Category Archives: New Release Reviews

New Release Reviews

Teddy Thompson – Never Be The Same

Teddy Thompson has made an amazingly simple and astute observation when chatting during the build up to this new album. He has said that “songwriting is magical. You can hear one hundred people sing ‘I love you,’ and you know which one is telling the truth. If the root of the sentiment is authentic, it will resonate.” Which is something I believe to be true as well. It is why musical analysis can sometimes be a futile process, the element which enlightens an otherwise regulation song structure can be impossible to define. As Teddy says, it is just like magic which is why we reviewers are always placing such value in conviction and truth, if a song feels real then so often it will hit that much harder. But I am not sure if this is good or bad news where Teddy is concerned, because this record is steeped in so much raw feeling that you sense the real man behind every line, as if he is letting you leaf through the pages of his own inner journal. And if real life is his source (Teddy makes no attempt to deny that it is) then he has almost certainly endured the pain of a relationship ending; he is dealing with heartbreak and furthermore, trying to stay afloat in ever changeable currents. But just like the renowned artists of previous generations that Teddy will so often draw comparisons with, he has turned the turmoil into an incredible work of art.

Speaking of Thompson’s background, as enviable a route into music the offspring of successful musicians can appear to have, the hand they are dealt is often a tough one. Teddy, son of Richard and Linda, has been treading the boards and releasing his own music for the whole of this century, offering himself up for instant scrutiny and comparison to one of folks’ greatest artists at a time when he was still finding his feet. This is not a regular kind of problem for anyone starting out on spit and sawdust circuit, trying to get themselves noticed on social media and streaming platforms. Those days are usually spent under the radar, and those potential new Bob Dylan’s will have written all their bad songs, played enough uninspired gigs, and tried on a variety of ill-fitting hats long before anyone is planting them on a stage next to Dylan himself to assess their credibility. Teddy Thompson did not really have that luxury and I confess, when I used to see him twenty-five years ago supporting or playing in his fathers’ band, I did not entertain the idea that he would ever be composing songs comparable in craftsmanship to those Richard would, and continues to, write. Still, today and for a while now, years of perseverance and honing his work have earned an honorary membership to the ‘famous musicians’ offspring’ club where inductees prove their talent would have risen to the top with or without the aid of heritage. I put Teddy alongside artists like Neneh Cherry, Sean Ono Lennon, Justin Townes Earle, Martha & Rufus Wainwright and Jakob Dylan, all of whom impressively found their own undeniable voice and unique identity just like Teddy enjoys today.

So, what is the Teddy Thompson sound? Well, it is far more soulful than you might ever expect. He has a retro sheen but is nothing like a throwback, belonging to the here and now and we are lucky to have him. It is simply that his tools and approach adopt the classicists outlook rather than leaning into any modern shortcuts. It comes back to that feeling of being real, the ache in these vocals best accompanied by instruments and playing that can respond with an empathetic feel. Opener ‘Come Back’ is a vivid scene setter, a folk-rock ballad that finds our narrator pleading for a departed loved one to return, the cold isolation in the verses giving way to a middle eight sunburst exposing loves contradictions, not merely in the tonal shift but also a lyric that states “when you were here I couldn’t wait for you to leave.” Delicious electric riffing fuels ‘I Need Real (Love)’ and ‘I Remember’ has a sweeping, heart‑stopping flourish that could have come straight from Roy Orbison’s own horizon. This clears the decks for ‘So This Is Heartache,’ a place where an original southern soul train pulls into the station, resplendent with its classic slow-burning balladry architecture from the genres golden age and a lyrical conceit that meets heartache as if being formally introduced.

Rather than plunging us into an irretrievable morosity, ‘Worst Two Weeks Of My Life’ has an upward trajectory to the verses arriving at the question “will I ever be the same?” However, there is almost a celebratory acceptance of the inevitable oncoming changes and as the albums title alludes, evolution and shifting sands are part of life so you might as well be prepared to move on. Speaking of changes, the chord progressions in ‘Baby It’s You’ are Beatle-like in their graceful flow, which is something Teddy was aware of too as he subtly decorates this one with some George Harrison worshipping guitar lines. ‘Make Up Your Mind’ is a bouncy ode to indecision whilst ‘The Game’ revives the early sixties pop song echoes, right down to the satin swoops and heart-on-sleeve drama in the string arrangement. And I cannot let ‘Not What I Need’ pass without commenting on the brilliant break in the song where Teddy, deliberately heavy handedly, adjusts the line “I should have told you weeks ago” to “months ago.” Then finally, the flute enhanced chamber pop of ‘Same Old Song’ ends the record in a reflective state of mind, but as the title is sung remotely with great foreboding, you sense our narrator has finally shuffled to the cusp of a new phase and is ready for the great leap forward. And for sure, you cannot blame him wanting to move on, but neither should we ignore that the document Teddy Thompson has left us with will be something us listeners revisit time and time again, this is a career highlight kind of album.

