January LP Round Up

While other, more excitable, souls wax lyrical about the cornucopia of must-have purchases in early 2007, I have to say I’ve been rather underwhelmed by the new release shelves of the local record shop over the last few weeks. This disappointment lead to only three 2007 releases being picked up over the course of the month, of which exactly none are likely to set the world on fire.

Best of the bunch was Little Barrie’s ‘Stand Your Ground’, a retro rock album with an occasional nod to rockabilly and the 50’s school . Barrie Cadogan, for the band is essentially his vehicle, will no doubt receive a mixed report card from his rock school headmaster for while the playing is generally excellent (as you’d expect from one of the best regarded session musicians around at the moment) it lacks the attack prefered for the genre and opinion holds that rock music loses something of it’s essence when played quietly enough to garner support from the Noise Abatement Society. Messer Cadogan’s vocals are also something of a weak point, not so much in the sense that they are bad, more that they are completely forgettable and provide another example of Little Barrie’s penchant for holding back somewhat. So far, so bad, but I’ve been perhaps a little unfair to front load the ‘review’ with negatives for although the album doesn’t scale any great heights neither does it contain many clunkers and could be neatly slotted into the ‘a decent, steady effort then’ pigeon hole. Occasionally, the odd track (such as ‘Love You’) will even stick its head above the calm like an inquisitive seal before diving down again and it’s these rippling rings on the generally mirror like sea surface that give this album just enough pep and interest to, perhaps, fend for a lower position in the Top 20 when 2008 swings around.

Alasdair Roberts, if you don’t know and you probably don’t, is a Glaswegian folk singer to which you say “Another folk singer” and a giant groan goes up. You have my sympathies in this matters for I myself have complained bitterly about the numbers of singer-songwriters whom are now attaining biblical plague proportions and as a result surely some measure, perhaps an airborne spraying programme, should be implimented to control their numbers. However, Alasdair Roberts is slightly different in that he is an actual, real folk singer and not one of those pretend folkies, you know, the sort of straw brained, good looking types who’s understanding of folk music is limited to not owning an effects pedal. In his unprepossessing fashion Roberts performs songs from his album ‘The Amber Gatherers’ with titles like ‘I Had A Kiss Of The Kings Hand’, ‘Old Man Of The Shells’ and ‘Calfless Cow’, a surprisingly touching tale of a lonely heifer unable to attract a bullock. After a few spins these simple songs, edged forward solely by acoustic guitar and voice, really begin to reveal hidden depths and weevil themselves into your brain like a bug into a sailors biscuit. Low key, certainly, but genuine and enjoyable and although unable to quite capture ones imagination over the length of an entire album, Roberts brings some much need authenticity back to a beleagered genre.

Finally, we come to The Earlies ‘The Enemy Chorus‘. Although not old enough to jaunt around Hyde Park in a kaftan during the Summer of Love, accepted wisdom has handed down the belief that psychedelia was a wonderful, strange and exciting thing where the bizarre and exotic clasped your hand and took you on a magical mystery tour. Sadly then, I must report that The Earlies modern take on the psychedelic is simply a plodding and dull affair with all the out-of-the-ordinary of bin mould. Having little more to say on this regrettable purchase I turn my ire on The Earlies internet propagandists who promised an “experience” when surely “an expensive ordeal” would be closer to the mark. Never one to shy away from naming names, I point my finger accusingly at Pop Matter’s Evan Sawdey and suggest this irresponsible spreader of nonsense be pierced ear to ear with a length of railroad track as just punishment for lacking the requisite intelligence, taste and hearing to recommend anything to anybody.

The 2006 “Airing of Grievances”

As the holiday season winds to a close, we here at Hip-D (at least those of us who weren’t too lazy to participate) have decided to honor the annual Festivus celebration by posting our own “Airing of Grievances for 2006. Each staffer (again, those who actually played along) makes a case for their favorite 2006 album that did NOT make the Hip-D Top 20. Once we can figure out how to virtually pin each other to a mat, we’ll add the “Feats of Strength.”

Elvis Fu: Scott H. Biram – Graveyard Shift

If I weren’t such a lapdog for Lucero, Graveyard Shift by Scott H. Biram might very well have topped my 2006 list.

