THIS WEEK’S NEW ALBUMS REVIEWED | FEATURE
Book Of Curses (What’s Your Rupture?)
A quarter of a century is a fair while to be out of the game, but that’s how much time passed between riot grrrl flagbearers Huggy Bear splitting (1994) and Chris Rowley kicking off this project (2019). Two of his new bandmates, John Arthur Webb and Kevin Hendrick (both formerly of punk scrappers Male Bonding) had already enjoyed an unlikely collaboration with Weezer’s Rivers Cuomo and clearly weren’t about to let the opportunity to work with another hero pass them by.
The quartet’s debut, brimful with explosive two-minute tantrums, goes to show that the collective impulse to make a righteous racket remains strong. Book Of Curses peaks prematurely with first track (and lead single) County Pride, but Stevie K and Clean (But Itchy) especially are testament to the enduring thrill of a good ol’ cathartic thrash-along. Here’s hoping these songs are reverberating around the darkened basement venues that are their natural habitat before too long.
words BEN WOOLHEAD
I Owe It All To You (Decca)
There’s no Goldfinger or Diamonds Are Forever (though there’s a Bondian overture that teases you into thinking there will be). No need. Been there, done that. Why mess with perfection? Shirley Bassey’s [pictured] first new album in over five years is described as a “grand finale” dedicated to her fans and the title-track single, penned by Don Black, is an especially touching paean to them.
The divine diva, 83, puts 20-somethings to shame with her still stunning powerhouse vocals gracing songs made famous by Queen, Liza, Manilow, Charlie Chaplin, Lady Gaga, Elvis and John Miles, set to sumptuous orchestral arrangements. The kickier, big-band, Sinatra-style swingers Almost Like Being In Love and You Ain’t Heard Nothing Yet lighten the mood, and Look But Don’t Touch is a slice of 60s style soul/pop/bossa nova with a wild Hammond organ and horns that wouldn’t sound out of place on an Austin Powers soundtrack.
Bassey’s sublime singing on I Was Here and Albinoni’s Adagio, a breathtaking classical piece, sends shivers. With the former, she’s sparer and subtler than Beyoncé without sacrificing heart. With a career of almost 70 years, is this really The Girl From Tiger Bay’s vinyl swansong? Say it isn’t so, Dame Shirley…
words RHONDA LEE REALI
Didn’t You Hear OST / Black Mass / The Unexplained / Music From Patch Cord Productions (Sacred Bones)
The pop-occult may not be the most densely populated genre ever dreamt up, but the name Mort Garson is held in high esteem within its admittedly niche canon. From the late 1960s through to the mid-70s, a handful of mostly studio-bound experimenters took the seemingly limitless potential of newly minted synthesisers and home-built electronics into some fairly esoteric directions, from the BBC Radiophonic Workshop’s White Noise project to Bruce Haack’s psychedelic mind-mash The Electric Lucifer.
Mort Garson’s increasingly hard-to-find albums of the same time followed similar themes. Black Mass and The Unexplained (credited respectively to Lucifer and Ataraxia) are two of the most sought after and beloved: now, after much hard work, these two albums are back on the racks thanks to the always excellent Sacred Bones. As well as the two eldritch gems already mentioned, the label has also uncovered an atmospheric soundtrack entitled Didn’t You Hear – which conjures images of a Giallo movie set in space – and, most impressively, a newly assembled compilation entitled Music From Patch Cord Productions which collects disparate, rare and unheard Garson compositions.
Taken as a whole, these four albums portray a restless figure flitting from Hammer-style ghoulish synth pieces to more Morricone-esque flights of Italo-eroticism, as can be heard on the brilliant and utterly hilarious Cathedral Of Pleasure, whilst the title track of Didn’t You Hear is like something straight out of Paul Williams’ songbook. Mort Garson’s influence looms large in the output of many later retro-futurists, be it Broadcast’s knowing nods or cinema’s recent penchant for folk horror, and these releases should be a timely reminder to those who need it of this man’s ability to generate musical spectres.
words ADAM JONES
Cannot Be, Whatsoever (AllPoints)
To label south Wales artist Novo Amor, aka Ali Lacey, as simply another singer-songwriter would undoubtedly be to do them an enormous disservice. Cardiff-born, while drawing considerable influence from a substantial period spent living in America, Cannot Be, Whatsoever is his second album – and credit where it’s due, it’s hard to dislike.
From the almost jaunty piano opening of Opaline through to the more organic tones of Guestbook, this release carries throughout a brand of dreamy indie-pop that sounds like the bastard child of Caribou and Passion Pit, with a dash of Conor Oberst thrown in for good measure. Flowing seamlessly from track to track like a long, lazy summer, there’s enough on offer here to soundtrack pensive moments of nostalgia, and some delightful falsetto harmonies over quirky piano and synthesiser breaks are sure to suck you in. Cannot Be, Whatsoever may not break any new ground, but is a fine example of how to produce something breezy, thought-provoking and instantly enjoyable.
words JIM SWIDENBANK
Some Kind Of Peace (Decca)
Ólafur Arnalds takes further strides towards supreme enlightenment, honing his cinematic music – as featured in Broadchurch and Hunger Games – to serene perfection on his fifth album. Some Kind Of Peace, an album of sanguine reflection, was completed during lockdown in his Reykjavik harbour studio, again suggesting there’s something in the air in Iceland which inspires such rarified elemental music.
After camping with Bonobo in the Icelandic highlands, Loom resulted: one of the more electronic pieces on the joy of living in the moment, a Harmonia-esque orbital synth is shrouded in static and blended seamlessly into piano, a collage of pitchshifting vocals coming into focus. Spiral is all (heart)strings and distorted piano, and a mysterious monitor hiss hinting at something personal. The fingerclicks, ticker tape and tiptoeing drumbeat of Back To The Sky feature JFDR, another Icelandic musician, tenderly singing “Then when the stars align / With some kind of peace / I know I’m loved by you either way”; better still is the regenerative The Bottom Line, strings swelling as Josin sings “This is the bottom line, now you’re open.”
Zero is a weightless ambient composition with an intensifying perpetual choir, which slowly fades out into a dub effect. New Grass is the neoclassical sound of spring melting away the snow of winter. We Contain Multitudes, about the many contradictory facets of our personality, wraps a beautiful piano melody in gauze, subtle metronomic ticking in the ether. The humanity in this album, part of a golden era of modern composition, grants us the privilege of finding stillness and tranquillity, while the world rages and collapses all around us.
words CHRIS SEAL