Sergeant

NME once described this jolly gang of teenage indie-pups as 'the most exciting band in Scotland'. At first this seemed like quite a bold shout. Glasvegas had just begun their long journey to the top and The View still seemed set on destroying, drinking and snorting anything in their path. Scotland was flourishing in the rock and roll world, and after chatting to Kieren Webster from the View of their recent tour he assured me that local bands like The Law were also destined for great things.

Since this statement, however, Sergeant have gone a little quiet. It's not irregular for this to happen, I mean, how many bands have we seen set for the mystical rock and roll fairytale only to fall flat on the face of their shoddy debut effort that promised everything and delivered nothing. The odd thing here though, is this is not the case for Sergeant. After the release of 'K-OK' they didn't stop. April saw the release of their second single 'Sunshine' followed by 'Swiftly Does It' and more recently 'Counting Down The Days' which was released on their own label, Shy Recordings.

Now, while The View are far from manic depressives the chirpy jingle-jangle of Sergeant makes them look like funeral directors. 'Sunshine' was an exploding bowl of sweet loveliness in which Nick Mercer's yappy little vocals squeezed all the happy-go-lucky juice from your now-slightly-better-day. Youthful and optimistic, the La's-esqe twinkle of this song looked on life in a positive way - be happy with what you got and live your life to its full potential is the general idea, except in a more sincere and poetic manor that at no point sounds like the dying teen-hood of a pub drunk who had it all and lost it.

The most recent Sergeant drop of poppy goodness comes in the form of 'Counting Down The Days'. Released earlier this month their fourth single sees Mercers vocals sound a little less Scottish and a bit more Scouse but really doesn't bother me. He's got a catchy and tuneful gob and he's more than capable of penning a tip-top pop song, so this combined with flashes of The Coral and Lee Mavers genius, they could become quite the sensation.

'Away With The Fairies' is an unreleased track that will appear on the bands debut album later this year - I think! It's a delicate, homely blossoming bubble of lovable and innocent lyrics. 'You know you got a problem, when you show no signs of stopping, and you end up in the kitchen sink' sings Mercer. It's the sort of teenage escapist skit that sees you day dream the day away.

I'm excited about the album, as should you be, because I think the joyful spark of Sergeant is about to really catch fire!

Download sergeant - Away With The Fairies

Arctic Monkeys - Humbug

The Mojave Desert in South Eastern California is one of North America’s most popular tourist spots. Its scenic beauty and dusty open landscape is home to countless native plants, four picturesque national parks, a handful of lavish lakes, the Hover Dam and the gambling gutter of the universe, Las Vegas. More recently however, Sheffield’s finest export, the Arctic Monkeys, found solitude and stimulation on those very plains. But what were Turner and co doing 5258 miles from their Yorkshire turf?

Located in the sandy scenes of the Mojave is a small house that’s since been converted into a mystical desert beacon for inspiration-searching musicians. Owned and manned by Josh Holme of Queens Of The Stone Age, the Joshua Tree Studio became a visionary symbol of hope for the Arctic Monkeys whose overseas pilgrimage changed the sound of a band who, on their third full length studio effort, have returned home darker and ready to take on the world, one again.

In the music industry, like in fashion and technology for instance, focus is often jaunted. Don’t get me wrong, nostalgia is a wonderful thing, it really is, but instead of looking in the caldron of the past for inspiration the Arctic Monkeys have done something completely different. Their new record, ‘Humbug’, takes a full-fronted leap into the future as a visionary statement of their relentless creativity and hunger to blossom and grow as a band whose ambition knows no boundaries.

The development from album number one to number two was obvious. They showed an ability to flourish given their own space. From a chipper, upbeat debut of social commentary to a more experimental collection of slightly darker songs, heavier guitars and an atmospheric album closer, they’ve always been a sprightly bunch. Growing closer over the years has allowed the band to become a tighter unit, but ‘Humbug’ comes as a surprise. Enter the haunting operatic-rock growl of a new, better Arctic Monkeys.

