Jamie T’s second album in two years is a punk, rap, pop and hardcore tour de force
A God's honest truth: Four out of every three 16 to 24-year-olds spent this summer in Ibiza snorting, guzzling, popping, frugging and shagging their way around the clock....
Or should that say "Essential!"? Because - yes indeedy - there is nowt da yoof of today likes better than to dig out a re-re-remix compilation album heartily endorsed by some dead brill disc jockeying type like Foxy Carl Cox or Pete Ding Dong. Fair play to those left-field lotharios The Chemical Brothers, then, for caring to join this ear-warping elite, and even fairer play to the duo for daring not to preface their slice of studio trickery with the same sort of punter-bullying 'Essential!' logo which implies what if you don't buy this record you are so square your mum still knits your breakfast, daddio.
If any indie tykes anticipate a mish-mosh of commerce-busting Chemicals collaborations with the handsome likes of Noel Gallagher and little Timmy Burgess then hold that thought right there. True, the curtain to 'Brothers Gonna Work It Out' is eventually brought down by mixes of the Manics' 'Everything Must Go' and Spiritualized's 'I Think I'm In Love', but the other 21 tracks featured herein are a hefty collision of the obscure, the funky, the originators, the eclectic, the hip-hop-tastic and the slightly more obscure.
In true Hitchcockian stylee, the Chemicals even make cameo appearances with 'Not Another Drugstore', 'Block Rockin' Beats' and 'Morning Lemon'. They pay their respects to electro fiends Meat Beat Manifesto and Renegade Soundwave via 'Mars Needs Woman' and 'Thunder' respectively. And the beats go crunch-crunch-munching through the infamous likes of Unique 3, Freestyle, Kenny Dope, The Micronauts and, of course, Barry Devorzon & Perry Botkin Jr's 'The Riot'.
What is to be remembered is that this is a nonstop party album. For old people, that means it's a bit like 'Stars On 45', only slightly more subtle and much, much, much longer. Like all good parties you have completely lost track of everything that is going on after 15 minutes of gibbering, teethgrinding, groove-massaging mayhem. And, like all the most clever party records, it has odd bits where not very much happens so you can bugger off to the kitchen and accidentally find another tin of lager in that carrier bag hidden behind the bread bin without missing anything. Good.
Oi! Got any Farmers Boys, mate?
Character studies and ready melodies abound in the latest record by the Oxford quartet
A battle-like record where fear and dread rule
Another gripping Pedro Almodóvar mystery, full of vibrant visuals and emotional revelations
The Californian succeeds, once again, in exposing the ugliness of mankind. It’ll get under your skin