This is Biram’s fifth album, but the self-described “Dirty Old One-Man Band” had somehow never popped up on my radar until this year. “Dirty” isn’t quite spot-on. “Truck Stop Toilet Dirty” is closer to what Biram churns out through a tangled mess of blues, roadworn country and enough heavy metal to scare off the more chaste fans of traditional blues & country. Oh yeah, Scott H. Biram also heads the self-established “First Church of the Ultimate Fanaticism” as a sort of whiskey smuggling Revival preacher following the blue highways looking for more than just salvation under the big tent.

This ain’t alt-country. Sure, we get some pedal steel and a little harmonica over a twangy guitar backdrop, but Biram credits himself with just about every piece of his orchestra: lead and harmony vocals, CB radio, loudspeaker, breathing, harmonica, gut, all acoustic & electric guitars, Hammond B3 organ, homemade footstomp board, hi hat, tambourine, claps, hambone, table thump, special effects, random noises. It’s not pretty. Graveyard Shift is unwashed, flea-bitten and broken down on every damn song. With his voice sounding like it’s projected through an old coffee can, Biram kicks off the album with “Most times I can’t sleep at night / I just walk the highway up and down / Sometimes I can’t eat a bite at all / Sometimes I bite off more then I can chew,” from “Down Too Long.”

From there, Biram hustles through trucker life (“18 Wheeler Fever,” “Reefer Load”), the big man upstairs (“Only Jesus,” “Church Jesus”), punching a clock for The Man (“Work,” “Graveyard Shift”) and of course, women (“Long Fingernails”). And while “Plow You Under” is a better glimpse at the awesome horror that is Scott H. Biram, it was “Lost Case of Being Found”, that made me stop and listen the first time. It’s still my favorite since that moment, even though it is a more low-key number.

Mark H.: Chumbawamba – A Singsong And A Scrap

Occasionally a band will change gears or explore new sonic territory, raising an eyebrow or two and possibly pulling former fans back into the fold. Chumbawamba, however, have dared go the step beyond, and outright reinvented themselves for this new album. Stripped down to fewer members and fewer instruments, the once-predictable arrangement of horns, amps, synths, and thumping beats is nowhere in sight. Thankfully, the group has talent to spare, so even with just their multi-part harmonies, acoustic guitars, and other various folk/americana instruments, Chumbawamba has turned in a masterpiece.

One might think they’ve delved into the hipster neo-folk realm, but that simply isn’t the case. These are tunes that point confidently in the direction of The Weavers and The Kingston Trio. The album showcases folk revival-esque songs of war and protest, sung sing-along style and for the pop masses. In and of itself, a fine musical accomplishment, but the album cruised to the # 1 spot on my list for outstanding songwriting (granted, they cover The Clash – and well – but the other 12 originals are amazing). Every single song, even the ones with a specific historical reference point, seem timeless. Every blessed note would fit in perfectly in a small dark coffeehouse or an arena full of folkie anarchists.

This album deserves to be heard by all: old, dedicated fans (like me), past listeners waiting for something fresh, and even people new to the scene. A Singsong And A Scrap is not tremendously indicative of the band’s catalog, but it’s so good I can’t help but recommend it to anyone and everyone I know.

stacey: Lily Allen – Alright, Still…

During a few driving excursions this year, something odd happened to me — I craved cheap, mainstream pop. I hungrily fondled the radio dial on several occasions, reaching extreme heights of joy upon finding Gavin DeGraw, Nick Lachey and old Natalie Imbruglia. Needless to say, this worried me and I found myself questioning my very elitist-indie-fuck existence. Mid-soul search, I found Lily Allen and I thought all hope was lost.

Alright, Still… is granulated pop goodness. Ms. Allen is a sassy young Brit (think a female Streets) with a sweet, sunshine-filled voice and lyrics such as “You’re not big, you’re not clever, no you aint a big brother, not big whatsoever” from (what else) “Not Big,” a (what else) breakup song. She also tackles the age-old problem of disposing of a creep at a bar (“Knock ‘em Out”) and hopes her lazy, drug-addled brother can make something of his life (“Alfie”). See, she doesn’t only provide important public service announcements, she also still believes the children really are our future. Lily Allen is cheeky, she is fun and perfect for those days when all you’d like to do is bob your head in a carefree manner and drive along to a listen-all-the-way-through disc. Plus, it’s much better than having someone catch Nick Lachey on your stereo.

jasmine: The Lilys – Everything Wrong is Imaginary

I’m assuming that the reason Everything Wrong is Imaginary by The Lilys is not on your Top 20 is because you haven’t heard it. If you have another reason, I think you might be a little slow, or you simply have poor taste in music.

