Did you hear the one about Metallica and Lou Reed making an album together called ‘Lulu’, based on the German playwright Frank Wedekind’s 1913 play about the life of an abused dancer?

Jolly eh?

Well, it’ll be getting released on October 31st in the UK, with North America following a day later. But what does it sound like? Well, we’ve got a leaked copy and would just love to give you our review! Okay?

Of course, with gloom titans Metallica teaming up with King Grump Lou, this is not going to be a short, sharp, fun rock record to win over new fans.

When was the last time Lord Reed of the Insects gave two hoots about what the listener thought?

Anyway, instead of filling your head with pointless, flowery prose about likenesses to the Velvet Underground, Transformer and ‘It sounds a bit like Enter The Sandman’, we’ll adopt a track-by-track approach, so you don’t have to read too much.

God knows you bastards hate to actually read things.

Brandenburg Gate

Impenetrably gloomy. 34 seconds long with 2 second guitar solo. Features the lyric “Hey mousey, mousey. You squeak like a gate. You’re not as good as the Brandenburg, mate.”

The View

Damning, scathing aside concerning popular beat-combo The View. It is simply the word ‘DIE’ over and over for roughly three weeks.

Pumping Blood

A song about the perils of particularly vicious curry dishes and the resultant morning mess.

Mistress Dread

Five weeks long and contains 34,028 words.

Iced Honey

The plight of the chilly honey bee is delivered by Lars Ulrich in this peculiar spoken word piece while Lou does his best to keep up with Hetfield’s guitar. 82 minutes in, you hear Lou bemoaning his inability to grow a proper beard, provoking uproarious satanic laughter from the Metallica front man. Ulrich meanwhile, descends into tears about bees in winter.

Cheat On Me

11 minutes long, Lou details the ways in which you should cheat on him. Involves affairs and creating extra cards for Monopoly (Reed’s favourite board game).

Frustration

8 mins of utterly frustrating ‘nearly-rock’ where both artists do their best to remind you what you could be listening to elsewhere.

Little Dog

Coming it at a charitable 8 minutes, Metallica snort their way through an unkind song which likens Lulu – the Scottish singer – to a chihuahua.

Dragon

Coming in at 4 months long, Reed impersonates a dragon while Metallica play as loud and fast as they can. Results are, to say the least, abrasive.

Junior Dad

19 minutes and 28 seconds of absolute tedium. A vague whistle of a track that sounds like a drunk quietly wandering home about three streets away.

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Folk music has been taking a bit of a kicking of late with bands and artists claiming folkiness by virtue of the fact they bought themselves an acoustic guitar and couldn’t find someone to drum for them.

And so, the circle jerk of self-confessional, mewing horsepiss continues as acts open their hearts to the listener with imagined woes and vague interested in Olde World topics such as hangmen and infanticide, when really, they’d rather be listening to the awful Florence And The Machine or something.

However, some folkies get it just right, channelling the ghosts of music past and recreating that echoing eeriness of mountain music without trying to sound like a revivalist act. One such group are Arborea who have two impressive LPs to their name already, and here we are, faced with their third, ‘Red Planet’.

Previous outings, the eponymous release and the seriously good ‘Wayfaring Summer’, have seen Arborea creating the kind of music that has the chilling stillness of a murderous road movie coupled with the yearning, sexual tension of fables or yore.

While they are a very modern band with sensibilities drawn from a whole host of relatively recent outfits, this outfit feel like they’re a hundred years old, resonating down the wind while you find yourself stood under the Joshua Tree staring at that big ol’ sky. There’s a sense of this music finding you, rather than you finding it, which makes for an unusual set-up when that sense of feeling a little lost in the wilderness creeps up on you when listening, especially in songs such ‘Black Is The Colour’ and ‘Wolves’.

Yet this isn’t the work of someone indebted too heavily to The Carter Family or some Appalachian mountain choir. While Arborea may well share that other-worldliness that makes certain folk and country records so appealing, there’s something else in the mix… something cinematic.

