What with The Answering Machine dealing in often overly cutesy, well-formed indie-pop and London boy James Yuill classing himself simply as “a singer-songwriter”, this was never going to be a…

“I’m rubbish at stage banter,” confesses main Answering Machine Martin sheepishly after another self-deprecating attempt at repartee fails miserably. So, Manchester’s answer to Los Campesinos!, for public oratory: nil points.…

An unexpected delight. ‘Silent Hotels’ belies its austere Magazine-style title to be a really rather terrific, odd-tempo’ed gallop through shiny pastures of bug-eyed art-rock. It gets a bit tinny, but…