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Ida Maria - Fortress Round My Heart

Ida Maria Sivertsen, like her fellow Scandinavian Lykke Li Zachrisson, has been receiving her fair share of press attention lately. Like Zachrisson, she's a young, sassy, twentysomething woman, with an impressive command of the English language and a compelling grasp of a pop melody. Where the two differ, however, is in their approach to writing. Ida Maria shuns her contemporary's penchant for experimentation; she's is an out-and-out rock chick, and isn't afraid to show it, either. Her reputation precedes her, somewhat, too: her energetic on-stage antics - which once reportedly left her with several cracked ribs - often draw comparisons with a Lovefoxxx/Winehouse hybrid. Vocally, Ida Maria falls somewhere between the chirpy warmth of Kate Nash and Kirsty MacColl with a 60-a-day fag habit, with a dash of Debbie Harry thrown in for good measure. In fact, Blondie are an apt reference point; there are generous sprinklings of new wave throughout Fortress Round My Heart, especially on the likeable Drive Away My Heart and the uber-enthusiastic glam of I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked. For the most part, though, this is a succinct collection of uptempo, guitar-driven, well-played pop/rock songs, which peaks with the impossibly catchy brace of Louie and Stella - the latter, a track so familiar-sounding that it'll drive you barmy wondering where that jangly hook comes from. The Pretenders, perhaps? Fortress Round My Heart won't win any prizes for originality or innovation, and Ida Maria does come close to 'female Jack Penate' comparisons on more than one occasion. As debut albums go, though, it's a likeable, catchy and well-produced exercise in guitar-pop.

Beck - Modern Guilt

Could it be for real? Beck, a musician renowned for kooky indie experimentation of the highest order, having his new album overseen by Danger Mouse, innovator and producer of same? When news of Modern Guilt was dropped just a couple of months before its release, expectations were high due to the attached names alone. And after almost twenty years in the business, Beck Hansen still knows how to stir things up, even if there's scant material here that'll really blow you away. Danger Mouse's influence is palpable at times; the last Gnarls Barkley album was a bleak, dark affair and Brian Burton has brought an equal measure of that starkness to parts of Modern Guilt - in particular, on Walls (one of two tracks that feature Cat Power), while Gamma Ray adapts the same chugging, hip-snaking funk foundation that his band have built their sound upon. If nothing else, however, Beck has used Modern Guilt to once again, display his knack for sonic diversity. The title track is a neat, taut piano-pop song reminiscent of Ben Folds, Chemtrails' slumber-rock hints at southern rock, while others, like Profanity Prayers and Youthless recall Hansen's fuzzy old-school, lo-fi stylings. It's Replica that's the most interesting recording here, however; a mish-mash of detached, spacey electronica and glitchy tempo changes that would make Radiohead envious, it's a brilliant culmination of styles and ideas, and works particularly well. For the most part, the same can be said of the album: solid, if not completely enthralling throughout.

Dirty Pretty Things - Romance at Short Notice

The fact that Dirty Pretty Things frontman Carl Barat has been recently talking up a Libertines reunion - right around the release of his current band's second album, in fact - speaks louder than any review could. Since the demise of his vehicle to fame and fortune, the singer/guitarist has been constantly chasing the coat-tails of Pete Doherty, regardless of the latter's coherence or talent. But then, that's Dirty Pretty Things all over. Their 2006 debut Waterloo to Anywhere was an album that lamented the 'good ol' days of yore', and 'Romance at Short Notice' is no different. Barat has developed little as a songwriter: thematically, he's seemingly incapable of a varied palate, and is still insistently hawking the same sub-Libertines babble - i.e. lyrics which may trip soundly off the tongue, but make little sense ("Parafin, Anadin, sick as disguise / So we take our snappy patterns, and use them as knives"). There's little in the way of musical growth here either, although it's certainly not as bad as their debut. Proceedings are even kicked off promisingly with Buzzards and Crows, a theatrical rock romp, before descending into the scratchy guitar riff/jaunty chorus/drawling vocals formula that's as tiresome as it is hackneyed. Acoustic-led ballads Come Closer and Faultlines are especially drab, although reparations are temporarily made with the grinding, grumbling bounce of Kicks or Consumption - even if it does sound like Klaxons without the synths. Overall, though, Romance at Short Notice serves no purpose other than to exhibit Dirty Pretty Things as the unequivocally average band that they are. Libertines reunion? Sounds better with every listen.