Danny Neill

Get a physical copy of the album here: https://amzn.to/4wz2LMk

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New Release Reviews

Kevin Morby – Little Wide Open

Ever since I first came across the music of Kevin Morby, some thirteen years ago with ‘Harlem River’ standing on the first step of his career ladder, he already felt like an artist with a voice honed and chiselled from years of performing. There was a maturity at play from the start enhanced by a style instantly marking him out as the natural heir to the space left by the passing of Lou Reed. It is not merely the semi-spoken delivery, especially as through the following years his voice also revealed a capacity for soulful explosions and uninhibited force, but there was an immediate purity to the sound. His felt like an expressive electric folk that needed some space to breathe, there was nothing calculated or artificial about the music of Kevin Morby, it needed a spark of ignition from the natural elements to fire itself into life. Of course, the prompt for inevitable comparisons to heavyweights like Reed and Bob Dylan was the lurking presence of mortality in Morby’s songs. Whether dwelling on the finality of death, examining the search for a God as a crutch to existence or sinking into deep introspection as the souls of dearly departed relatives speak via ancient photographs, Kevin has rarely shied away from the notion that death is a part of living.

And so, it continues with this latest fine album ‘Little Wide Open,’ although the man himself readily admits there are more reflections on love to be found on this record too. His domestic happiness with partner Katie Crutchfield (also featured on these pages in her guise as Waxahatchee) is alluded to alongside deliberately referencing the strangely compatible yet conflicting lifestyles they experience as a couple. This appears to be sung about during the title track, of which Kevin had this to confide ahead of the release. “It’s about the two of us being songwriters. The pros and cons. The complications. A crazy lifestyle of us each crisscrossing the world.” Nevertheless, true to form, the preoccupation with lifespan, passage and the random inequalities of fate have a place here and Kevin, as usual, plays the card with a gentle, empathetic touch. The poignant song ‘Bible Belt’ alludes to a 2021 tour stop when a young couple driving to his Denver show crashed; the boy died, the girl survived, and he reached out to her while she was in hospital. A year later, playing the Bataclan in Paris (a venue marked by the horrific terrorist attack that killed ninety people) he looked into the crowd and saw her, standing beside the boy’s mother. They had travelled all that way to see him. The sight jolted Morby out of his expectations for the night, turning the room into something tender and solemn. “It was very sweet to see them,” he says before reflecting that the boy died trying to reach his show. “It’s insane. But it happens. It’s a numbers game.”

The most tangible evolution in the music of Kevin Morby on display here is how he seems to have hit a satisfying balance between the hurt and the hope. He may be willing to ride in tandem with the darkness but the sense of squeezing every available drop of awe and wonder from the experience is not absent either. The Lucinda Williams monologue during ‘Natural Disaster’ lays some hard truth out on the table before Kevin re-emerges as the voice of reassurance. Then he unleashes the most thunderous of extended closing codas, building the pace and encouraging his guitar to carve shapes in the clouds. ‘Javelin’ is particularly rousing as well, built on a propulsive bass line and a shuffling drum rhythm and the lyric makes the idea of being alone in the middle of middle America feel like a situation alive with curiosity. That is the big wide open of Kevin’s minds eye right there, a landscape that tugs both ways; part devotion and part ache. It is the big sky and the humble lives below it, the Midwest that raised him on restraint and familiarity, on solitude and soil. A country he carries within him, whether he wants to or not.

As for the personal details, well if you want a snapshot of a songwriter pouring his life onto the page look no further than ‘Die Young.’ If the opening lines about singing on a stage and missing his woman are not enough then how about the tune itself? The song plays like such an intentional pastiche to Waxahatchee’s ‘Right Back To It’ it could almost trade as an answer song. Here again though, our man is inclined to look up, not down, re-iterating the refrain “thank God that we didn’t die young.” And so it goes, across this whole album, wherein Morby folds every strand of his past work into something sharper and more whole; the Dylan‑tinged realism, the fatalistic meditations, the dust‑bitten folk‑rock grit, and that strange spiritual voltage he summons when he needs it most. The result is his most cohesive, fully realised record yet; this whole work is the sound of an artist finally pulling all his weather systems into one sky.

Danny Neill

Get a physical copy of the album here: https://amzn.to/48Usyo4

Kevin Morby – Photo by Chantal Anderson
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New Release Reviews

Brother Wallace – Electric Love

Talk about a confident mission statement of a beginning. ‘Who’s That’ comes marching in on top of a strutting soul beat that definitely means business. One-two, one-two, one-two with funky blues keys sitting on top of the rhythm and a fanfare of soul horns joining in just as our main man begins to demand information on “who’s that baby?” He is telling it like it is and taking down names, “when the going got tough you were nowhere to be found,” but the undeniable impression is that this man’s head is in a good place and he wants to shit to get real and start happening. Openers do not come much more assured and this improbable debut artist has laid the table out for some tasty delights that are about to be served. If the opener had an assured strut, then ‘That’s The Man’ waltzes in wearing sunglasses indoors. It has a syncopated bang to the riffing, the kind that is potentially begging for a hip-hop producer to cut up and dramatically repurpose. Not that anything else is needed on these tracks, this is a masterclass in modern interpretation of soul music born out of the school of gospel, it is overloaded with hooks, textures, beats, and passion. On that, ‘Gone With The Wind’ disguises itself as a detour onto smoother soul playing surface but, even here, there is room for a groovy piano intersection that echoes with the motion of a northern soul dancefloor.

