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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Post-Rock certainly has its champions; you need not look much further than the likes of Mogwai, Sigur Ros, Godspeed You Black Emperor! and Do Make Say Think to get a feel for the power of this genre. Up until now the output has been erratic, at times breathtaking but prone to nasal plucking boringness. What Post-Rock needed was a band to continually search the horizons for new turns and balance this with a consistency of greatness. The answer came from the unlikeliest of sources, Midland in outer Texas to be precise. Mark Smith (guitar), Chris Hrasky (drums), Munaf Rayani (guitar) and Michael James (bass) may come across as ordinary likeable lads in interviews but what sets them apart is the dramatic soundscapes they are capable of dreaming up with the basic tools of their trade. With guitar in hand the glittering blackness quickly turns to snow and lights, like succumbing to an acid rush by way of a tune.

This is Explosions third album (debut ‘How Strange, Innocence’ had a circulation of only 300, the follow up ‘Those Who Tell The Truth Shall Die, Those Who Tell The Truth Shall Live Forever’ released in 2001 has all of hypnotism of the current album) and is certainly up there with the best instrumental albums of all time. The fluidity of the ideas and the simple chord progressions will have you swooning and wondering why vocals were ever invented. Apart from the music the song titles have a deep melancholy. ‘First Breath After Coma’ which opens the album develops from a shimmering chord swirl to a more rounded riff that is backed by a focused flurry of drumbeats. As the rockets spiral towards the atmosphere all hell breaks lose until the furnace is quelled to reveal another exciting chapter. Reindeer bells suddenly dictate the pace, guitar shrapnel flies about, huge beats slice the peace and the disparate parts fit together like a jigsaw of the Mona Lisa. After a while the whole thing gets quite emotional.

After the heartbreak, ‘The Only Moment We Were Alone’ has a clearer agenda. The jangling is more focused as if heading somewhere in particular but that’s not to say that it doesn’t affect. This is the sound of an instrument masquerading as a puppy; the only difference being that it never grows old. The shimmering apocalypse purposely builds to air raid proportions and then downsizes to a more manageable sound fest. The marching stomp that accompanies the journey makes the whole thing all the more enjoyable so much so that the 8 minutes of this song may be among the most beautiful you will ever spend. Explosions In The Sky have admitted that they imagine the scene before they write the music. ‘Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean’ is based on the Russian submarine that floundered a couple of years back killing all the sailors within. The despair in the otherwise crystal clear playing is evident, the creatures outside so full of life yet of another world shunt by as the chords are chimed in unison. Things take a lighter turn with ‘Memorial’, the juddering strumming recalls Sonic Youth unwinding as they create another classic tale of guitar subtlety. Appropriately enough several maelstroms hide around every corner. Surprisingly the whole thing can seem a little oblique at first but there’s a beating heart ready to hug you if you persist.

The album ends with the undoubted highlight ‘Your Hand In Mine’ which pulls all the extreme emotions together. All the essential ingredients are present. The slow patient build up, the structured drumbeat and sucrose guitars disguised as messengers from heaven. The core of pummelling circular guitars evokes a genius of noise that will tweak your heart until it discards all those failed romances. As the cavalry of Fender Stratocasters ride into the sunset you can’t help but throw imaginary flowers in their general direction. The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place may take a while to sink in but the task is made all the easier when the rewards are this great. The album has the guitar as its centrepiece and the power that is evoked is unlike anything you’ll find elsewhere. There are only 5 pieces of music but despite this fact each part has enough twists and turns to leave your hair in a guzzled mess. Once Explosions In The Sky take a hold of your heart you’ll discover you’ve grown an alternative atria.

Rating: 9/10

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The McNamara brothers, Danny and Richard, certainly have the occasional knack for coining technicolor beauties. They showed us this with their wonderful debut, the Fireworks EP. While the subsequent long player 'The Good Will Out' never stood a chance of repeating the magic it had moments that still added a glaze to ones eyes. Drawn from Memory, the follow up, would be the true test of their worth. Embrace specialise in that epic take on indie. Why produce a song that's 3 minutes long when you can tack on a few extra to give the impression that you're a serious artist. Sometimes this approach backfires to a spectacular degree but when it works, it works a treat and you can almost forgive the brothers their incessant indulgences and inflated ego's.