Santogold - Santogold

As Santi White she's a successful music producer and pop songwriter. As Santogold, she is an "artiste," and one, it seems, with a bit of a point to prove. Lyrics here (e.g. Sit tight I know what you are/mad bright but you aint no star - Creator) suggest that White has become somewhat disillusioned with the industry "machine," as it were. Having just released a cover of The Clash's Guns of Brixton (re-titled Guns of Brooklyn) with producer Diplo, her appreciation for all genres of music and her ability to move between them remain in striking evidence. Punk, hip-hop, dub, reggae and good old fashioned rock all feature here, and in no minute way either. Debut single Creator successfully combines African rhythms with submarine-like electronics to grabbing effect. L.E.S Artistes is a perfect example of down-tempo new-wave electro-indie. Say Aha's reggae backdrop melts into a surreal "The Good, The Bad & The Ugly" style break while Lights Out and I'm A Lady are clearly punk-rock influenced. The result is impressive, admirable, but does raise the question of who this album is aimed at. If no-one, then what we're dealing with can hardly be termed pop. For someone with White's pop songwriting experience, labelled "The queen of all pop in 2008" by NME, this isn't as catchy as it should be. The overall listenability is tarnished by the likes of Shove It's tuneless derivative chorus, Unstoppable's 3mins33 of relentless repetition and a redundant remix of You'll Find A Way. The fact is, this could more accurately be described as "anti-pop" - the appeal of pop music with an entirely different set of ideals and credibility! Again, admirable, and even more ironic then, or perhaps wholly apt, that it should receive such commercial success.

Wild Beasts - Limbo, Panto

Wild Beasts are weirdos. In a deliciously macabre, fascinatingly quaint way, the Leeds-based quartet - averaging an age of 21, if reports are to believed - seem like the type of young men that frequent the Reptile Room of their local zoo, are obsessed with Jack the Ripper folklore, and have a habit of speaking only in Dickensian dialect. Whether those assumptions are true or not is irrelevant, though; whatever their hobbies, Wild Beasts have slung forth one of the most exciting debuts of the year so far. The latter half of Limbo, Panto's title is an apt description of what's contained within; there's a thick vein of theatrics running through this album, even though its heart beats pure pop - and while frontman Hayden Thorpe's beautiful vocals have been most often compared to Antony Hegarty (they do share the same idiosyncratic nasal warble), you wouldn't catch Hegarty singing lines like "When I'm utter putty, I'm wetblanketfully lay lumpen / I feel red hot heart's heat beneath left teat a thumpin'". With lyrics that require scrutiny, but aren't clever-clever, Thorpe's mastery of songwriting is made even more apparent by his band's soundtrack - a mixture of dreamy, lilting '80s pop (Woebegone Wanderers' bassline is straight out of an Orange Juice song, and the clinking, chugging The Devil's Crayon references Tears for Fears at times), Tom Waits-meets-Merlin at Stonehenge (The Club of Fathomless Love), and glamorous, folky pop, best showcased on Cheerio Chaps, Cheerio. Wild Beasts are, thankfully, a total bunch of weirdos - weirdos who are making truly clever, truly individual pop music. Don't let this brilliant demonstration of it slip under your radar.

Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes

Since Fleet Foxes released their Sun Giant EP in February, word has been steadily building about their eponymous full-length debut, and how it may just be one of this year's best. Indeed, it's been hailed by some weak-kneed jounalists as 'adventurous', 'rapturous' and 'timeless', with one publication even declaring it 'a landmark in American music'. For once, you can believe the hype; Fleet Foxes is undoubtedly a stunning album - even more so, considering it's the young Seattle band's debut. One of the most striking things about Fleet Foxes is their ability to evoke such vivid mental vistas through their music; over the course of thirty-seven minutes, you'll be transported to a dusty dead-end of the Grand Canyon on a blazing hot day, a tallgrass Kansas prairie as the sun sets over your herd of cattle, and back to suppin' moonshine on a rickety back porch in a Georgia backwater before you know it. Yet, there's nothing contrived about these psych-tinged country-folk ditties, whatsoever. Frontman Robin Peckold's remarkable voice - at times tremulous, at others pure and potent, but always unique - along with his bandmates' glorious, pinpoint accuracy at harmonising, makes the likes of White Water Hymnal, Quiet Houses and Tiger Mountain Peasant Song genuinely goosebump-raising affairs, while their talent for subtle tempo and melody changes (best heard on the superb Ragged Wood and the wistful rollick of Your Protector) are assurances that this is a band with more than one great album to make. You'll like Fleet Foxes immediately, but it may take three or four listens to truly get under your skin. After that, you'll wonder how on Earth you've survived without this album in your collection. Magnificent.