By the time we hit the title track it feels like the previous northern references were just a tease, because this one is an out-and-out Wigan Casino era pumping floor filler. “It’s all I can do, just to hold on to, electric love” Wallace sings as the dizzying momentum of the frantic, energised beat sends him into a tailspin. There is no respite though, ‘Top Shotta’ may spend more than a minute of its intro with nothing more than our man singing over a piano line, but it is those fat low keys at the bass end of the keyboard smashing out a groove begging for the heartbeat drums and handclaps that eventually join the party. If we can just pause now briefly, you need to know that this excitement is being generated by Brother Wallace, a West Point, Georgia-bred singer, pianist, and soul revivalist who began singing early and was playing piano by the age of six. At age fourteen he was directing choirs before becoming a music teacher in adulthood. He has taken a long route to a debut album which finally took some positive turns when Dan Taylor, of the pure soul rockers The Heavy, had a chance encounter with Wallace and took on the driving role of co-producer and co-writer, generating the momentum that we feel today on this sensational release.

And back to the music, ‘No God In This Town’ is the first time we take our foot off the gas, as Brother Wallace proves he has the versatility to handle that southern gospel style; a mournful church organ underlays a track that cannot help but feel rousing as the horns and the bereft emotion rise while our singer laments the towns spiritual void. Then he announces, correctly, “I’m a man on a mission” as the furiously maniacal beat of ‘Who Do You Love’ shoots out of the starters block. If there is anyone unable to answer these questions as our man advances, they had better get out of the way quick. Eight tracks in and as the Brother hits ‘Any Day Now’ he begins to uncover even more refined fabrics in his dressing up box. This one is so smoky it is almost out of view, a song that floats in the air and caresses your mind rather than submerging you with rhythm, although the Motown beats of ‘A Patient Man’ soon redress that balance. The electric keys that drive ‘Midnight Valley’ evoke a dimly lit jazz club atmosphere, although the lived-in grit of Wallace’s voice keep us anchored in the soul world before ‘Jealous’ sees our man let his guard down, unafraid to show vulnerability.

‘Hope Of Fools’ demonstrates again what a rhythmic instrument the piano can be when played the Brother Wallace way, it reminds me of those classic early Bill Withers tracks. ‘Let’s Get Together’ is a credible stab at something inclusive, positive, celebratory, and even anthem worthy, it throws every winning ingredient into the melting pot. You might reasonably expect this to be the end (and it is on some versions) but instead ‘Honey’ delivers a final downpour of sweet stuff before we close with ‘Me And My Running Shoes,’ a wholly unexpected two minute brush with authentic slide guitar blues, it is almost as if Brother Wallace is warning us, especially with that choice of footwear, not to pin him down. He sure can switch to any direction in the blink of an eye and no matter where he heads, his conviction will ensure it never feels like a wrong turn. Soul music done right like this just feels so good and if you do not believe me, plug in to ‘Electric Love’ and then try and say I am wrong without sounding foolish.

Danny Neill

Get a physical copy of the album here: https://amzn.to/4fgOzkJ

Brother Wallace – Photo: Hana Snowcopy
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New Release Reviews

Various – Tokyo Pulse (Japanese Funk, Modern & City Pop From The Tokyo Scene 1974-88)

Japan’s musical past is a vast, interlinked web of scenes that rarely travelled far beyond its borders at the time. Yet the country’s funk, soul, and early city‑pop experiments of the 1970s and ’80s remain some of the most inventive recordings of the era, these cuts were sleek, melodic, and often startlingly ahead of the curve.‘Tokyo Pulse,’curated by Tokyo turntablist and archivist DJ Notoya, digs deep into that world and emerges with a set that feels both revelatory and overdue. This latest volume continues the labels’ ongoing excavation of Japan’s groove‑driven heritage. The presentation is characteristically meticulous: sleeve design by Manuel Sepulveda (Optigram), detailed notes from Notoya himself, and a mastering chain that runs from Nippon Columbia’s engineers in Tokyo to a final vinyl polish in Paris. Most of the tracks have never been issued outside Japan, which gives the compilation the thrill of discovery as opposed to the comfort of familiar canon.

The opening cut, Naomi Chiaki’s ‘Yoru E Isogu Hito’ (1978), sets the tone with a slow, shadowy glide, half soul ballad, half late‑night city drift. Chiaki, better known for her work in the kayōkyoku tradition, shows how fluidly Japanese pop singers could slip into funk‑leaning territory when the right musicians were behind them. Yumi Murata’s ‘Ranhansha’ (1979) sharpens the edges. Murata (who would later collaborate with Ryuichi Sakamoto) brings a cool, controlled vocal to a track built on clipped guitar, nimble bass, and a rhythm section that feels primed for a smoky basement club rather than a glossy studio. L‑E‑V‑E‑L’s ‘Bagdad No Atari Nite’ (1981) nudges the compilation into the next decade, where the production becomes smoother and the grooves more refined. This is a bridge between the earthy funk of the late seventies and the polished city‑pop sheen that would soon define Tokyo’s mainstream. Side one closes with GAM’s ‘Lake In The Forest’(1980), a gentle, reggae‑tinged piece featuring musicians associated with the cult Arakawa Band. Its breezy sway and pastoral calm offer a moment of respite, a reminder that Japanese groove music often absorbed global influences in unexpected, highly personal ways. It is also, for me, one of the outstanding highlights of this set, fusing its Jamaican sensibility with some sweet melodic manipulations worthy of the most commercially tuned-in jazz funk purveyors of the day.