'Drawn From Memory' contains a mixed bunch of ballads to fall in love with and rawk outs to break up over. 'The Love It Takes' that kicks off the album is a breathless success. A spacey tour de force lingers until a genuinely warm vocal melody from Danny has you eating out of his hands. As the song hits full throttle your heart starts to ache at the beauty of it all. The guitars are fuzzy, but in a charming type of way and the climax is a throwback to a time when instruments in turmoil equalled a ravishing listen. 'You're Not Alone' is marginally less inspiring but the trumpet that perpetrates throughout is used with such expertise you'd half expect Martin Carr to have his name included in the credits. A close to inspiring tune that manages to slip in a xylophone without making it sound in the least bit like Christmas.

Pity then that 'Save Me' is such a disposable piece of ear candy with an exceedingly short shelf life. The paradox here is that it initially intrigues. The keyboard sequences are quirky enough to give it an EMF like dance sensibility but the clubbed together chorus becomes a little cloying after a few listens. 'Hooligan' is bred from the same stock even if it is endowed with a classier edge. Suitable for one of those Richard Ashcroft forays down a suburban sidewalk it proves to be a good sparing partner for the liquorice allsorts that prevail elsewhere on the album. Like 'Save Me' this is a one trick pony that is perfect for party shakedowns but slightly less at home as the festivities catch fire. The albums title track opens sumptuously with a piano/string odyssey that could only be enhanced if a youthful Kate Bush jumped through your window and started into a 'Wuthering Heights' dance impression. It's pretty special and the vocals served up in its wake are brooding, even if they falter a little towards the end. 'Bunker Song' is an odds and ends pastiche that splices a searing riff with some interesting string arrangements. There are no words except for an incoherent muffle near the end but the whole thing comes off like something Radiohead would have dreamed up post Ok Computer.

From time to time Embrace can't help but try and be Oasis. They should know the grand prize is theirs when they choose the fragile approach, letting the melodies work their magic. 'New Adam New Eve' is packed to the hilt with pointless chords, fuzzy vocals and a chorus that while not completely forgettable would have been best kept for a throwaway B-side. 'Yeah You' is similarly all faux attitude and doesn't really sit comfortably within the bands profile. It's freight speeding down a well travelled track, not at all bad just a tad tired and familiar even for the trainspotters amongst us. The album does a U-turn as 'Liars Tears' reaches for the hankies. The atmosphere is set by an antique theremin, while a barely audible acoustic guitar lets the lush vocals take centre stage. McNamara's voice has a soft velvet fluidity that is engineered to be aesthetically perfect for breaking hearts. Embrace succeed when they turn down the lights and figure imaginatively on lives little quandaries. If you could hear 'I Wouldn't Wanna Happen To You' now you'd likely throw off those shoes that don't quite fit you and become engaged in little pretty patterns with a body more used to daily sessions in front of an LCD screen. Yep it's escapism of the musical kind, sweet and freshly brewed to give you a jolt. Pretty unique musicianship that the band would do well to exploit with greater consistency.

To end on a high Embrace bow out on a low. 'I Had A Time' shuffles in like a little boy who has just secretly consumed all the cooking chocolate needed to bake his birthday cake. This is music stripped of its necessaries, so innocent and affecting, miles from all those noisy inefficient moments that needlessly perforate eardrums. The tune has the colour of a desert sky at dusk, just imagine that mirage really exists and pull up a stool to enjoy the view. The wooden flute performs wonders as it finds a way to enter your consciousness through an opening in your head. If Embrace could only be themselves then it is entirely likely that they'd stand a good chance of making it. Their reluctance to go with their own instincts only extenuates the shadow cast by their contemporaries. 'Drawn From Memory' is good album with several standout tracks. If the bum fluff that their camouflaged attempts at sounding hip could be removed then they stand a chance. But then again as they so eloquently put it themselves, their weakness is none of our business.

Rating: 7/10

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Never have I battled so hard to get to grips with an album. The Elbow experience is akin to watching a confusing film. You know deep down it is quality but if you're honest with yourself you are clueless as to what's going on. Sooner or later, though, something happens and it all makes perfect sense. ‘Any Day Now' single was the first single release from the album leaving little or no impression. It just seemed too lifeless and dull to warrant attention. Put alongside the other tunes on Asleep in the Back it really does blossom however. It’s easy to overlook it's laid back grogginess. The drifting organ and gentle guitar persuasion combine with Guy Garvey's mantra to make a heady cocktail.

