' e.p.) or the wide-eyed energy of 'Belle and Sebastian' ('Dog On Wheels' e.p.). Jonathan David, the title track of this 2001 release is a little hard to pin down. It's got the Madness laced piano introduction and a heart that languishes in the distant past (oh that glorious 60's Wurlitzer). It speeds along at a frantic pace until at the end the vocals merge and deliver another piece of historic pop. The artwork on the cd has a religious theme (what?). Well to be more precise a Belle and Sebastian take on the David and Goliath story. Of course the inner sleeve clarifies in that familiar sly nudge and wink style that fans have become accustomed to.

'Take Your Carriage Clock And Shove It' is the closest thing you'll get to a cover of 'I've Never Being To Me' (by Charlene) without repeating the Verve/Rolling Stones hot potato of a couple years ago. In saying that it is a glorious piece of vitriol wrapped in a tender musical mould. It portrays the board room scene on retirement day with the loyal subject giving his farewell speech. The speech not only turns heads but continues until all and sundry are semi-decapitated. Take the lyrics out of the equation and the mix you're left with sounds as fragile and heartfelt as anything Burt Bacharach could dream up. Underneath though the disquiet is palpable, a warning perhaps to all slaves to the wage.

Belle and Sebastian deliver their message in a wry manner. This means that their musicianship often takes a backseat where it bleats beautifully under the cover of a torrent of words. 'The Loneliness Of A Middle Distance Runner' has been a live favourite for years and perhaps loses some of its impact in the transition to the studio. That said it saddles up and heads for the nearest sunset with the wind in its hair. The guitars have a Dire Straits feel about them but the groove is lazily addictive. Stuart Murdoch sounds tired and emotional but tuned in to his bands scattered playing. 'Jonathan David' is perhaps not one of Belle and Sebastian's most effective singles because it is misses the killer 4th track. Be warned, however, as the quality is still high enough to have you gasping for air as your heart skips several consecutive beats for its duration. Belle and Sebastian are a band deserving of every single plaudit that has ever being directed at them.



Rating: 6/10


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The first thing about Architecture in Helsinki is that, as far as music groups go, they have the best name yet. So modern, so cosmopolitan, so nothing whatsoever to do with an indie collective from Melbourne. It’s perfect. The second thing about Architecture in Helsinki is that, when it comes to the conventions of song structure, they have some authority issues. Verse, chorus, repeat, middle eight, yadda yadda yadda? The hell with that; let’s go for parts 1 to 4. Nothing too prog rock or anything, mind. But I mean, with three minutes to play with, why limit yourself to just one pop song? Why not four?

The opener, ‘Neverevereverdid’ settles for just three parts; (i) a soundtrack to a hammy horror movie; (ii) a number from a school play where the kids who didn’t own instruments were allowed raid their kitchen for any utensils that might make a noise when struck; (iii) an erratic yet jaunty piano-driven chorus/verse/chorus, you know like, a song. It’s all rather breakneck and breathtaking; there are more ideas packed into this one song than you’ll find on an entire album from the next set of NME-sponsored guys with ties. It’s not that Architecture In Helsinki like to dwell too long on anything, though. At the end of the second part, as the rattling pots and pans quicken with the introduction of the drums and a danceable bassline, I found myself bracing for take-off and guitars to rock in, only for all the build-up to be swept away and replaced by the wonky piano. It was like getting absorbed in some T.V. programme only for someone else in the room to change the channel.

The catchiest tune here is ‘Wishbone’, at least for a minute, with its tambourine style and harmonies from ‘Grease’. A fiddle melody to swoon to arrives at the second verse, only for the momentum to be cut short, bizarrely, by a brief lullaby which brings the song to a dead stop. Before starting up again. The interruptions are milder on ‘It’s 5’, another joyous pop song clocking in at two minutes; this one with a wonderful ending as the instrumentation cuts back a notch for some group effort ‘It! Is! 5!’ shouts. ‘Tiny Paintings’ has a similar finish as the keyboards are put on hold for singer Cameron Bird to yell, ‘I found you in the lost and found’, before the keyboards come back to finish the job with an allsorts assortment of percussion.

‘In Case We Die’ is an avalanche of attention-grabbing moments and quirky, clever touches. It must have been a marketer’s dream to pick the thirty-second taster snippets to sell the album on, with set-pieces like the extra beat as the record appears to skip in the verse of ‘Do The Whirlwind’, in between a brass solo and a sitar solo, or the silly voice, then the list of names, then the pedal steel guitar on ‘The Cemetery’. It counts as some relief that they take a couple of breathers during all this. ‘Maybe You Can Owe Me’ falls somewhere between wistful and chilled out, as lyrically they finally move on from the random-phrase-generator and betray some emotion, bracing for a future rendezvous between a couple with a past. A little loose time is even conceded at the end for the guitar and spacey computer effects to meander and dissolve away. Later, on the delicious ‘Need To Shout’, the sound approaches a maturity bordering on relaxed, with a mellow cocktail of tropical bird calls, woodwind and steel drums, where even the shouts seems distant under the haze of rum and moonlight.