Okay, enough indie snob talk. Seriously, this is a great album. It’s one of those albums where you feel like a bunch of different bands are performing on one album. Sometimes they sound like a shoegaze band, sometimes a plain old indie rawk band and on track three, “A Diana’s Diana,” you might just think that someone’s slipped a funk album onto the turntable. My only gripe about the band is that their influences are very obvious. I’ve noticed hints of The Pixies and just about every 60s rock band I can think of. I hope you kick yourself, Hip-D staff, for keeping this album off the year-end list.

Patrick: The Decemberists – The Crane Wife

2006 was about fun music for me, and The Decemberists are the most fun (if not the best) band in America right now.

Hyperbole aside, they have put out four incredibly consistent full-lengths in the last five years, and while the current disc, The Crane Wife, lacks some of the originality of the 2002 debut, it is a much better listen overall than any of the previous releases. Gone are many of the shanties, pirates and villains, but the excellent storytelling and simple, yet continuously original, melodies remain.

Colin Meloy shares with Stephen Morrissey the quality of being either intolerable or phenomenal, considering your personal preference. I can see how one could have difficulty stomaching Meloy’s nasal warble and tendency to wax poetic about 16th century Belgium, but I find a subtlety and innocence within the song structure and lyrics such as:

“Waylay the din of the day
Boats bobbing in the blue of the bay
In deep far beneath all the dead sailors
Slowly slipping to sleep”

from the best track, “Summersong,” just flow so well, you would swear Meloy was a West Coast rapper in a former life. We still keep some of the butchers, bakers, candlestick makers and dead sailors (as referenced above), but we also have “When The War Came,” a rollicking protest song, ” or “The Island,” a 12:26 montage that channels Yes, ELO, Steely Dan and pretty much 70’s AOR in general, but still manages to be thoroughly enjoyable and not dirge-like at all.

There’s no “July, July,” “Legionnaire’s Lament,” or “16 Military Wives,” but “O, Valencia!” and the aforementioned “Summersong” do their part as anthemic pop magic. This is some of the most fun I’ve had listening to pop music in a while.

Darrin Frew: M. Craft – Silver and Fire

Many things provoke me into unbridled fury. Schoolchildren being run to the gates of their educational establishment by their mothers in a Land Rover Discovery for instance. Is it any wonder modern children are such whining spoiled wretches when they don’t have to walk miles through white out blizzard conditions dressed in a blazer, tie and shorts as I had to as a boy? Is it really such a surprise that the male cosmetics industry (thank you capitalism!) rakes in such huge amounts of cash when we are feminising our male born almost from infancy? Why aren’t we ASHAMED when a generation teenage boys swap skin moisturiser tips and complement each other on their haircuts instead of pursuing Corinthian brutality on the rugby field? And how can school girls be prepared for the agony of childbirth when even a mild drizzle sends them blubbing to the leather upholstered cab of their parents SUV? Motorized mollycoddling has created a society of juvenile aberrations.

Today’s kids should be out there walking to school, legs smarting from pummelling hail, leaned forward into the howling winds which push air particles chilled so deeply in the Artic that they cleave through your skull. They should be exposed to rain so hard, so lashing, it pox marks your face for hours afterwards! But no! These pint sized, assholes-in-the-making have nothing more to complain about on plumply cushioned backseats than downtime on MySpace as they tap away on their wireless broadband lap-tops! BEING DRIVEN AROUND IS FOR FOPPISH ARISTOCRATS! IT MUST STOP NOW BEFORE WE BECOME A NATION OF LOUIS XVI’s, CHINLESS WONDERS IN PERFUMED WIGS LOLLING AROUND HEAD TO TOE IN SILK AND BUTTONS! GET THOSE KIDS OUT IN THE FUCKING RAIN NOW!

In his great Scottish Nationalist novel, Sunset Song, Lewis Grassic Gibbons tells of gruff man-of-the-land, John Guthrie walking along a farm road when an aristocrat in a 1920’s jalopy toots his horn hoping to usher a real man off the road so that his motor vehicle can pass. John Guthrie responds by pulling the aristocrat from his car, gives him a great slap that sends the tweedy posho into the mud and tells him “Sound your horn at me again my mannie, and I’ll give you a damn thrashing that you’ll never forget!” Might I suggest we adopt a similar policy with today’s children, dragging these spoilt miniature dandies from their 4WDs and giving them a mighty steel toe-capped buffet to their puny rumps with parting words “Walk to school! Walk to school through everything the elements can throw at you and one day you might be a man and not larvae!”