L-E-V-E-L

The flip side jumps forward to the late eighties, that big drum and fretless bass sound as effective a time stamp as any release data, with Nami Shimada’s ‘Mitsumeteirunoni.’ This is a mid‑tempo electro‑funk track that captures the era’s fascination with dance‑floor gloss, visions of shoulder pads and rolled up jacket sleeves are hard to shake. Shimada, who would later gain international attention through her work with Soichi Terada, anchors the track with a poised, crystalline vocal. Bread & Butter’s ‘Memory’ (1974) pulls the mood back into the seventies with a ‘Shaft’ like wah-wah intro that breaks down into a sultry simmering thing of soul warmth capped by an aching harmonica figure. The lineup reads like a miniature history of Japanese pop innovation: Haruomi Hosono, Ray Ohara, Tatsuo Hayashi, and Shigeru Suzuki all contribute, each of them central to the evolution of modern Japanese music; from Happy End’s folk‑rock revolution to the studio wizardry of Tin Pan Alley and the electronic breakthroughs of Yellow Magic Orchestra. Minoru Koyama’s instrumental ‘After Image’ adds a cinematic, fusion‑leaning dimension, full of drifting electric keys and widescreen atmosphere. It is the kind of track that could easily soundtrack a lost art‑house film. Chikara Ueda & The Power Station’s ‘Island Cuckoo’ (1979) brings a breezy, Brazilian‑inflected funk energy. This one is certainly light on its feet, rhythmically playful, and instantly charming. The compilation ends on a reflective note with Higurashi’s ‘Anata Wa Doko Ni Irundesuka’ (1974), a tender blend of folk and funk that closes the record with a quiet emotional resonance.

‘Tokyo Pulse’ is a worthy piece of musical cartography although the fact that it plays as an infectiously retro laced funk odyssey from start to finish should not be overlooked. It traces the threads connecting Japan’s funk, soul, folk, and early electronic scenes, revealing how porous and inventive the country’s musical culture was during these decades. The curation is sharp, the mastering immaculate, and the sequencing thoughtful enough to feel like a journey rather than a survey. For collectors, historians, and anyone fascinated by the ongoing re‑evaluation of Japanese music, this is essential listening. It is a vivid snapshot of a city whose musical imagination has always been far broader than the world realised at the time.

Danny Neill

The ‘Tokyo Pulse’ CD album is available to buy via this link: https://amzn.to/3R1h38g

Bread And Butter
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New Release Reviews

Ray Bull – Please Stop Laughing

Ray Bull offer a persuasive case that any path to great music counts, especially given that the New York duo did not start as a band. They were actually art‑school kids at Cooper Union, Aaron Graham with his images, Tucker Elkins with his films, circling ideas that were generally unrelated to music making. It took a chance reunion at a Brooklyn gallery years later for them to realise that had both been quietly edging toward songwriting. They moved into a Bushwick loft, and the boundaries between their art forms dissolved almost immediately. That fusion of disciplines became their calling card. Their ‘Did You Know’ series, equal parts Photoshop trickery and surreal storytelling, spread fast, as did the ‘Songs That Are The Same’ fusions which revealed uncanny overlaps between pop hits. On a musical level alone, this was all fantastically engaging stuff. It was no surprise to me to find that Taylor Swift songs could be easily married to other peoples’ hits, but was the match making potential of White Stripes ‘Seven Nation Army’ and Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ widely known? Or ‘Running Up That Hill’ and ‘Titanium’? I have one of my own; ‘It’s Raining Men’ by The Weather Girls and Jethro Tull’s ‘Beggar’s Farm.’ Same song, but I digress.

Graham and Elkin’s audience ballooned: 600K on TikTok, half a million on Instagram, and tens of millions of streams for their own songs. Festival slots, support tours, and a sold‑out 2025 headline run followed. And so, after such a groundswell of appreciation and deserved attention, all roads have led us to this new album of original music, a collection that distils a half‑decade spent living, working, and shaping an identity together. It is a portrait of two artists wrestling with the persona they have built and the emotional truth underneath it. Often when someone comes to prominence via a vessel other than producing their own music, getting that aspect of their work accepted can be problematic. People can have a resistance if they sense that composing and building a presence in that way is not their core being; few have crossed between these poles with ease. The times when it does work, however, are like this; from the moment you hit play on opening track ‘You’re Still Here, So Am I’ there is a sense that we are in the realm of a vital, melodically eloquent, modern art-rock band from the US. Ray Bull had already proved with their previous activities that they understood music, that they can play and that they boast tonal range. Here though, they show that they can do something with these skills. They can express, there is something to say and stories to tell.

And when these two sink their teeth into a song it comes out packed with detail and intrigue. ‘Marry A Skater’ has production frills literally piling up on top of each other, not to mention an artisan’s song structure incorporating a slumbering chorus, an elegant middle eight and a nonchalance in the verses that suggest a shrugging of the shoulders at life choices in the lyrics. Lines like “you can marry a skater or go fuck the neighbour’s, its fine” and “go start your family, work at Morgan Stanley and rot, save up for the yacht” appear like withering put downs, but the song is heavily swayed by a sense of wonder at the uncertainties of embracing either conformity or chaos. Far from your basic pop songsmiths, even though each track has a winning immediacy so essential to the form. The same can be said of the title track, more of a guitar strumming indie anthem but still one constructed with chart-hit sensibilities and dramatic lifts akin to Britpop. The thing is, Ray Bull can easily insert these little reference points that might inspire comparisons to alternative savants such as Vampire Weekend or Spoon, but in doing so they also lay down a marker that challenges onlookers with the thought that they do not merely equal the work of their peers, they genuinely have the chops to surpass them.

