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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As purposeful, clinical and clever as a Portuguese striker, 'Bring it on' propelled Gomez to Mercury Music Prize success in 1998. No mean feat considering they were up against the likes of Pulp, Massive Attack and the Verve. In the end it was well deserved as 'Bring It On' flushed a torrent of fresh air in the smog filled aftermath of Britpop. That the album departed at right angles from this successful template, no doubt, marked them out from the crowd but it was the unrestrained spirit of five 20 year olds that announced a band flying by the seat of their multicoloured pants. Having 3 strong vocalists also helps when your horizons stretch from blues-rock to country tinged pop and back to straight up student anthems. Despite the blues influences Gomez flailed about with little or no success in the U.S. It was as if the critics were unable to believe in these upstarts from Northern England attempting to pull off such bold manoeuvres.

'Get Miles' opens the album and immediately you sense that the tired indiepop formulas are about to be turned on their head. The desire to spill unconventional sounds into the mix is apparent but it's the unnaturally sandpapered vocals of Ben Ottewell that raises eyebrows. The blues racket could be enough to throw you off the scent but its addition is important in signalling the diversity about to pour forth as the album progresses. Ottewell's voice can be a little overbearing and it takes the delicate charms of 'Make No Sound' to uncover the beauty within. Sounding like a disgruntled New Orleans pensioner he can refine his voice at the drop a hat to reveal a warm palette well able to coerce the stripped back yet intricate musicianship of his band mates. 'Here Comes The Breeze' is Gomez' masterstroke, initially slipping under the radar as Ottewell bellows and Gray coos alongside. As so often happens during the album the gentle guitars reinvent themselves midway through uncovering a set of ebullient vocals from nowhere. 'Free to Run' is similarly loose spirited as its chiming riff provides the counterpoint to the frontman's husky emissions. The expected split personality in the songs progression reveals itself towards the end to dazzling effect.

'Bring It On's vast canvas even offers pop junkies a scattering of delights. 'Whippin Piccadilly' may be a tad lightweight but as it's so inebriated with life it's hard to dismiss. Scripting the adventures of an undergraduate night-out the skewed playing has a solid undertow of clear melodies. 'Get Myself Arrested' is equally upfront and is as juvenile as the album gets. If you look beyond the obvious hits, however, there is a wealth of multifaceted gems. 'Tijuana Lady' conjures up deserts nights; its calm dedicated approach providing the perfect background music for siesta time this side of the gulf stream. Stretching over 7 minutes it ranges from pining love song, written on a lost railroad, to sublime psychedelia and there's even room for some vocal harmonies straight out of the abbey road studios. 'Bubble Gum Years' is just as affecting, drenched in the dichotomy of the vocalists it lives and breathes Beatles soaked harmonies. '78 Stone Wobble' is a cheeky effort where a rambling vocal down a phone line frolics on a bellydance type guitar groove until the connection is cut and the clearest voice appears. The fidgeting momentum makes the tune all the more effective even if it is likely to appal those on the lookout for cheap thrills.

Sadly this is the beginning and full stop of inspirational Gomez. Future albums are rammed full of shackles with half ideas executed with all the precision of a non-league footballer. Hard to believe then, that 'Bring It On' was recorded without fanfare on a 4-track in a garage. Just shows it's the ideas that matter and no amount of studio trickery can mask a dud. In hindsight maybe 'Bring It On' sucked all the inspiration the band had to offer. All told this is an astonishing debut with an accomplished feel naturally sculpted from raw talent. You'd expect youthful adventurous spirit from a debut but not songs with canyon like depth that only reveal themselves with repeated exposure. Only those with a tough hide could fail to be enthralled by the albums charm, for the majority of us it's liquid skin time.

Rating: 8/10

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