Another thing I really hate is when brilliant albums are completely ignored even after I’ve extolled their Romanesque glory, consistently, over a prolonged period. You really are banging your head off a brick wall trying to get through to these so called hipsters who either prefer the sound of an Icelandic lunatic throwing a Korg synthesizer down a flight of stairs or worse, the stale sound of mouldy old man rock music that should have died when Dwayne Allman fell off his bike.

No, the proponents of such hackneyed drivel should be summarily ignored in favour of more acquired tastes – mine being the best example. Sadly, Hip-D failed to show sufficient savvy to vote M. Craft’s Silver and Fire on to its Top 20 poll which was, as a result, completely blighted by all encroaching mediocrity. Playing the best guitar solo of the decade on “Sweets” should have been enough to send praise cascading from every quarter but as if that wasn’t good enough the album was stocked to the brim with classic guitar pop from withering commentary on ditzy middle class art school scum on “SnowBird” to the triumphant Spector-like “Lucile.” Truly the album, from lip to cusp, was an artistic triumph of rare magnitude.

In the end its single vote was blown into the ether by the stiff breeze of total ignorance. Let this be a lesson for those choosing a taste maker – unless they are Scottish they really don’t know what they’re talking about.

FT: Sloan – Never Hear the End of It

Canadian power popsters Sloan have been around forever, which is roughly equivalent to the amount of time I’ve spent ignoring them. I’m not really sure why it’s taken so long for me to give these guys a chance, but by starting with the double-length Never Hear the End of It, I certainly chose a quality point of entry. Emphasizing the “power” in power pop, Sloan adds a healthy dose of crunchy guitar throughout much of the proceedings, while grabbing your ear with their hook-laden harmonies.

Never Hear the End of It manages to never sounding dated, while still bringing to mind the power pop heyday of the late-’70s/early-’80s. It’s that timeless quality of tunes that feel just as much at home today as 25-30 years ago, which sets Sloan apart from the glut of others who are still trying to carve out a niche in this genre. Take a tip from these guys, folks, and leave it to the experts.

Hip-D Top 20 of 2006 » #7 » Mogwai – “Mr. Beast”

Mogwai have been undergoing something of a creative resurgence in recent years after several disappointing follow-ups to that post-rock touchstone of their own creation, Young Team. But while it may have been something of an albatross around their necks initially, several devastating EPs, one of the top albums of 2004 (Happy Music For Happy People) and a mind-blowing collection of live Peel sessions issued last year, have since proved that Mogwai have much more to offer than a cracking debut. Mr Beast, this year’s release, continued that heartening trend, if in a noticeably subtler manner.

Not that you’d know from listening to “Glasgow Mega Snake,” as it crushes the listener beneath heavy coils before finally polishing them off with terrifying bursts of power from its reptilian muscle; it was the musical equivalent of a life or death struggle with a boa constrictor. And “We’re No Here,” as well as showcasing the best of Scottish grammar, was genuinely apocalyptic, a portent of the final five minutes of sound on Earth as fire and feedback rains from the sky.

But while these typically Mogwai-esque noise bombs book ended the album, most of the content was far less cochlea threatening. “Travel is Dangerous” owed more than a little to the distinctly not scary (and criminally underrated) Zephyrs, albeit a Zephyrs “volume-ated.” “Team Handed” sounded like easy listening for people with nicotine stained artex ceilings, burn holes in the carpet and several serious assaults on their record — essentially chill out music for exhausted Begbies. “I Chose Horses” was a gentle thank you to the Japanese post-rock contingent they have most influenced, and “Acid Food” actually sounded, well, nice.

For Mr Beast, Mogwai have taken their quiet/loud template and halved it down the middle for intelligent effect.

– Darrin Frew

Darrin Frew’s Favorite Track: “We’re No Here”

This album appeared on the following staffers’s lists:

• stacey (#2)
• jasmine (#5)
• Darrin Frew (#12)

Hip-D Top 20 of 2006 » #16 » Jenny Lewis with The Watson Twins – “Rabbit Fur Coat”

With the release of Rabbit Fur Coat, Rilo Kiley vocalist Jenny Lewis issued an often highly personal solo debut, which tackled her confused and frequently conflicted views on, among other things, religion and parenthood.