The title track, ‘Red Planet’ and closer ‘A Little Time’ feel like Boards of Canada – unplugged, while ‘Careless Love’ is most definitely a twilight sex-scene from some forest dwelling b-movie about witchcraft. There’s a sense that this is a band that want to invite you to a place you won’t find on any map with songs that have huge amounts of space in them… great chasms of open sky that could be filled by countless instrumentation, but cannily, it’s what isn’t there that makes Arborea’s work so enchanting.

Singer Shanti’s voice filled the canvas with delicate falsettos or, when needed, a low murmur that will certainly send the wandering stranger to his death in some remote place, all the while, sitting beneath you’ll find sparse banjo or plucked guitar, coloured with bottlenecks and harmoniums which hold back and use just the right notes with an almost Kraftwerk-esque precision and efficiency.

It appears that, while most bands find album three the trickiest to approach, Arborea have once again created a document that invites us into their strange world of white magic, hallucinogenic sex and whispered secrets. This really is a wonderful LP and one that deserves as wide an audience as possible.

If we gave marks out of five, this would get a six.

You can still catch the band on the last leg of their European tour before they head-off to their cabins in North America and ‘Red Planet’ is available to buy now.

Wed 22nd – Edinburgh, Forest Hall
Thurs 23rd – Aberdeen, The Tunnels
Fri 24th – Glasgow, Wellington Church Hall

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Such is the hype surround the release of ‘Born This Way’, Lady GaGa’s newest LP (due for release in four days… probably leaked online already), it is easy to be met with an overwhelming feeling of… well… being underwhelmed.

The lead singles from the LP, the eponymous title track and the bubonically infectious ‘Judas’, have fared well, living up to the previous high-water pop marks of Fame/Fame Monster.

And while ‘Bad Romance’ seems like it was only released five minutes ago, GaGa is obviously keen to ride the momentum and get something new out to the now near-mental devotees of the New Yoik singer-songwriter… but does it match the previous work or will it usher in an even more indulgent artist, as seen at Radio One’s Big Weekend, much to the chagrin of catholic (with a small ‘c’) pop purists?

Before the release, there’s a palpable sense that this new record needed to be all shimmering singles with no album filler. In many ways, such is the expectation surrounding this record, that it needed to sound like Lady GaGa’s ‘Greatest Hits’. That’s a tall order for a 25 year old still clearly finding her amusingly shaped feet in the shitfest that is the music business.

That said, GaGa has managed to create a genuine buzz around a beleaguered business, somehow re-engaging the plebs into actually buying not only records, but buying into an artist wholesale. Like Bowie or Morrissey, GaGa has intentionally (and perhaps cynically, but who cares about that, right? Musicians are the only people more cynical than the people they’re selling units to) targeted the ‘freaks’ and ‘misfits’ of the world.

Of course, it would have been easy for GaGa to lay the ‘I’m Mother Freak’ schtick on super-heavy for the fans, however, she’s wisely avoided making a statement album, away from her usual will to make a brassy, sledgehammer collection that simply wants to burrow under your skin and jerk your body toward the dancefloor… and such an unashamed, naked wish is rather admirable as it would have been very easy for GaGa to make some ill-advised ‘look, I can play my instruments’ long player.

In fact, if there’s a statement being made at all, it would appear that GaGa is intent on not making any statement at all. Underneath the grooves of, say ‘Americano’, with it’s hilariously melodramatic opening, Flamenco flourishes and Europop beat, you can almost touch just how much GaGa wants to push the boat out, but wisely decided against it. See also, ‘Government Hooker’ which kicks off with faux-opera before breaking out into an almost Ed Banger digifunk. The themes are big and painted on in broad, broad strokes… there’s whiffs of experimentation, but nothing that’ll make you run a mile… unless of course, you can’t bear overtly camp, ridicu-pop.

While ‘Marry The Night’, ‘Electric Chapel’ are reasonable romps and tracks like ‘Hair’ and ‘You & I’ are pretty forgettable, GaGa has the ability to launch into the most glorious, Friday-night lunacy of ‘Scheiße’ – a veritable jackboot to the nuts which has single written all over it. GaGa’s debt to European synthpop is obviously huge and in ‘Bloody Mary’, she’s given a modern slant on the retro-futurism of Vince Clarke and Moroder in their more mid-tempo moments.