If anything holds Ray Bull back it might simply be that they are too good at this. It should not be that way but sometimes versatility is a curse, I hope their audience meet them with open minds and arms. The deeper you go into this album the range just keeps on widening. We hear pensive electro pop, folksy ballads, routes into country textures and they even pitch themselves as fully paid-up members of the pop world. One of my most despised modern tropes is the overuse of synthetic, auto tuned vocals but when utilised by these two, even this production tick can sound like a valid, potently applied, production choice. They can do mainstream too, the rising chorus on ‘Under Your Eyelid’ would not sound out of place if played on a prime-time TV talent show. Basically, if this band ignite, it is not a stretch to imagine them becoming massive. Just listen to the perfection that is ‘All That You Are,’ featuring a vocal with strong echoes of Chris Bell’s ‘I Am The Cosmos,’ hinting that we are witnessing a uniquely joyous blend of artfulness within mass appeal of the most satisfying kind. I would love to see that success become ever more real, these two absolutely warrant it.

Danny Neill

Get a copy of ‘Please Stop Laughing’ here: https://amzn.to/3Pw0PmY

Ray Bull – Photo by Kyle Berger
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New Release Reviews

Modesty Blaise – Melancholia (25th Anniversary Remaster)

When it comes to harmony rich, densely textured, beautifully orchestrated pop music of a bright, warm, and luminous complexity, then the Beach Boys are arguably at the top of that ‘sunshine pop’ tree. It is a musical character that has never fully bloomed beyond its founders even though many have either tried to fully adopt it (Sagittarius, The Association, The Left Banke) or at least absorb it into their work as an influence (ELO, Teenage Fanclub, The High Llamas). What happens on even fewer occasions is the re-discovering of a Sunshine Pop classic that neither got its deserved amount of recognition in its time nor a gathering momentum of positive re-appraisal in the intervening years. We have that very thing here though, an album displaying a bold ambition and a taste for grand designs, sounding indisputably like it was built by a group of sonic architects who had the musical talents to pull such a bold scheme off effectively. So, prepare yourself to be amazed by Modesty Blaise and their expanded, three-disc, 25th anniversary edition of 2001 lost golden nugget, ‘Melancholia.’ Now, before we get into the back story though, there is a huge amount of music to be heard here so, should this band be a new name and you are unsure whether to continue, let me briefly describe how this album begins.

The intro is just over a minute of a piece called ‘Chorale,’ which is exactly how it describes, a gentle vocal assemblage of wordless, intoning voices of a solemn persuasion which step back to allow elegant strings admission before rising drums tentatively usher in an explosion of magnificently edifying pop splendour on ‘Carol Mountain.’ Extending to six minutes, this is orchestral, sophisticated, and melodic perfection in song. Deceptively simple and cohesive, it just packs so much into one tune; sumptuous verses and a significant chorus lift, glorious string arrangements, vocal breaks with potent harmonic variations, intervals built for cinematic effect, clearly defined central variations plus flawless opening and closing passages. It is quite simply a modern pop classic in the most relevant, to that term, sense and I go further by stating, if it were delivered from the hand of Brian Wilson, it would ride high as one of his best works. And this is only the beginning because ‘Melancholia’ is a musical opus boasting song suites, motif reprisals and unifying grand concept but what do we know of its creators?

Modesty Blaise – Photo by Gregory Jones

Modesty Blaise rose out of Bristol’s fertile indie‑pop scene having formed in 1993 by singer‑guitarist Jonny Collins and bassist David W. Brown, playing their first gig at The Mauretania in Bristol. A debut single, ‘Christina Terrace,’ came out in 1994 as a limited‑edition 7-inch produced by Edwyn Collins, guaranteeing collectable status by selling out just as local radio and television appearances gave a handy push. Further exposure, like inclusion in several end‑of‑year lists, cemented their name as a hot Bristol proposition. They grew a reputation for lavish, harmony‑rich arrangements influenced by sixties pop classicists and, in terms of access to a deserved mainstream pop audience, supporting Robbie Williams at London’s O2 Arena must have felt like an encouraging step. A Rough Trade compilation appearance, an ITV documentary centring on Jonny Collins and an ambitious BBC Radio session involving seventeen musicians kept the momentum moving. In 2001 with ‘Melancholia,’ they created the kind of work usually decorated with words like ‘masterpiece,’ which must have added to the frustration at its lack of availability in recent years. “For quite a while, people have been asking us why our biggest album wasn’t available to stream” recalled Jonny Collins. “We decided that, if we were going to do it, we’d do it properly. The remastering process was really interesting. The point was to reveal extra detail within the songs.”

Acknowledging their music was of a far more layered grain, Jonny added that “it’s been a longstanding thing within Modesty Blaise that, not only do we throw the kitchen sink in, we break in next door, rip out their sink, and throw that in too. But modern mastering has brought more clarity; we’re really happy with it.” They have certainly taken advantage of the space offered by three discs, especially on the ‘[de] Construction’ set that pulls out isolated instruments and vocal parts from the mixing desk, a process that few records truly warrant but there is so much buried audio treasure here the deep dive is, for once, a justified and rewarding indulgence. The third disc presents different single mixes and versions which again, given the progressions on an album essentially built around the pop song format, is another invaluable addition. There are bound to be times when the zippier versions heard here are all that is required.