Opening acapella “Run Devil Run” segues nicely into “The Big Guns,” perhaps the most immediately ear-catching track on the album, and one which would sit happily on a Neko Case LP. “Rise Up With Fists!!” exudes more of a languid swagger than one might expect from its angry sounding title, before the hushed ballad “Happy,” that, while hardly spectacular, drifts by with a delicate charm. “The Charging Sky” is a loping country tune full of befuddled religious indecision, while washed-out glissandos of synth add an ephemeral, floaty air to “Melt Your Heart.”

The title track, composed simply of a plucked acoustic guitar and vocals, tells the slightly surreal, yet poignant, tale of an estranged mother, one of a number of mentions of the artist’s parents. A strong last quarter of the album includes “It Wasn’t Me,” a soft, twinkling ballad, simultaneously wearied and uplifting, which perhaps produces some sort of conclusion to Lewis’ thematic, album-wide dilemma (“I’ve gone and quit my worshipping of the false Gods and golden sins.”) and a distant sounding reprise of “Happy.”

Released only a few weeks into 2006, Rabbit Fur Coat set the bar high for those following her.

– Darrin Frew

Darrin Frew’s Favorite Track: “The Big Guns”

This album appeared on the following staffers’s lists:

• Darrin Frew (#8)
• Patrick (#9)
• stacey (#15)

Darrin Frew » Music » Stephen Yerkey – Metaneonatureboy

There’s no shame in not having previously heard of Stephen Yerkey. You don’t get much more off the music scene radar than working, as Yerkey does, in a juvenile security facility. On top of that it’s taken him 12 years to follow up his debut album ‘Confidence, Man’ released way back in 1994. No, the real shame would be, having been tipped off as to his existence, not to give this album the chance it deserves to impress you.

Aided by Eric Drew Feldman on production duties (PJ Harvey, Frank Black) Yerkey peddles the sort of jazzy/honky-tonky/bluesy hybrid that a more straight forward Captain Beefheart might if he teamed up with Ry Cooder and Louis Armstrong.

Split evenly between rockier numbers and slower, more atmospheric tracks, it’s the latter that really stand out, although that is not intended as a slight on the up tempo bar blues of ‘Songs Put Things’ or ‘Link Wray’s Girlfriend’ which are well above average in their own right.

Highlights include ‘Dark And Bloody Ground’ which would sit comfortably on the ‘Paris, Texas’ soundtrack while ‘Fall Out Of Love’ could be straight out of a 1940’s LA piano lounge filled with grizzled private detectives, chain smoking while they ponder, heart broken, over the Ava Gardner look-a-like that slinked into their office three weeks hence. ‘Mood Swing Era’ offers a late night jazz vocal that combines grooviness with an ominous, disturbing air, courtesy of woodwind interludes, that’s reminiscent of The Beatles ‘A Day in the Life’.

This is adult music with the weight of experience behind it and the lyrics are some of the most interesting heard in a while, particularily on ‘My Baby Loves The Western Violence’ which you suspect have been gleaned from his experiences working in a security facility.

Those looking for cheap, tinny or frantic thrills will no doubt want to look elsewhere but for those left, this twin sided peregrine of an album will no doubt find a happy home among your racks.

Darrin Frew » Music » Alexi Murdoch and the Singer Songwriter Morass

Singer songwriters It’s their ever-so-humble arrogance that makes you want to scream.

You see, 40 years after The Beatles played Indian scales backwards on distorted guitars and then looped them through a mellotron all the while chanting extracts from The Tibetan Book of the Dead, hoards of buttoned down expectants in sensible shoes still insist on springing forth with the hopelessly misguided belief that some rudimentary guitar chords hushly strummed over the banal reminiscences of the not-so-deep (typical lyric; boy disobeys mother, climbs tree, falls grazing knee) but definitely introverted, qualifies in 2006 – 2006, people! – as a legitimate form of entertainment.

They are most definitely wrong.

Step forward then production no. 18447 from the ruffly haired convey belt of tat – or Alexi Murdoch as his designer spectacled, demographics wielding, negotiating-with-an-ad-agency-
on-the-cellphone-RIGHT-NOW! publicists would rather he be called when he emerges, beautiful but dim, from the converted barn that he probably lives in.