‘Pretty Visitors’ picks up certain attributes from b-side ‘Nettles’ with it’s roughly tripped out riffs and undeniable lyrical wisdom. Choir-like hollow chants bellow during a very metal-ish breakdown and all those ’Black Sabbath’ comments of Turner’s begin to make sense. The record’s first single, ’Crying Lightening’ displays the grandiose ability of this urban poet with it’s darkly romantic playground twinkle, developing from the well constructed social observations we’ve previously heard from the wordsmith, the lyrics become sharper, edgier and unaffected by preconceptions.


Influences for this album vary. ‘Secret Door’ bellows Turner’s distain for the celebrity lifestyle, the red carpet and the fickle characters whose friend-on-recognition ethos will be short lived. Taking a guess and stating that this ballad-like swoon is about Miss Alexa Chung would not be too far fetched, ‘Grabbed my hand and made it very clear, there’s absolutely nothing for us here’ sings Turner as he labels these monotonous paparazzi mugs ‘Fools on parade’.

‘Dance Little Liar’ changes direction once again with a light gothic-like psych approach, while ‘Corner Stone’ marks Turner as truly being a man in love. Not being one for the spotlight, it’s sometimes hard to determine the cynical sarcasm of this band which at first appears like rudeness. We’ve all seen the awkward interviews and carefree replies but as a front man and lyricist, Alex Turner has poured some of his finest written literature into these songs.

Holmes input on this album is clear. His ability to adapt as an inventive artist and exude enthusiasm has allowed the Arctics to open previously unexpected doors, but he cannot receive all the praise. The record’s final track, ‘The Jeweller’s Hands’, embeds itself as yet another show stopping album closer for this band. It’s eerie glare and glockenspiel underbelly are ghostly to say the least, but they prove to be no match for Turner's scribbled down thoughts. He’s matured from tales of backstreet boozing and barnies over birds into a man who views the world in a very unique way and tells it better than anyone.

To get taken back by a record is rare. The last time something this innovative hit the shelves was in 2006 and Jon McClure’s brother was on the front of it. This time round though, it’s not going to be such a smooth ride. To all those who adored the whimsical penning’s of the bands debut be prepared for something utterly different. It’s an album that shows a band restless with staying stagnant and safe in what they know. It’s a documentation of growth and excitement, an interesting spectacle of musical evolution that’s not protected or secure with its standard stylistic novelties. The boys may be a little apprehensive with the release of this album, but know this, the determination and drive of their tentative and experimental third effort will not necessarily be what you expect, all the same, the beauty of this haunting squeeze is going to be inescapable and irrefutable.

New Editor of NME announced!

Despite your preconceptions of this publication you cannot dispute that this magazine has buried its legacy deep within the industry we love so much. It's bean a beacon of literary and musical genius since its birth in 1952, inspiring writers and musicians alike to live out their wildest rock and roll fantasy's on a weekly basis.

And now, after seven years at the magazine, Conor McNicholas will be leaving. His replacement is one of my favourite NME writers ever. Her fresh take on things and inspirational perspectives are partly what inspired me to write about music. She's a creative and articulate visionary within the music industry who will certainly prove herself to be a worthy editor!

I for one cannot wait to see what Krissi Murrison does with the magazine!

The Dead Weather - Horehound

What exactly do we know about Jack White? Well he's a restless oddball for starters. Since ditching that fetching outfit of red trousers and a red t-shirt he's not only started to change up his wardrobe but his music's taken a bit of a shaking as well.

After ditching Meg White for a bit of Brenden Benson and forming The Raconteurs, White began to show his hunger to grow as a musician. Where the Stripes were far from a non-experimental straight-down-the-line outfit, it seemed sensible for the Detroit eccentric to embark on pastures that would allow him to create something greater.

Alongside Benson and Jack Lawrence, White seemed to flourish. The Raconteurs were, and still are, a solid gang of musical outlaws. But as fidgety as ever, that clearly wasn't enough for Jack. He has an outlet that needs to be exposed, a creative flare of rock and roll that he needs to release, and where the rough-scuzzy edge of the White Stripes was a little hiatus in the Raconteurs Jack has once again embarked on another mission, a dirty bluesy-punk one. Enter The Dead Weather.