It is clear that GaGa doesn’t want to veer too far from her previous work, which is obviously a good thing, especially given the response to her brief jazz sojourn in the live arena recently. Neil Tennant, of Pet Shop Boys fame, once talked about groups having an “imperial phase”, when an artist gives the impression of being able to do no wrong and almost walk on water. GaGa is clearly slap bang in the middle of this imperial patch, seemingly able to summon up brash, outlandish pop music designed to bludgeon you senseless, with an ease which is kinda irritating. ‘Bad Kids’ gives the impression that it was plucked out of thin-air and written in five minutes, nailed in ten, to be enjoyed for a decade.

Despite the shoddy sleeve and occasionally distracting attire that GaGa favours, this album is pretty straightforward in its aims. It could have so easily gone awry, with GaGa keen to show her skills as a supposed ‘real’ musician (the most tiresome fucks on the planet), by delivering ‘Tapestry’ pt2. However, she hasn’t ventured too far from ‘Bad Romance’ or ‘Paparazzi’, which will no doubt thrill the Little Monsters to the point of near sexual-eruption. That’s because they’re all dirty sods. Just as GaGa likes ‘em.

Shot through sleaze and fag-ends, GaGa has once more provided an album that, perhaps in someone else’s hands, would sound pretty ordinary… but in her hands, it is irresistible. We keenly await the inevitable backlash, lukewarm receptions and calls that the singer has hijacked the gay community for her own means, but for now, we’ve got a thrilling LP to deal with and the ever-present expectation that she’s going to appear somewhere, somehow, and make us laugh with some outrageous promotional video or outfit.

Imagine that? Glossy pop with a sense of the absurd and the ability to laugh at itself! Thank fuck GaGa is around to blow the cobwebs out of a world still blighted by worthy rock bands.

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Liam Gallagher is a man who has shown no mercy for absolutely anyone on Earth, including his own reflection. He’s tooted drugs, swilled special brew and had his teeth knocked out while swaggering around like a braying scally faecal hammock, ready to spout off about anything and everything.

Sadly, like most pigeon chested indie frontmen, he doesn’t even come close to having the talent to back up his ego, which invariably makes him all the more likeable or interesting as a pop culture case-study.

However, all that boorish bad boy nonsense could be a thing of the past because now, he’s into sardines and spirituality (which in fairness, sounds like an Oasis LP title).

That’s right! Liam is doing a Lindsay Lohan and sorting himself out! The Beady Eye frontman reckons that his hard living ways are behind him now, as he eyes up being a responsible adult ahead of his 40th birthday next year.

Now with added religion!

He said to a paper behind a paywall, so there’s no point linking to it:

“I’m a spiritual kinda guy. I’m not wearing a sheet and walking down the street banging a tambourine. And I’m not turning into fucking Bono. It’s private. But I’m connected, man. To something.”

“I’m older now. I don’t wanna grow up like a dick. I don’t want to get to 40 and embarrass my kids”

So what’s he up to now then, apart from being a stinkin’ hippie? Well, he’s acting like a stinkin’ hippie.

“It’s great. I run. World to myself. Birds. Trees. No hassle from idiots. With golf, I love making proper contact with that ball. I’m still on the fish. Sardines or salmon. Salad. I feel good. It’s only the cigarettes that really stand in me way.”

Jesus H. We think we preferred him when he was trying to kick the guts out of his shadow and squaring up to lampposts and that.

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If Japan hadn’t suffered enough, last night, they had a gig which featured Beady Eye, Paul Weller and Richard Ashcroft on their consciences too. Someone should do a further benefit gig for them to cope with this newest slop of news.

Even though the gig did a good thing by raising over £150,000 for the victims of the horrifying tsunami and earthquake, that doesn’t mean we should eschew our obligation to mock the collection of awful, awful feathered cod-mod haircuts that were on show.

Not to mention the terrible, plodding, faux-anthemic white boy rock peddled by a bunch of bloated blokes in bootcut jeans.

The assembled numskulls in Ben Sherman shirts whooped and hollered without giving much thought to Japan, rather, more concerned about getting 8 pints of Belgian lager in them as quickly as humanly possible, through a parade of po-faced stadium bloke hits.

The gig was orchestrated by Liam Gallagher and Weller who were really moved by the trouble in Japan, probably because Yoko Ono is from there or summat.