Considering the self-confessed inclination to develop indefinitely in the studio, it is still noticeable how totally devoid of filler this album is. Even the tracks where three songs are built into one do not feel over long, despite looking like a marathon on paper. One of these is the suite ‘Old Woman – My Life Before You Came – Swivel Chair’ which shows the same capacity for realizing a vision as McCartney on ‘Abbey Road’s’ side two. There are delightful prog touches too, nothing cumbersome, more like the flighty current of Caravan as washes of keys and mellotron sound enhance the conclusion. ‘Even In My Darkest Hour’ also has a triumphant coda, where any one of the swirling keyboards, the ghostly theremin noise or the homely horn refrain would have been enough to make it a beguiling ending, but they throw all three in anyway. Our epic journey approaches its close on the thirteen-plus minute ‘The Love Suite,’ a bold creation that once again has a bit of everything but, crucially, it is everything you want. Brass, massive choruses, guitars freaking out, a united vision and an ecstatic shout to the top, it all serves to leave us totally overwhelmed by our stimulated senses, delighted, delirious and hungry for more in equal measure. Music this fully loaded with ideas doesn’t stay under the radar indefinitely, and with ‘Melancholia,’ Modesty Blaise look ready to claim the attention they have long deserved.

Danny Neill

Find out more about Modesty Blaise and how to purchase ‘Melancholia’ here: https://modestyblaiseuk.bandcamp.com/

Modesty Blaise – Photo by Gregory Jones
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New Release Reviews

Various – Something For The Longing (Scottish Independent Pop 1985-1999)

Ever since Elvis Costello, carving out a Jools Holland‑style TV‑presenter niche in the early 21st century, declared the 1980s “the decade that taste forgot,” it has almost been treated as fact. And while there are solid musical reasons not to revere the eighties the way we do the three decades before it, what is often overlooked is that it was the last time an underground scene truly meant something: alive with creativity, resistance, and a genuine DIY spirit invisible to the yuppies feeding their soulless numbers game. Punk had opened the doors to independence in the late seventies, and its ripples travelled far beyond the UK. In America they had the college‑radio circuit, with R.E.M. and their jangling brethren pushing back against the MTV onslaught. Simultaneously, by the mid‑eighties in England, “Indie” was becoming more than freedom from corporate control; it was becoming a sound. The Smiths may have defined it first: British guitar pop that used the instrument as a symbol of detached cool rather than phallic posturing. But as the movement gathered momentum, it increasingly felt like Scotland was where the real action was. North of the border, a musical fightback was brewing against expensive videos overshadowing songs, against synths draining the heart from the art form and in favour of rescuing beloved retro sounds from the scrap heap. And as this expansive three‑disc, 67-track set on Cherry Red Records, covering the final fifteen years of the century proves, there was far more to this movement than mere geography or Byrds‑influenced twelve‑string twee guitar pop.

We launch straight in with Jesus And Mary Chain from their 1985 debut LP with ‘You Trip Me Up.’ That is the sound of two worlds colliding right there. The C86 cassette from the following year may have captured the spirit of the scene, as well as some of its sixties influences but it did not impress on us the innovations some of these acts were instigating. The collision of aggressive feedback and classic girl-group pop melodies had not been heard before and for a time, the Mary Chain were as notorious as an act like Bob Vylan has become today. Nevertheless, this was more about music than attention seeking (even though the headlines the Reid brothers generated gave the pop landscape a welcome shot) and with the energy, attitude and pop-punk exuberance of The Shop Assistants up next, maybe this shows more the expected vibe for this collection; but nothing is quite so predictable on an engagingly curated set. The Soup Dragons sound feyer here than the indie-dance pioneers they are more widely remembered as and the same goes for Primal Scream. They are represented by ‘Gentle Tuesday,’ its golden chiming guitar solo showing just how expressive they were before beats and trippy remixes briefly took over. Still, the best finds come from names that have drifted from the conversation over time. The Motorcycle Boy are a good example of this, their ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’ has alluring rockabilly style guitar phrases that deserved to push them (indie) chart bound.

The Jasmine Minks

The Big Gun take this thread further still; in fact, they had a member called Andrew O’Hagan whose semi-autobiographical memoirs about his time in the band were adapted into a BBC TV series. His group found strength in potent chorus repetition on ‘Heard About Love’ as do The Thieves on ‘Talk Your Head Off,’ although these hooks display more introspection. The fruity organ is pretty tasty too. Revolving Paint Dream celebrate the thrill of jingle-jangle riffage and happy surprises abound, like with The Jasmine Minks whose ‘Cut Me Deep’ is a strong contender for hit status in that parallel universe where all is right and just in the hit parade. Baby Lemonade have similar vim, their Syd Barrett referencing name being the only detail pointing to a psychedelic aesthetic. The Vaselines, who were later covered by Nirvana, offload exciting, trashy rock ‘n’ roll filth on ‘Teenage Superstar’ which is also the clearest pointer yet to the Velvet Underground’s quiet influence on large parts of this scene. And well-done Dawson for making a song called ‘Noel Edmunds’ that, even if the neatly bearded presenter were still radio broadcasting in 1989, he would not have been able to play his mainstream audience no matter how his ego may desperately have wanted to.