For Architecture in Helsinki, however, these laid-back songs are merely breaks, and playtime is the order of the day. Their live performances see them swapping instruments mid-song and dashing frantically around the stage as if their boundless creativity could not be contained, or perhaps as if something brighter and shinier caught their eye. ‘In Case We Die’ reminds me of a kid on Christmas morning ripping the cellophane off one toy before having got the batteries in another, or, in words culled from Dave Eggers’ autobiography: ‘…a music video, a game show on Nickelodeon – lots of quick cuts, crazy camera angles, fun, fun, fun! It’s a campaign of distraction… fireworks, funny dances, magic tricks. Whassat? Lookie there! Where’d it go?’


Tony Kelleher
26.01.2006


Rating: 6.5/10



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You just know you're onto something good when a band can wield a delicate brass instrument with a knowing precision. Alfie's music contains the most fragile of arrangements that from time to time allows a lone French horn or trumpet to weave its magic through an already intoxicating mix. Lee Gorton, Alfie's lead singer is consistently compared to a budding Ian Brown although I'd put him closer to the breathy Tim Burgess of the Charlatans. Gorton was offered, but turned down, the chance to play Brown in '24 Hour Party People', the film about the Manchester nightclub the Hacienda. The title of this album is a bit of mouthful. It's taken from a letter Gorton received from his dentist of all things. It is on such commonplace occurrences that legends are moulded. 'If You Happy With You Need Do Nothing' is made up of tracks taken from Alfie's first three singles; The Alfie EP, Bookends and The Montevideo. '2 Up 2 Down' and the exquisite 'Umlaut' are the only brand new tracks.

It would be hard to concoct a more appropriate opener than 'Bookends'. The wailing cello supplied by Matt McGeever may be the highlight but the twinkling guitars and hushed vocals from Gorton are never less than infectious. 'Bookends' sounds completely disjointed at first but the disparate sounds are so at ease with each other that they seem to arrive from the same source. This is magical stuff with the power to beam golden horned unicorns into your back garden. '2 Up 2 Down' has a similar brief except that this time McGeever takes on the vocal duties. And what a swaying off-kilter ditty it turns out to be. The French horn reigns supreme as McGeever trips the light fandango. The melody is freshly inventive with tiny nods to 'Bring It On' Gomez. The groove is loose limbed and you can pick up on the huge joie de vivre from its slightly erratic ramble. 'James's Dream', the album's only instrumental, could have quite easily slipped out from under Badly Drawn Boy's collection of wistful compositions. It's lazy melody, stray cello strings and delightful acoustic meanderings juxtapose in a superbly shambolic way to have you grinning from ear to ear. 'Manor House Farm' is so dainty you'll pray a sudden gust of wind doesn't steal it from your possession. The harmonies are sublime and the musical backdrop is luxurious.

At times Alfie sound vaguely familiar. This familiarity is most pointed on the acoustic shuffle of 'You Make No Bones'. The vocals are eerily close to a laid-back Tim Burgess and the band could pass as formidable Charlatans copyists. Nothing wrong with this as the songs breezy guise has a loveable understated charm. Alfie are at their most impressive, however, when they beat their own drum. 'Umlaut' is distinctively their own creation but for once they appear in a bolder incarnation. The tunes early subtleties are blown to pieces by a burning musical rhapsody with ingredients made up of 2 parts strings, one part brass and several straying guitar interludes. Only on the lo-fi intricacies of 'Talking Song' do Alfie stray towards all out guitar carnage again. At times Gorton adopts a post hangover voice that is both dry and twee. Like on the waddling 'Sure and Simple Time' where his understated words benefit from a circular acoustic riff supplied by Ian Smith and some beautiful strings that are positively dripping in melancholy. 'Check The Weight' is similarly toned. As graceful and stealth like as a bouncing pebble on a calm lake, it's so damn likeable you could be forgiven for thinking that Belle & Sebastian have had a hand in it's production.

Long before you are ready to except that the album is coming to a close, 'Montevideo' arrives unhurriedly to call time. Effusing a certain continental swing, it conjures the feeling you get while on holidays. Relax, there's nothing to worry about, we have all the time in the world. It hypnotic and proves to be a most eloquent way to put a full stop in the first glorious chapter in Alfie's storybook career. Alfie go about their business with efficient charm, their music is akin to a country ramble; invigorating in the gentlest of ways. If You Happy With You Need Do Nothing is a stellar debut full of cute tunes that colour your laidback lifestyle. Neil Hannon is apparently a celebrity admirer; he has been quoted as saying that he would like to see more bands becoming more like Alfie.

Rating: 8/10


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