Miss Alison Mosshart of The Kills, the modern lady of rock'n'roll (that's right, screw you Ditto!), fronts the band as White, Jack Lawrence and Dean Fertita (Queen of the Stone Age) swap instruments and band roles like young'uns swap football stickers.

Taking this project by the horns, the band cut the CD in just three weeks, stripping the production process back to basics and leaving those unpolished edges as rough as you can without sounding like a self-produced Babyshambles album.

The term 'super group' has been used countless times to label this band, with White undoubtedly being the focal point of these descriptions. He's clearly the most accomplished musician in the group, and maybe for some, the reason why you may purchase this record. But let it be known! Mosshart is the character who clearly comes to form. The dirtbag biker howl of the Kills frontlady casts darkness over this album. Mossheart's screach is followed by a gloomy, satanist storm-cloud that casts a shadow over the beating heart of the Dead Weathers mystical collaborative cult, elevating you to the Arcadian alt-punk heavens and back down to the damp corners of depressive loneliness.

The devilsh squeal on 'New Pony' is as menacing as the guitar growls that scale its gritty surface, while 'Treat Me Like Your Mother' intensifies the icky thump-ness of White's unforgettable two-piece past. 'I Cut Like A Buffalo' provides an unexpected funky edge to a seemingly carnage-causing record as it's rippling guitar-organ bubbles like a cauldron of funk-punk filth.

Sorting the record in three weeks was an ambitious effort. It's easy to appreciate the jagged brink of this album because over production usually means over kill, but it's the songs that lack that certain dazzle. 'So Far From Your Weapon' is almost there with it's underhanded psych-echo but it soon becomes hard to distinguish, or really remember the songs. At first it's an exciting piece of work. Exploding with noise and an undeniable rock ethic but the tracks leave little long-lasting, memorable effects.

Once your in 'Horehound' you're a frantic mess, excited and taken back by its forceful blow, but once you're of the express train, it leaves you sitting comfortably wondering what was that last Dead Weather track called?

Monkey's Escape!

So the inevitable has happened. A handful of songs from the Arctic Monkey's forthcoming third studio album, 'Humbug', have leaked on to the web.

The three tracks are: 'Secret Door', 'Dance Little Liar' and 'Pretty Visitors'.

If there's one thing to be said about the songs, and the Monkey's themselves, it's that they never, and i mean never, fail to progress as a band. These three songs demonstrate an ability to learn and develop. The musical maturity and experimental darkness heard on these tracks is overwhelmingly comforting because it's the sound of a band who don't stagnant themselves with what they know.

'Favourite Worst Nightmare' was a totally different sound from 'Whatever people...' and 'Humbug' doesn't even come close to sounding like either.

'Secret Door' grows throughout and develops into a Shirley Bassey like champagne-sipping ballad. Escalating to a late 80s/ early 90s crest of swooning strings and undeniably Turner-esqe lyrics, it truly is a bit of a masterpiece.

'Pretty Visitors' is a dark-distorted rock-thrash. It looms in the shadow of b-side 'Nettles' as Turner states 'What came first? the chicken or the dickhead?'. There's a very Queens breakdown mid-way with ghostly choir echos, complemented by the haunting howl of a very church-like organ. You're able to see what Josh Holme actually bought to the production of this track. His warped mindset has assisted in creating a scuzzy-gloom ridden rock'n'smash Monkey's track that sounds, well, fucking amazing.

Reverend And The Makers - A French Kiss In The Chaos

Where on God's green earth do you begin with Jon McClure? The man's undoubtedly had his fair share of ups and downs, just take a look at the facts: He's been mentioned alongside fellow Sheffield musician's the Arctic Monkey's more times than Alexa Chung, he's been both shunned and praised for his knighthood worthy political uprising and he's even entered the odd charity football game with money-struggling ex-libertine, Carl Barat. It's no wonder the Rev went hiatus with Mongrel, every time he's mentioned it appears his music is no where to be seen.

McClure was under pressure. 'The State Of Things' received a tough critique from the publications who previously praised him, his fans and in some cases, himself. But lets be honest, it actually wasn't that bad. 'Open Your Window' and 'Heavyweight Champion...' were solid pop motifs in which McClure bellowed rather proudly. Perhaps his bark, or rather the press' perceived self-proclaimed bark, was not in fact as big as his bite. Despite this his sturdy first effort still gets the indie disco kids a'groovin', whether they like to admit it or not.

