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A fizzy blast of anti-ageing indie-pop

On paper, things don’t bode well for Bombay Bicycle Club: their curry house-inspired name implies a wacky and erroneous grasp of irony that wears a traffic cone for a hat; at their first gig they played funk songs to their school assembly; and the ink’s barely dry on their A2 certificates – which makes them as good as past it in comparison to Tiny Masters Of Today and their spritely green ilk.

...

 
 
 

Loved-up odes to nature, intimacy and human resilience

Neko Case has said she isn’t much fond of love songs, and when you hear the part-time New Pornographer berating the “fucking bird” that keeps her awake all night on ‘Magpies To The Morning’, her fifth album doesn’t bode well for romantics.
But, like a spot-lit chanteuse bred on punk rock, Case sweeps us up like her titular storm with loved-up odes to nature, intimacy and human resilience – just...

 
 
 

Bradford Cox's second 'solo' outing is so much more than a mere side-project

Much like Starbucks, Bradford Cox has become a ubiquitous presence. What with his work with art-rock outfit Deerhunter, his involvement in Karen O’s official soundtrack for Where The Wild Things Are, and now this, his second solo offering under the Atlas Sound banner, you’d be forgiven for thinking that such familiarity will start to breed contempt. But you’d be way
off the mark.

There are...

 
 
 

A record that shimmers with possibilities, mapping out an alien territory that’s eerily inviting

If newness is your thing – new sounds, new style, new attitude – then ‘Dance Mother’ is for you. This is a record that sounds like 2009 for the chief reason that it doesn’t sound like anything else that’s come before it. Both serene and schizophrenic, pretentious and pop, the debut album from Brooklyn’s Telepathe – aka musical (and formerly romantic) partners Busy Gangnes and Melissa Livaudais –...

 
 
 

If the world that Gallows depict is even half-accurate, it’s not one you’d want to live in

The last time a flame-haired iconoclast found himself at the forefront of British punk, he coined a timeless phrase: “anger is an energy”. Energy is a useful thing; it alters its circumstances and inspires its surroundings. And this is the frustrating thing about the often-great second album from Gallows, and our generation’s ginger-savant, Frank Carter. ‘Grey Britain’ has important things to say, but...

 
 
 

Sheffield’s favourite crooner indulges his melancholic streak to scintillating effect

What a curious, quietly glorious kind of British institution Richard Hawley has become. Like fellow Steel City legend Jarvis Cocker, you’d be hard pushed to find anyone with a nasty word to say about him.
He is, of course, adored by an ever-growing group of people, as many young as old, all in search of something comforting and timeless rather than momentarily thrilling. Nine years now we’ve been privy to...

 
 
 

Its opener explores the territory between dubstep, ragga, Spacemen 3 and Hawkwind. And then it really gets strange...

It’s interesting enough that Oneida spent the first decade of their existence being a so-so rock band before transforming into a mind-blowing vessel of the spectacular, like Supergrass waking up one morning as Led Zeppelin.

Then if you consider the partial insanity that has led them to release the second instalment of their interstellar psych-rock triptych ‘Thank Your Parents’, which is in itself...

 
 
 

Parachutes Franz into completely new genre territory

Still louche, still dancing, but this time they’re showing off some new moves Album number one: “music to make girls dance”. Album number two: “music for girls to cry to”. Album number three, in your own (abridged) words Mr Kapranos?

“Music of the night: for the dancefloor, flirtation, for your desolate heart-stop, for losing it and loving it, for the chemical surge in your bloodstream…...

 
 
 

They look daft - but their songs demand to be taken seriously

OK, let’s just spear the elephant in the room: Empire Of The Sun are really, really like MGMT. This Sydney duo (duo!) have arrived bearing blissful psych-pop with visions of a New World Order Of Shagging For Peace siphoned directly from the Wesleyan College acid pool. You get the same nasal vocals and, right from opener ‘Standing On The Shore’, the hippy dribble flows freely too: “The future’s in my...

 
 
 

With their fifth album, Biffy have reined it in and ridden all the way to rock glory

"Stomp, stomp, stomp, s-stomp, s-stomp". With what could well be an applaud-worthy vision of self-awareness-turned-sound-effect Biffy Clyro’s fifth album, carrying more expectational weight than Greek god Atlas could hope to keep off the canvas, begins with the clatter of galloping foot-patter getting louder and louder, nearer and nearer.

Can you hear it? It’s here! Biffy finally make that...

 
 
 
 
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