This is where the assumed story takes a lesser told turning, as bands like Fenn, Spirea X and The Fizzbombs push the harder, grey and industrial tones into the red reminding us that minor key guitar abuse is the sound of the eighties every bit as much as tinny synths and gated-reverb drums. Returning back to brighter guitars for disc two we launch with one of the C86 aligned, Sarah Records mainstay bands, The Orchids. Their ‘Something For The Longing’ is a distant cousin of R.E.M.s ‘King Of Birds’ (no bad thing) whilst The Wendy’s ‘Enjoy The Things You Fear’ recalls the nonchalance of indie-scene adjacent Lloyd Cole. Despite these reference points, the Pearlfishers ‘Sacred’ is arguably the purest period pop sound to be found here. The gospel-tinged lift in the chorus still hits with the same force it did thirty-five years ago. BMX Bandits ‘Serious Drugs’ resonates with the times too, as long at the times are 1992. This was the kind of festival hit that belonged to the indie culture and felt like an anthem. The sleevenotes actually informed us that it could have been a lot more successful had its release not coincided with ‘drugs awareness week.’ Still, the little George Harrison guitar punctuations are a charming nod and wink to a time when indelicate drug references in pop songs were almost obligatory.

BMX Bandits

The BMX Bandits Joe McAlinden did go on to get slightly more recognition (thanks to Rod Stewart covering one of his songs) and acclaim with his band Superstar who were signed to Creation Records. The track included here, ‘Don’t Wanna Die,’ does point to a far grander psychedelic pop and lush soft rock ambition lurking in the margins of the early nineties. Still, Dick Johnson stumbling in like the Cramps for ‘Disposable Darling’ also shows that the opposite also held true as some favoured unpolished, primitive energy. The compilation now hits a sequence revisiting the angular jerkiness of Whirling Pig Dervish then the chirp laced choppy guitar of Lung Leg. The Stanleys frantic craving precedes post-punk angst from Glue before Spare Snare’s trashcan scuzz. All these serve to highlight the enduring impression that these largely uncelebrated bands have left on so many familiarly arch guitar outfits of the present day. Moving on, Pink Kross barge in sounding like spiky haired psychobilly’s intent on elbowing anyone looking too bookish out of the way before Lugworm warn “better watch your back” in ‘Sweaty Says.’ I kept thinking they were referring to a certain disgraced and deceased BBC DJ but cannot find anything substantiating this, so it must just be my ears deceiving me.

This set is packed with highlights and more than a few buried jewels. The Poison Sisters ‘Chicane’ rocks a fat one with a crash-landing chorus and it is evident that, despite undeniable vintage influences, most of the recording here are the work of forward thinkers, not revivalists. That said, Luci Baines Band’s ‘Find A Lil Love’ is pure seventies good time rock but no less deserving of a 2026 resurrection. Arab Strap usher in, as we reach disc three, a late nineties golden age in which Aidan Moffat’s poetic kitchen sink reflections add a lyrical depth to the scene. The Delgados became darlings of the country thanks to their influential Chemikal Underground label, and their own John Peel endorsed boy / girl wistfulness; here though it is a more abrasive velvet fabric that is honoured on ‘Monica Webster.’ Today Belle And Sebastian’s ‘Lazy Line Painter Jane’ sounds like a solid gold indie pop classic with that yearning “last bus out of town” chorus but their commitment to the wider cause was full and detailed. For example, here was a band that properly honoured a trope, that by the nineties was often talked up but not as strictly observed as you might believe, of not putting single and EP tracks on albums. That was the case with this 1997 EP track, and I can still recall the delight as Belle And Sebastian fans organised their voting enough to shock the industry at the Brit Awards denying Steps a gong: a rare example of good music winning the day.

Belle And Sebastian

There are many more reacquaintances to indulge in too. Huckleberry are astonishing here, their lively dream‑pop melodies spinning effortlessly; then the booklet reminds me this was an early vehicle for James Yorkston, and suddenly everything clicks into place. The song ‘Three-Speed Wilfred’ was an unreleased 1999 recording so if there is not already enough inducement to check out this collection, you can add previously unheard tracks to the reasons too. Lovely to hear from King Creosote also, whose Fence Collective was an important turn of the century breeding ground. It also moved in parallel geographic strands to the ever-spectacular Beta Band, represented here by ‘Inner Meet Me’ from 1998. We close with a 1999 cut from Mogwai, one of an all too small number of bands featured who spectacularly broke out beyond the regions from which they arose. But to place too much importance on that misses the point, this celebration has never been about mass appeal. It has been a glorious carousel ride through an age defined by artistic momentum, single-minded character, and a belief in everything music can still do; a reminder that the tools of the trade remain basic, attainable, and utterly relevant. There is plenty here ripe for revival but set aside the big talk: ‘Something For The Longing’ is made for the finer feelings and asks for no wider stage. It stands as essential testimony to how the Scottish DIY movement struck gold with remarkable regularity.