Just under two years later and his overdue second input has arrived. The Rev's had time to grow since 2007, developing as a prominent figure in both music and politics, not to mention his transformation to UK hip hop father figure, all of which have evidently not only had an effect on his lyrics and his ideologies but also his music.

The opening post-Stone Roses psychedelia of 'Silence Is Talking' basks in technicolour-dance beats with hints of Hindi and Happy Mondays. Sampling 'Low Rider' by War its familiarity will not go unnoticed, but it doesn't seem recycled. It's an up-tempo summery skit that sees McClure setting the album bench mark rather high, with mixed follow ups.

'Hidden Persuaders' is a little draining. We all know that the Rev has had his finger on the political pulse for a while now, and although his successful and rather inspiring appearance on Question Time was a poignant one, this song lacks the passion seen on such television exhibitions - with the social commentary on 'Manifesto/ People Shapers' continuing along this execution-absent trail. The ideas and the lyrics are there but the anger and distress for the spiralling control of the BNP and racist dicks alike is a little ghostly.

McClure seems to find it hard to write a political orientated anthems that rally against the fucked up and the twisted. These songs are almost there, but there's a lack of anger, I mean, he's pissed off at these people, like, really pissed off, but he doesn't come across like that on record. He drawls in a slouchy manor at times and keeps the fire and the fury a bit too secure within himself. Where we expected bellowing outrage and uncontrollable vexation we got a restricted storm that leaves us thinking that McClure still has a lot more to offer.

'Long Long Time', however, is something different, something of distinct beauty. A subtle acoustic Noel-like song that shows McClure's song writing is best when it's about the things that make your heart ache and your longing soul tremble, quickly followed up by 'No Soap In A Dirty War', the album's pinnacle point. Flowing with finesse and that ever-eloping passion we've been searching for, McClure takes the wheels off the anti-government accelerator and hops onto a romantic crest of harmonic group vocals that weep with melody and escapism as he sings 'I don't want to die in the same hole I was born' in a loving chorus that ups the credentials of this album from a six out to ten to a solid seven.

Not one to quash his original intentions, McClure returns to a politico-charged album closer, but wait! it's fucking fantastic! Alluring and graceful, 'Hard Time For Dreamers' ponders the potential end of the world beneath the mushroom clouds of nuclear missiles and inter-country invasions. Mentions of World War Three and the collapse of both the enviroment and the government seem a little far fetched, but you know what? this is the heart-pouring anthemic rant we wanted from McClure. It's a powerful ending to the album, but whether it was enough to solidify the Rev's greatness is unclear.

What was promised was not quite what we got, but it wasn't far off! Where 'The State...' lacked the anarchic angst that we were expecting, we become a little stuck with 'A French Kiss...' because it's packed full of it, the problem being maybe a little too much. When McClure is at his peak of song writing he's untouchable. A witty and articulate Sheffield messiah who could quite easily tackle countless indie bands to the ground, but when he gets all high and mighty it becomes a little insincere, despite the fact that it really isn't! This is a step forward from his debut, a real fucking giant leap in fact, leaving you thinking that McClure has a lot more to offer, but this will keep us occupied for now.

Slow Weekend Away

So there have been no posts since Friday. I've just had a weekend away staying at a mate's house up in East London, a nice break from the solitude of Uckfield.

This week's going to be full on. There will be a number of new bands featuring on the site, some new downloads and some new reviews. I also intend to write a feature on the dying Romanticism of music journalism, nostalgia vs cliche or something along those lines.

I suppose I would be classed as a bit old fashioned in my perspectives of certain aspects of music, music journalism and the music industry, but I guess you can be the judge of that later in the week. The reason for me writing this article is that I've been listening to The Byrds and Lyrnyrd Skynyrd quite a bit and I'm feeling a little Cameron Crowe, yet far from being able to write like the man!

So, this week will involve a lot more productivity, hopefully with a successful outcome as I still search for a post-uni job. Tough one.