The follow up 'Red' is a lot more lucid, the chiming guitars are solid and round when viewed against Garvey's gentle tones. There are earthy reminders of Talk Talk on this and a number of the other tracks. The drumming is lavish (Jupp) and quite able to stand up on it's own feet without accompaniment. Could Reni's exulted crown at last be under threat from another Mancunian? 'Little Beast' embellishes some fearful pretences. It is slightly unwieldy but all the better for that. Garvey sounds aloof but the sense of skewed melody is omnipresent. 'Powder Blue' has a real lazy strum and a piano underbelly that somehow elevates the vocals whenever the singer puts his mind to delivering the heart crushing chorus. It's enough to stop you in your tracks, a tune that is heavy of heart but boasts some of this decades most magical musical moments. 'Bitten By The Tail Fly' is a bit of mess, but what a glorious one. It resembles a sleeveless tailored suit, outwardly useless but perfect for a summer that forgets to end.

In an album that is about as cheery as a funeral, 'Newborn' provides a pleasant interval even if the lyrics are studiously morose at times. Delightfully tender and melodic, it is the epicentre of an album that continually eeks out some solace. Towards the end of 'Newborn' an unexpected blaze of sound releases a sublime fusion of vocal and electric chords signalling a band reaching for the stratosphere. This is the precious moment that Elbow's potential becomes obvious. 'Don't Mix Your Drinks' was likely to meander aimlessly but thankfully it is made all the more cohesive by a gorgeous guitar swerve that flirts with the listeners minds. 'Presuming Ed' filters Radiohead at their most languid. Garvey spills out a doppelganger Thom Yorke vocal while Craig Potters on the piano in a most understated way. The whole effect isn't earth shattering but it is nevertheless quite endearing.

'Coming Second' had the makings of a plodding misery but repeated listens reveals it's kooky charm. So when the blurred noises threaten to spoil the party they instead add meat to a song that would have sounded positively skeletal without them. The words adopt that repetitive 'Any Day Now' stance as the Godzilla like eruptions dwarf them. 'Can't Stop' proves to be an ideal tonic for the preceding song. For once the subtle guitar nuances sound crystal clear as Garvey makes a rare break from his reserved vocal stance. Music like 'Scattered Black And Whites' is not going to go unnoticed, because there is a rich imagination at work. Allied to this, is the remarkable musicianship within the band that has the ability to literally create something out of nothing.

The lyrics on 'Asleep In The Back' are slightly on the macabre side from time to time. You wouldn't expect Steps to come out with 'I'll be the corpse in your bathtub' or 'Your eyes are like black spots'. Thankfully the wonderful tunes that wrap themselves around these words mean that Elbow come across as wonderful satirists rather than clumsy miserabilists. Elbow's debut is a brooding masterpiece for the discerning ear. Don't expect the subtle melodies to confront you face to face. Instead, you can expect 'Asleep In The Back' to creep up on you when you least expect it. Once you’ve digested it, ‘A Cast Of Thousands’ awaits you.

Rating: 9/10

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While the instances of stunted creativity abound when an artist decides to go solo, Elliott Smith proved to be a glorious exception to the rule. Coming from the Dandy Warhols neck of the woods (Portland, Oregan) where infectious hooks seem to habitually blossom on the trees it is no surprise that a cursory listen to Figure 8 reveals a smattering of sweet melodies that would have the makers of marmalade clambering to sign him up for their next ad campaign. Elliot Smith started out as twin singer/songwriting (with Neil Gust) in Heatmiser who went on to release 2 reasonable albums in 'Dead Air', 'Cop and Speeder' before Smith decided that going it alone was the way forward. 'Figure 8' was his fifth solo album. At this stage his star was in the ascendancy after the leg up received from having his 'Miss Misery' song included on the soundtrack to 'Good Will Hunting'. It's subsequent nomination for 'Best Original Song' at the Oscars (no, Celine Dion snatched it!) meant that the majors came running. Leaving his indie label Kill Rock to join Dreamworks he was given the financial clout to craft his most textured effort 'XO'.