The Beatles featured heavily on this evening of well-intended turd rock with The Coral performing ‘Ticket To Ride’, Paul Weller teaming up with Stereophonics for a grisly take on ‘Come Together’ and Beady Eye closing the show with a vomit inducing ‘Across The Universe’.

In amongst the white men playing guitars were Graham Coxon playing his guitar, as well as Primal Scream playing their guitars.

Frontman Liam Gallagher, a chap notorious for his sympathy toward other humans, dedicated ‘Kill For A Dream’ to “all the people in Japan.” Presumably, it was the moving line of “these dark glasses need something to do” which swung it.

Not a dry gusset in the house etc etc

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Love or loathe him, you’ve got to give it to Liam Gallagher. If there was an award for “laziest person in music,” he’d win the much converted title hands down. All we need to do is look back at the singer’s time spent in Oasis. Well, we say Oasis, in actual fact, the band was nothing more than the workings of sibling Noel Gallagher who recruited some backing musicians and a singer to help him perfect songs and play live.

All Liam Gallagher did in Oasis was tell us “he was mad for it”, made the people of Manchester look like morons and when he didn’t have an album to promote, he’d start pointless arguments, usually making himself look like a prick.

Since Oasis split up, Liam Gallagher has pretty much done what we’ve just mentioned, randomly badmouthing his brother and acting like a tit. But could this all change? He’s since formed a band called Beady Eye which is essentially Oasis but without Noel Gallagher. We didn’t want to risk the wrath of PETA and the RSPCA by testing this album on animals, so we listened to it ourselves.

From the album’s name alone, we weren’t expecting much. Come on, it’s the sort of cod-pretentious stuff that a gathering of hipsters would froth over after sniffing a bottle of cider. Hacking and dissecting it to pieces, a group of bored students would think that “Different Gear, Still Speeding”, could relate to the time in one’s life when everything is bleak, but being positive can put make everything better before having a splurge on daddy’s credit card.

So what about the actual music? Surely we should mention that? Again, we didn’t try to have any preconceptions about the album, but it was difficult not to. Let’s face it, when Oasis released rubbish music ever since they knocked out Definitely Maybe, there was always a similar feel to them and no real sound evolution. It was always evident that they’d been sat around listening to The Beatles and The Rolling Stones just before laying down a butchered riff in the studio.

All they ever ended up producing were piss poor B-side sounding material that said bands wouldn’t even be proud of. Even Ringo Starr and he has no standards.

For Liam Gallagher to reinvent himself as some sort of electro glitch singer in the same vein as Thom Yorke, we weren’t holding our breath. That would require him to burst outside the wet paper bag style of music he’s singing along to for years. Gallagher would probably say something macho like. ‘Yeah man, I’m keeping it fucking real – y’know, guitars and shit. Computers are like fucking geek music, not real at all. Rock ‘n’ roll forever me.’

People don’t listen to albums straight through these days, so we hit shuffle and listened excitedly as the first track from the Beardy Face album came on. Kill For A Dream rolled round the speakers like some sort of delayed farting clap of thunder. The high pitched yelps of the guitar was true to the title’s meaning as the sonic waves of noise smashed us in the chest, leaving us gasping for air and emptying our thoughts. Powerful stuff indeed from the Gallagher brother who must have pricked his finger when stitching his overpriced clobber for Pretty Green. Evidently the inspiration for that particular track.

Dreams seem to be the reoccurring concept on this album as by pure chance, Wind Up Dream came on next. Slightly disappointing unfortunately as the cranky handle of a jack in the box can be heard before Liam Gallagher snarls, “hey you! Stupid! Whiney! Do ya wanna take the red or blue pill?”

This must have been demoed on a studio tech who panicked and swallowed the red escape pill. As you’d expect, the track is the shortest on the album, clocking in at forty three seconds.

It’s certainly a mixed bag from Beardy Lip as there are even a couple of cover versions on the album! Fans of Sonny & Cher will be thrilled to know that Gallagher and his band have had a crack at The Beat Goes On, giving an insight into some folk tinged jazz which is strangely toe-tapping stuff. Now if that hasn’t got you salivating from all areas of the body, you need to prepare yourself for the best cover version from Liam Gallagher’s band, Peter Beardsley’s Right Eye.