Sigur Rós - Med Sud í Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust

It's a miracle! Sigur Rós have finally made a record that flaunts their genius with majestic arrangements without inducing wrist-slitting! They've upped the tempo, the mood and with contributions from the london sinfonietta, london oratory boy's choir, string-quartet friends Amiina, as well as a five-piece brass section, they've even upped the scale... for the most part, that is. Opening track and single Gobbledigook announces this change of direction boldly with its tribal las, confident guitar strum and stomping drums. On the first Sigur Ros album made outside of Iceland, their first English language track, All Alright, is almost unrecognisable as such - no shame considering Inní Mér Syngur Vitleysingur's building Icelandic rhyme makes you wonder why anyone ever needed lyrics in their mother tongue. Festival, the album's one "Hopelandic" offering, unfortunately does not match this feat as Jonsi Birgisson's vocals float aimlessly in the imaginary language. In the past Sigur Rós have had an air of self-indulgence in their prolonged, oppressive sequences that overwhelmed and sometimes even bored, and yet despite it all they still had the power to place you firmly in their awe. In tracks like Illgresi, with the simplicity and beauty of its plucked acoustic guitar, and Gódan Daginn, with its characteristically church-like Sigur Rós vocals, the melancholy that once stifled and protracted Sigur Rós albums here aerates and accentuates how atypical much of this new album is of the atmospheric Icelandics. There are still some overly drawn out passages here (Festival and ára bátur both circle the 9 minute mark), and songs that require patience and a very particular mood, but it's still the best thing they've done so far, by far.

White Denim - Workout Holiday

When it comes to names, some bands either have no concept of irony, or just fail to fully understand it. The Thrills. Oasis. The Music. Texan trio White Denim know all about tongue-in-cheek references to ironic monikers, though - which is probably what makes their nod to dated fashion all the more effective. There's nothing dated about the Austin band's sound, though; although this is their first full-length album, it's an accomplished collection of songs, some of which were originally released on early EPs before being re-recorded for this release. Workout Holiday is an almost unrelenting barrage of fuzzy, scuzzy, jangly, jerky garage-rock; short blasts of The Clash-in-Mexico-style punk (Let's Talk About It) are tempered by cabaret-style psych-pop that nods to references as diverse as Baby Dee and The Beatles (Sitting), Captain Beefheart (Mess Your Hair Up), and The Detroit Cobras at a house party (Darksided Computer Mouth). There are hazy, meandering instrumental doodles a-plenty, too - yet they're more of a respite from the constant activity, than an opportunity to indulge. Overall, there's a definite sense that White Denim are much more than just another band who've pilfered elements from their eccentric record collections. And the most exciting thing? This album is just a taster of things to come, with their full-length studio debut 'Explosion' due imminently. If that record lives up to its title, then this is a titillating precursor.

Albert Hammond, Jr. - Como Te Llama?

When The Strokes' rhythm (and occasionally lead) guitarist first embarked on a solo career in 2006 with his album "Yours To Keep," it was generally greeted positively, praised for an alternate direction that demonstrated more than a desire to cash in on a ready-made fan-base. Now his second effort Como Te Llama? is generally being accepted as even more ambitious and eclectic than its predecessor. Again he diverges from The Stokes unadorned and austere garage rock while still retaining much of its rough and ready traits - Strokes style guitar, often distorted, appears intermittently throughout the album, most notably on In My Room and The Boss Americana, while Hammond's groaning, strained vocals are surely an acquired taste. Though Como Te Llama is underpinned by the retro garage feel that also informs the Strokes, here it's as if variety and personality have been layered over the top. With Caribbean rhythms, reggae-style guitar, marching band drumming, music hall style piano and carefully arranged strings all making an appearance, it's a much more poppy and optimistic affair. In general, the pace here is leisurely and relaxed, in particular the 7min19 instrumental Spooky Couch with it subtle, plinking guitar and piano. Even the rockier tunes here (Rocket with its Pixies-esque oohs over distorted guitar and Victory In Monterey with its bass-line mimicking The Breeder's Cannonball) are more head-bobbing than head-banging. Seemingly, where Hammond gains in diversity he wanes in attitude.