Like a twinkling star 'Figure 8' initially beams great shafts light in the form of 'Son Of Sam'. The lilting piano strokes, smooth multi-layered vocals and periodic guitar frenzy is enough to have you gasping for more. 'Son Of Sam' is a delightful pick me up, yet Smith often descends into a strange state of melancholy. 'Somebody That I Used To Know' has him pining for a relationship that could've been while against the tide the acoustic guitar forays turn out to be as tuneful as the bees. Things get worse on 'Everything Reminds Me Of Her', a weepy that would probably be a strain for everyone except the recently broken up. The sequel 'Everything Means Nothing To Me' is equally taxing, saved only by the buoyant clamour at the end. But for all this introspection Smith cannily lifts the doom and gloom when required. L.A. is a shimmering pop tune, jaunty and devoid of chorus. Who needs a chorus anyway when the whole thing resembles a maze of sweet vocals. 'Stupidity Tries' goes one step further, raising the ante over its ebullient 4 minutes. Arched like a cat before the kill the brooding vocal builds up to finally reveal the bloodthirsty chords that so illuminate the underlying melody. The song has single marked all over it and could easily have harnessed an audience had the will been there.

Despite the undemanding intensity of Figure 8, Smith doesn't have it all his own way. About half way through you get a certain deja vu feel from the songs. As the pace slows and the mood becomes increasingly anal you can't help but wonder how things could be have been made a lot more interesting had Smith decided to wig out a bit more like on the incomparable 'Wouldn't Mama Be Proud'. Designed to catch you unawares, the deep seethed percussion builds a pressure that finally erupts bringing forth volcanic riffs and mouth watering vocal lava. In the background the quietly chaotic barrage of sliding guitars is enough to burn your ears. When 'Color Bars' shuffles into view you are reminded of a particularly cute Beatles composition. Fingers skirting manically along shiny piano keys and Smith's hushed melodic vocals would appeal to all except those with a stilted musical attitude. 'Happiness' has a dozy roving chord progression while the singers energised vocalising makes a nice departure. The song may outstay its welcome a little towards the end but there are a number of killer ideas just screaming for a listener.

While the pretty patterns woven during the quieter moments are sweet it's only when Smith decides to throw caution to the wind that the album can truly be called delightful. 'Can't Make A Sound' is one such occasion where he opts for the whiskey bottle rather than his usual glass of heated milk. For once the mood is threatening in that 'you can't see it but the ghoul is going to get you' type of way. Like a dry riverbed as the storm clouds burst it bounds into life like you always knew it would. The intensity of the climax is enough to clear the golden cobwebs from your ears (spun from earlier tracks) and have you taking a hacksaw to the prison bars of your ordinary life. By culling one or two Smith by numbers ('Pretty Mary K' and 'In The Lost And Found' being prime examples), this album could have had a much stronger uppercut. While the gentle sparring sometimes delivers a devastating leftfield hook the gap between these intensities is just a little too wide and diminishes what could otherwise have been a spellbinding release. At 52 minutes it is probably just that bit too long. While it is consistently pleasant there just isn't enough variety to ensure you'll be transfixed throughout.

Despite this, 'Figure 8' is undoubtedly a pretty album that veers between the quaint, the beguiling and the slowcore. It should make its home wherever an emotional heart resides. There are tender melodies aplenty and Smith sure had a way with a guitar. Elliott’s tragic suicide 3 years after this album was released adds retrospective resonance to his lyrics and the inevitability that he’ll become more famous after his death.

Rating: 7/10

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This was the Frank and Walters third album and besides one successful single the elusive charts remained a faraway rainbow. The album may have had a more po-faced outlook, but luckily the intrinsic Frank and Walters's ingredients were intact. Melody is king and while some of the new directions raised a few eyebrows the pristine output is the proof positive that these 3 lads were made to be stars. Beauty Becomes More Than Life is not a wholly serious album but for the second time in their careers the Franks have put their heads down and created a mature (what?), at times electro (eek!) but overall a wonderfully likeable (phew!) album. As usual the tunes are purified but are perhaps not as immediate as their predecessors. So now there are things going on below the surface that accord a greater longevity. And now the soundscape is beautifully augmented throughout by the addition of keyboards.