Wigwam might sound like an innocent song about the things native Americans sleep in, but in fact, it’s a tribute to Liam Gallagher’s favourite ever song, Wigwam Bam by Sweet. The original lyrics still make us smile and Gallagher has even put some effort in so he doesn’t sound like he’s singing with a blocked nose with tissue shoved up it. Manic stuff indeed and a fun upbeat way to end the album on.

You’ll be pleased to know that this was better than we expected it to be and Liam Gallagher has done everything from soul drenched blues rock to the using of door handles and vacuum cleaners. We’ll hold our hands up and say Breaded Eyesore have released an okay first album.

Bravo chaps!

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Sixties and seventies revivalism is, for the most part, such an ugly thing. As fun as the Super Furry Animals are, you have to endure the insufferable Ocean Colour Scene, Oasis and Kula Shaker (and, clearly, this requires a reviewer to be stuck in some ’90s mindset… don’t worry, it gets better).

Of late though, there’s been a batch of bands seeping through the cracks to bring that authentic ’60s sound and, most importantly, a degree of playfulness that made the best of the ’60s so much fun to listen to.

No-one wants a po-faced axeman chopping out endless 12 bar blues. The best revivalists get stuck into the dressing up box and mess with every dial in the studio to create kaleidoscopic toytown symphonies… and Colorama are stuck in this wonderful world of make-believe.The musical heartbeat behind Colorama is the obscenely talented Carwyn Ellis who has cut his chops with a number of established musicians like Edwyn Collins, Shane MacGowan and the aforementioned Gallagher brothers, however, it’s when he’s in his Colorama cloak that we get to see what he’s really capable of.

Along with bands like The Junipers, The Maladies of Bellafontaine, The Postmarks and the sadly defunct Beep Seals, Colorama is pushing for the other-wordly playtime of British psychedelia. When Brian Wilson hears all these bands, he’ll know that all those nervous breakdowns were worth it.

After a fistful of ace releases, Colorama finally get ’round to releasing a proper full-length album. There’s a lot to live up to as well, as anyone who heard early single ‘Sound’ will testify (which, coupled with the b-side, showed someone appallingly fully-formed).

And this new record won’t dent the reputation of Colorama at all.

It switches between achingly lovely music-box folk to fun popsike, as well as making time for some moody, fairytale-dark numbers that paint all manner of images in that brain of yours. It really is a very, very good piece of work.

Title track ‘Box’ and single ‘Candy Street’ are unashamedly cheery, which between them crib notes from Pepperland era Beatles, Harry Nilsson, Teenage Fanclub at their most Byrdsy while songs like ‘Autumnal’ and ‘Mynydd Hud (Magic Mountain’) have the echoes of Meic Stevens and the pleasing weariness of Ray Davies.

As the nights draw in and get darker and colder, Colorama’s ‘Box’ is the album that will simultaneously soundtrack eerie night-walks and give you a shot of sunshine right in the arm.

For fans of the ’60s underground, there’s a lot to love about this album and, for everyone else, this LP is teaming with great hooks, ear-worm melodies and enough in the layers to keep you intrigued for a good while yet. Sure, this is an album steeped in an era long gone, but it has enough about it to maintain a relevance in 2010.

You need this album. Hibernating never sounded more fun than this.

Hear a preview of the album here.

Colorama ‘Box’ is release 1st November on See Monkey Do Monkey Recordings.

Hey look! It’s him out of The Verve. You know, the band that shifted the opinions of a nation full of lager swilling blokes in to opening up their emotions after hearing a small piece of orchestral music sampled from a Stones cover. Whilst we’re all for musical diversity and the like, it annoyingly made for pointless singalongs at festivals and woke thousands up when morons sang the melody through the quiet evening streets.

After The Verve split, Richard Ashcroft decided to go it alone by himself and make records that kind of sounded like The Verve but never quite got there. Imagine a toddler trying to walk but falling over. Achievement nearly reached, but sadly it didn’t work. Though we still enjoyed his solo stuff but would settle for it over anything from X-Factor [Speak for yourself - Ed.]. Now he’s back after ironically reforming The Verve for nostalgic festival appearances. Then they split again. Hmm, we guess Richard never knows what’s going to happen next. Isn’t he crazy?