The album is called ‘Time Without Consequence’, a title laden with all the dark humour you’ll ever need as you ponder the 59 minutes 40 seconds of wasted life endured while ensconced in his not particularly unique brand of laid back turpitude.

Over the course of this musical equivalent of flipping through carpet samples – ON A SUNDAY – he offers such sage advice as “don’t forget how to breath”, produces Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe style epigrammatical genius (“you don’t need strength to be strong” and, yes, you have correctly identified sarcasm) waxes lyrical about windmills and assorted rustic imagery bullshit and then fries our brains with his out there musical experimentation. That’s right, he uses a cymbal on one track to augment the folkie guitar.

All this leads irrevocably to a single conclusion.

If you’re single and have worn an ankle length gypsy skirt at some point this summer, there is the remote possibility that, at times of hormonal imbalance, you might actually find something attractive in Murdoch’s hackneyed troubadouring. However, to we more hard-headed fans of music, I’m afraid Mr Murdoch represents nothing more than an other stale acoustic drone ripe for a slapping with his own fashionable galosh.

Darrin Frew » Music » Half Time Analysis

5. It’s been a strange year for music. Surplus of ‘quite good’ but deficient of ‘great’, 2006 has so far gently pleased rather than blown away. My number five, Jenny Lewis came out of the traps early with ‘Rabbit Fur Coat’ and although it seems to have divided opinion in the wider worldit has hung on in there on my list. For me, it was a pleasant surprise to see someone try to be lyrically ambitious even if she didn’t always get it quite right and the Watson twin’s contributions were an undoubted highlight, taking most of the songs to a different level.

4. I’m afraid to say that as I head towards clichéd old age I’ve found myself listening to more and more woolly jumpered singer-songwriter types and less in the way of rock or electronic music. It was therefore of a great relief to me to have Nathan Fake make my list and therefore retain at least some pulse of modernity. His soaring M83-only-good electronica has been perhaps the surprise find of the year. In particular ‘The Sky Was Pink’ makes you feel as if you’ve just been sucked into the extendable nozzle of God’s own vacuum cleaner headed for the glorious white-out death of Hoover bag heaven. I’ll feel less guilty about doing that to spiders as a result.

3. At three we have those perennial favourites Belle & Sebastian whom I now feel utterly confident to leaden with the epithet ‘one of the great bands of the last ten years’. The signs were there for all to see on the last album but the hushed Nick Drake has been almost completely ditched in favour of glamtastic double tracked drums, Ernie Isley style guitar solos and Funkadelic homage’s. Murdoch’s vocals say it all. Where once they were endearingly cracked and out of tune, now they ooze confidence and, dare I say it, sex appeal.

2. We waited and waited for Neko Case to follow up her last release with a ‘proper’ album and when it did arrive it seemed to encapsulate the year in music. There is very little you could point to as being weak on ‘Fox Confessor’ and yet at the same time it lacked that something that made ‘Blacklisted’ one of the greats. Still, we all know Neko’s voice is one of the marvels of the age and as such the number two spot is hardly unbefitting.

1. My number one from the first half of the year belongs to M Craft, an artist completely new to these ears, although apparently something of an old hand in the music biz. It’s to the Australian’s eternal credit that he seems to crafted his own ‘classic’ 60’s/70’s sound without sounding, as so many modern bands do, completely derivative. Having said that the best track on the album ‘Sweets’ bares a passing resemblance to a sort of soft focus ‘Revolution Blues’. If you’re going to have influences, though, Neil Young seems a good pick.

My Top Twenty list.

1	m craft	SILVER AND FIRE
2	neko case	FOX CONFESSOR BRINGS THE FLOOD
3	belle & sebastian	THE LIFE PURSUIT
4	nathan fake	DROWNING IN A SEA OF LOVE
5	jenny lewis & the watson twins	RABBIT FUR COAT
6	sonic youth	RATHER RIPPED
7	cortney tidwell	CORTNEY TIDWELL
8	mogwai	MR BEAST
9	camera obscura	LET’S GET OUT THIS COUNTRY
10	two gallants	WHAT THE TOLL TELLS
11	isobel campbell & mark lanegan	BALLAD OF THE BROKEN SEAS
12	the strokes	FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF EARTH
13	roddy frame	WESTERN SKIES
14	the fiery furnaces	BITTER TEA
15	cat power	THE GREATEST
16	clap your hands say yeah	CLAP YOUR HANDS SAY YEAH
17	morrissey	RINGLEADER OF THE TORMENTED
18	the broken family band	BALLS
19	megan reilly	LET YOUR GHOST GO
20	el perro del mar	EL PERRO DEL MAR

Darrin Frew » Tribute » Tom Weir: One Final Hike

I have never been a fan of the indie popsters Aberfeldy but they did record a song called ‘Tom Weir’ and this gives me the tenuous link I require to post something about as far removed from pop culture as you can possible get.