The Music - Strength In Numbers

After an extended absence, the quartet from Kippax, Leeds, with their all-encompassing and hence somewhat non-descript name, have returned with their third full length album. In the four years since Welcome to the North, The Music have dealt with being dropped by their label and with frontman Robert Harvey's personal struggle with drugs, alcohol and depression. Impossible not to have been influenced by this, Strength In Numbers sees The Music move away from their more rocky tendencies and towards the ever so hip and now electro-indie scene, with songs like Drugs including downright blatant subject matter. The 12 songs on offer here present consistently chant-like "melodies," a tendency used to positive effect on softer and slower tracks like Idle where the repetitive nature of the vocals, alongside synths and static bassline, makes for a hypnotic and trance-like chill-out tune. However, when aiming for danceable rock songs, the result is, more often than not, monotonous and even irritating, leading inevitably to an album where one song sounds much like the next. The exception to this rule is Vision saved by its catchy bass-line and ghostly droning background. With so much riding on this "comeback" album it may raise the question: is this move to a currently popular genre a conscious decision on their part? Either way, the result sounds of progress.

Lil Wayne - Tha Carter III

It wasn't until he released the first of his 'Tha Carter' series in 2004 that New Orleans-born rapper Lil Wayne really hit critical paydirt. Displaying a maturity and precision previously lacking in his material, the 25-year-old's 'Tha Carter' and 'Tha Carter II' heralded a new approach for the Lil Wayne sound, and the third in the series - his sixth studio effort overall - has already sold well over a million copies since its recent release. It's easy to see why, too; this is a solid album that doesn't necessarily break new ground within the genre, but changes up its style enough to keep things fresh and interesting. Carter's penchant for humour within his lyrics (and expression within his rhymes) is a welcome change from the dour, monosyllabic artists that customarily flood the charts: see his constant references to pop culture, like the Kanye West-produced Let the Beat Build ("Used to think my shit didn't stink, boy was I wrong / Approvin' million dollar deals from my iPhone") or 3Peat's "Abrakadabra, I'm up like Viagra / I just do this shit for my clique like Adam Sandler." His knack for inventive methods is also brought to the fore, too, especially on the likes of the amusing Dr. Carter, the sunny soul-pop soundtrack of Mrs.Officer, and the zippy Got Money. Strangely, though, his biggest success to date - Lollipop - is one of the weakest, most simplistic tracks on display. Overall, however, Lil Wayne may not be joking when he makes brazen references to 'controlling hip-hop' and being 'the best rapper alive.' If he's received the blessing of his predecessor and namesake Jay-Z, who spews: "As I share the mic with my heir" on Mr. Carter, Tha Carter III's success looks distinctly like the beginnings of world domination - even if it doesn't completely sound like it.

Lines Drawing Circles - EP

Formed in late 2007, Dublin-based four-piece Lines Drawing Circles' debut self titled EP presents three tracks layered with astringent rock sounds and authentic rawness. Powerfully opening with Lull's gritty plucked electric guitars, distortion and distant echoing harmonies, the soft lead vocals are reminiscent of The Bluetones' Mark Morris until reaching breaking point where they start to resemble the volatility of Muse's Matt Bellamy. 108's minimal approach and slow build falsely subdue before briefly revealing a vigorous antagonism which quickly dies away again. Though they describe themselves as "progressive pop with a fondness for loud noise," overall the EP can be characterised by an air of bitterness, with only I Won't Let It Keep Me's shroud of subtle optimism and romantic piano accounting for any employment of the term "pop" here. With an aptitude for building climaxes, Lines Drawing Circles offer an intelligently arranged debut, independently released and available at www.linesdrawingcircles.com