Cue the red siren and a loud shrieking noise.

We can thankfully report that this isn’t a solo album from a member of a successful indie band who has gone all electronic on us. Not there is anything wrong with Thom Yorke and Kele (from Bloc Party’s) recent output, but anything resembling a Casio keyboard on a Richard Ashcroft solo album would sound totally out of place – kind of like a sober Paul Gasgoine. The reason being that he isn’t associated with music that comes out of machines.

In fact, this Richard Ashcroft album took us by surprise. Of course, assumptions got the better of us and with an album entitled United Nations Of Sound; we expected a strange collection of world music ranging from traditional Amazonian ceremonial tribe music sandwiched between recordings of underwater crab mating rituals to push experimentation that little bit further.

But no, what we find here is an album that has been genuinely well worked upon in studios across the world. The assumption that this has been done in a bedroom studio in Brixton can’t be taken at all. From Los Angeles to New York, part of the process has been taken out here. And overall what the album gives is a warm feeling of genuine passion and flare.

However, with this record comes with some aspects of past nineties elements that some may wish to regret.

In the track Born Again there seems to be a certain point where the vocal descends in to drunken festival shriek and Ashcroft is trying to communicate to us, encouraging the ropey sing a long where no-one bothers. Urging us to almost shout and prance around with the record is weird. However we would do this after multiple pints of super strength foreign lager.

One of the most exciting parts of the record is the use of the string section that develops a depth to the recording process. Working with instruments isn’t as easy as plucking a guitar in a kitchen whilst sipping a coffee. Genuine thought and care has gone in to this and we do appreciate the efforts that Richard Ashcroft has produced.

Is it worth your money? Yes, because the well known tones and style of Ashcroft still shines through but the initial fears of string instruments through hardcore indie lovers will be met with heart warming melodies that will win them over.

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Aimlessly listening to daytime Radio 1 can sometimes cause the tear ducts in your eyes to open and cover you in salty water.

The endless supply of diluted American hip-hop does nothing but confuse and annoy us. Instead of chugging down a bottle of $1000 champagne, we have to do with buy one get one free Lucozade.

Failing that, we’ll be presented with another new indie band who’ll take their influences from the exact same acts as everyone else. Original? No not, really. If anything it makes us look further afield for albums that aren’t afraid to do something different from the norm. Like, say, If You Were Fruit by The Lovely Eggs.

The Lovely Eggs have been on our radar since the end of last year. Since our initial warning of how immensely fun addictive their sound is, the band have been busy in the studio readying new tracks. After boiling, scrambling, poaching and frying up various songs, their debut album is finally ready for us to consume.

A few songs have been reheated and plonked on from previous releases that are becoming harder to find. I Like Birds (But I Like Other Animals Too) and Have You Ever Heard A Digital Accordion? return to make sure that people don’t miss out. The earlier records these songs originally featured on may soon be impossible to buy.

Comparing The Lovely Eggs to The White Stripes and The Ting Tings is only one way of giving you an idea of what they’re about. Quite literally, the only thing they have in common is that all three bands have one boy and one girl in the band. Unlike The White Stripes, Holly and David are an actual couple and haven’t got any sort of confusing brother and sister incest rumours going on.

It’s not just ye olde guitars, vocals and drums that the duo use. Samples of dogs, cans of drink being popped, bicycle bells, hums of bumble bees and glockenspiel are also included to create a 14-track debut album that clogs our heads with singalong lyrics and hooks that we can’t stop whistling. Sorry about that people in the library, don’t blame us.

Lyrically, the songs have no agenda. There is no insight into how The Lovely Eggs think the UK prison system should work, or how they would distribute taxpayers money. Instead, we hear how Holly and David sweat over cooking something for mice who have come to tea, whales swimming in the sea and cars that are red. If you are looking for an album that doesn’t take itself seriously, wants to have fun and doesn’t have any ego attached to it, this record is for you.

Out there at the moment, we are treated with music that tries to take itself seriously and subject matter that popstars shouldn’t be dealing with. Hooray for you and your ability to strum a guitar, we don’t need lectures in how to dispose of milk cartons.

Go and buy this bloody terrific album right now

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