The subject of Aberfeldys song, the one and only Tom Weir, was a great personal inspiration to myself and it was with great sadness that I read of his death last week, aged 91.

Tom was born into one of the poorest areas of Glasgow in 1914. To escape his rather grim surroundings he would get the bus out of the city and climb the Campsie Fells, a rugged spine of high cliffed hills that hem the city of Glasgow in from the North. It was here that he fell in love with the country side, changing his own life and in due course, the lives of many others.

After serving in the Second World War as an artillery officer in the battle for Italy, he became a full time outdoorsman and was one of the first men to explore the mountains of Nepal. He also explored other remote and mountainous areas including the Atlas range in North African and the mountains of Greenland and Iran but his great love was always the highlands of his home country.

He spent most of his life thereafter promoting and protecting the wild places of Scotland long before the term ‘environmentalist’ had even been coined. In particular his television programme ‘Weir’s Way’, broadcast in the 70’s and 80’s, almost single-handedly inspired two generations of climbers, walkers, rural historians and environmentalists.

Tom, who was still climbing mountains well into his eighties, didn’t believe in heaven and it’s perhaps just as well for if anyone belonged wholly to the Scottish soil it was him.

Unending thanks Tom.

Tom Weir 1914 – 2006.

Darrin Frew » Music » Prince Far-I

Raising Awareness Part 1
Because not all old music is lame-0
Part 1 – Prince Far-I

When one thinks of the great sounds of Jamaica, most will think of the echo soaked bass of dub or Ska’s skanking guitar. Some may even site the extraordinary and unique niyabinghi drummers. Such a pity then that The Voice of Thunder remains relatively unrecognised.

The Voice of Thunder belonged to Michael Williams, better known to the world as Prince Far-I, and as the moniker might suggest it was truly a force of nature. When Prince Far-I did his thing (you couldn’t really call it singing, more, well, rumbling) people definitely sat up and took notice. No one ever sounded like they meant business more than Prince Far-I’s ominous patois inflected baritone could. As well as sounding like he meant business Prince Far-I also looked like he meant business. A huge man with a giant beard and that sort of face you might expect to find on the roughest deck of a pirate ship, it was actually his imposing physical presence that, in a way, got him his first break on the Jamaican music scene.

While working as a bouncer and studio security guard for the legendary Coxsone Dodd, Williams was desperately handed the mike and ushered into the booth when DJ King Stitt failed to show up at a recording session. However, success was far from instant and he was soon working again as a security guard at Kingston docks, DJing at the weekends on Sir Mike the Musical Dragon’s sound system under the name King Cry Cry, reputedly due to his tendency to get so angry during his politically charged rants on mic as to burst into tears.

After a lull of several years his recording career got back on track again in 1973 when he worked on several hit singles with, amongst others, The Skatalites Tommy McCook, and he was able to generate enough cash to form his own label Tuff Cry. The first release on Tuff Cry – the excellently heavy ‘354 Skank’ – immediately caught the attention of London based music fans, including producer Adrian Sherwood, and Far-I finally began to cultivate a fan base both at home and abroad.

1978 saw Far-I at the peak of his critical acclaim with the release of the LP ‘Under Heavy Manners’, which included several huge selling singles in Jamaica, and the result was a subsequent five album contract with Virgin.

Sadly though, as with so many Jamaican musicians (including King Tubby, who had used Far-I on many of his dubs) Prince Far-I met his end as the victim of the senseless and endemic violence he had so often berated at the microphone. On 15th September 1983, armed men entered his home and shot him, his wife and a friend. No suspects or motive were ever discovered. Worse still, The Voice of Thunder was silenced forever.

But not forever. Keep your eyes (and ears) peeled for the next Hip-D Pod Cast to sample for yourself the great man’s ‘rockstone’ voice.

Recommended: Prince Far-I ‘Silver and Gold 1973 – 1979′ Blood and Fire Records, 2005