An unsettling look at the sleep paralysis phenonemon
Klaxons - 'Love Frequency'
A catchy but conservative third outing from the New Cross stargazers
Yet there’s something just as perverse about parting ways with your major label only to make the album you always hoped you would. ‘There Is No Other Time’ and ‘Show Me A Miracle’ were no Eurodance bait-and-switch: Klaxons have long claimed to be a pop band at heart, and this is the closest to an outright pop record they’ve ever made. In many ways, it's a successful one – had it been released five years ago, ‘Love Frequency’ would have consolidated the success of ‘Myths Of The Near Future’ instead of undoing it. Despite the claim that no drugs were involved in its making, there’s an unmistakable first-pill purity about ‘Children Of The Sun’ and ‘Invisible Forces’, with its unapologetically-cheesy Italo-house piano riff, that suggests Klaxons have finally learned to embrace that side of themselves without couching it in irony.
Still, the sedition and subversiveness of old is missing. The arcane literary references, the cabalistic philosophies, the thrilling sense of a band who never quite knew what the hell they were doing... all that stuff has been sidelined in favour of something more immediate and easily-digestible, and a few songs – ‘Rhythm Of Life’ and ‘Out Of The Dark’ particularly – are a bit too generic to hold your attention. It all adds to the perception of ‘Love Frequency’ as a regression rather than a progression, albeit one some might argue is overdue. Yet while it is maddeningly catchy in places and well put together, its defining characteristic is a conservative streak that sits strangely with this most anarchical of bands.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt walks a tightrope between New York’s Twin Towers, but this vertigo-inducing movie doesn’t always hit the heights
North London lads revive the ravey hedonism of The Streets and Happy Mondays on a reflective and rowdy debut
Ear-bleeding psychedelia, math-pop and a Libertine descend on east London
Masterminded by frontman Bradford Cox, the freaky Atlanta band’s seventh album is bruised and brilliant