At first you don't spot the groove in 'Don't Stop' but after some time it'll probably be the best thing you've ever heard. Well, almost. Then there's 'Time We Said Goodnight', that at first light sounds almost ineffectual but as dusk falls its building block approach has become the stuff of greatness. Check out the people's anthem 'Castaway' and you have a song that could've helped Hanks through his ordeal. Signs of a different direction come in the form of '7:30', all sparkly beats and spliced vocals that have no right to be so infectious that early in the morning. There are also songs cut from the same cloth that gave us so many precious moments on the first 2 albums. 'Plenty Times' is a bustling, sweet, industrious little number that'll flag down the happy busman and chat with him until the wee hours about types of buckets and all the people he knows named Jim. 'Take Me Through This Life' suffers slightly from a plodding drum beat but the jangling guitar and vocals parts save the day. 'Woman' is more straight forward syrupy pop but its theme of a man hating woman is evidence of the Franks broaching subjects that were up until now avoided.

The Franks and Walters deserve much more than the world has dished them out. An unsympathetic music press unwilling to see beyond the opening guise have to take a lot of the blame. Go see the Frank and Walters in concert and watch the unadulterated joy of the spectacle. Glee Pop that won't change your life but will very likely put a smile on your face and send a tingle down your spine, surely the central reward for listening to pop music. Let them not be lost to the 9 to 5 robotic mass. Go forth Linehans and Co. your loyal servants will be yours until the end.

Rating: 6.5/10

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Glen Hansard might be better known internationally for his role in the Commitments film (he was the one with the Carter haircut playing guitar) but his band the Frames offer a greater sense of cultural novelties. For the Birds was the Frames fourth long player and announced quite clearly that the band had stepped up a gear in the quality stakes. The album was divided between Chicago and Kerry and the sleeve notes remark how the individuals and landscape of both locations were a major influence in moulding the album. Incredibly the album was fashioned with a budget of just £20,000 by the bands own label Plateau records. At home in Ireland the Frames have a large and devout following with the result that their gigs are often intimate and uplifting affairs (aside from Hansard’s something embarrassing remarks). Their 3 previous albums have enjoyed moderate success but only 'Revelate' off the 'Fitzcaraldo' album has stirred the general publics imagination to any great extent.

'For the Birds' deviates from the Frames traditional template and simmers beautifully below boiling point. It is imbued with such a melodious focus that it is only a matter of time before you bequeath your time to its charms. Glen Hansard's voice is softly course with a really impressive range. The legendary Steve Albini produced the album and he has managed to capture Hansard in a most intimate way. With the speakers at full tilt it can almost seem like the singer has propped himself against the wall beside you. The instrumental that opens the album 'In The Deep Shade' is akin to a Sigur Ros ditty. It has an uneven pattern that is held together by a tick-tock beat and subtle violin/piano strains that are fed into the mix intermittedly. Needless to say by the third listen you will be humbled by its beauty. 'Lay Me Down' contains a real sense of sadness as the fiddle playing strikes a serene note through your heart to render you hopelessly stunned in awe.

'Head Long' has the sweetest of strums and the strings that infiltrate the background mean that when it builds to its logical crescendo you can't help but be affected. The song is propelled by a genuine sense of angst. 'What Happens When The Heart Just Stops' is just so heartbreaking that by the time the trumpets arrive at the end you'll be reaching for the posies. 'Early Bird' contains a My Bloody Valentine guitar strain at its core supplied by David Odlum. It is almost at odds with the rest of the serenity on the album but stands imperious all the same. At the other end of the spectrum 'Giving Me Wings' is as floatsome as you can get, perfect for those afternoon naps you take in your head. And then 'Friends And Foes' cowers meekly not fully appreciating how sagacious it really is.

'Santa Maria' just seeps glorious intent with its bass riff, slide guitar and Hansard's whispered vocals filling the air with a dead calm until its schizophrenic alter ego smashes the illusion. Its curved genius leaves the rest of the musical world sounding distinctly flat. A song like 'Disappointed' could have been taken from the Will Oldham scrapbook. With its lo-fi’ed, laid-back nuances filtering through the bushels on that prairie scene you could be forgiven for thinking the tune had wandered onto the album unintentionally. Hansard is restrained but filled with a deep ambition to evoke world-weariness. The final track 'Mighty Sword' has a country edge and contains that essence of an epic that suitably closes this remarkable album. At least that's what you think until the 8 minute hidden track shakes it's shier contemporaries into something resembling a smile. Given an audience 'For the Birds' will make many new friends. It may reach you after word of mouth has created an unstoppable force. If you care enough for affecting new music, you won't wait that long. From the moment you make the choice you will hold this album tightly to your chest. The time has come to fall in love with music all over again.

Rating: 8/10

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