Danny Neill

Get yourself a copy of ‘Something For The Longing’ here: https://amzn.to/42o06Hh

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New Release Reviews

Hannah Lew – Hannah Lew

This self-titled debut album may well be the most out-and-out pop record I have written about on these pages this year but, as is so often the case with pop I love both new and old, it arrives from the hand of an artist with a broader range of musical reference in her armoury. Even the front cover points to a deconstructionist approach, with Hannah’s face printed, ripped up and re-assembled in a way that reflects the methodology of the music. And yet, still we have ended up with an album not just front but absolutely fully loaded with electro leaning, propulsive bangers. It is just that the option to listen deep is equally as valid as putting this on whilst doing the washing up. Take ‘Another Twilight,’ if you do not hear that pulsating disco intro and immediately think of Lipps Inc (other than you are probably a lot younger than me) be sure to go and check out ‘Funky Town’ next, but laced with the melancholia of a chorus that sings “it’s all over baby and I don’t mind, in decline, I take my time” this is actually the better track. ‘Replica’ is similarly poptastic, it reminds a little of Future Islands at their punchiest but for all the connections one might be inclined to draw, this music is watermarked with Hannah’s individualistic brush strokes. There is the ache of the personal too, with Lew referring to this track specifically in stating “when you have true love in your life it’s easier to name false love and this song is largely about recognizing a fraudulent love, heartbreaking as it is.”

Hannah Lew’s creative path has long threaded through some of the most distinctive corners of the American independent music world, first as a member of Grass Widow and later with Cold Beat, before arriving at a moment that feels wholly her own. Her new self‑titled album for Night School Records marks the first time she has stepped forward under her own name, embracing a vivid strain of pop that walks the line between depth and feel-good release. Written and shaped between her home in Richmond, California and sessions at The Best House in Oakland with Maryam Qudus, the record draws energy from a circle of West Coast collaborators who help bring its bright contours into focus. ‘Damaged Melody’ is a notable example of this, the way an initial conveyor belt of wide-open industrial electronics suddenly explodes with showers of falling space dust and urgent rhythm is sheer sonic splendour. The album opens with ‘Time Wasted’ and it is here where subtle echoes of her previous musical adventures can be heard. There is definitely an element of the post punk to the bass line that drives this pot boiler along but nevertheless, it is the expanding synth scape that dominates all the way.

Though echoes of her earlier projects remain, the album moves with a clarity of intention that signals a fresh chapter, foregrounding a vocal approach that highlights the emotional tension woven through her melodies. In fact, that unsettled stress is twisted into focus on ‘Move In Silence’ which mentions a war outside, just out of view. Hannah takes the metaphor further when talking about the track, saying that this is “a wartime album” which sadly, is literally true today. No wonder the follow up song, ‘Distance Of The Moon,’ seems to give rise to thoughts of escape into the stars. It heralds the arrival of the albums darkest detour, right at the close, where the rough textures of minor key guitars suddenly push to the forefront. She resists the opportunity to push distortion even further on closer ‘The Clock’ which has the structure of a Jesus And Mary Chain epic minus the feedback. This was indisputably the right choice, for although the songs balance buoyancy with unease, capturing a sense of wonder even as they reflect the fractured moment in which they were made, a pop aesthetic prevails throughout. With mastering by Sarah Register sharpening every detail, this collection presents Lew as an artist confidently carving out new territory while acknowledging the lineage that brought her here. More than that though, it is an album overflowing with potential for continued space explorations of a thrilling nature waiting for us in the future. What a great beginning.

Danny Neill

Get a vinyl copy of the album via this link: https://amzn.to/41QeTu9

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New Release Reviews

Ella Clayton – Could It Be You?

It can sometimes feel that an artist stating they were aiming for a warm analogue sound has lost its impact with chronic overuse. There is actually an important ideal at the roots of an ambition like that, but such is the ubiquity of the claim it has almost become shorthand for non-electronic music. But if the meaning is lost to some then please allow me to point you in the direction of this new sophomore release by East London singer-songwriter Ella Clayton. Yes, she has declared the natural live sound of musicians playing together in a room, vibing off each other and responding to feelings in the moment as her intent, but you know from the very first listen that she also understood what this meant in practice. There is a looseness to the grooves, not an everybody must get stoned lethargy but a connectedness, like the music is untethered and free to flow exactly how the main narrator wishes to steer it. There are stops, moments where the emoting is given space to be felt just as there are fevered flourishes of exhilaration and vigour. I mean the recipe is almost so basic that there is a danger in over intellectualisation; the simple rule for realising that warm analogue sound is just play your music, feel it, live it, breathe it and if you are good at what you do, the magic will appear. By ensuring all the rhythm tracks were laid down live, Ella Clayton guaranteed she had the best natural canvas to unlock precisely what her music needed to do.

Essentially what I am describing is a soulfulness and within her singer-songwriter template, Ella surely has moved into a soul-folk lane that is not always so easy to access. And if real soul is to be attained in music it helps if the artist is pouring something of themselves into the grooves, which it seems Ella actually is as the singer herself confides with this assessment. “This record is a journey through longing and self-interrogation, the search for something or someone outside of myself to tell me who I am and what I want. I hope that people recognise themselves in these snapshots from my life and take comfort in the shared experience.” Opener ‘Please Me’ wastes no time in making a case for Ella as soul diva, the tumbling dice of the vocal raining down at the end of each verse tells us we are in the realms of tracks possessing a heart wrenching, late sixties southern soul distinction. The lyric is holding out for something real as it also does on ‘Mouth Said Money,’ about a manager whose promises never transposed to real life, demonstrating too that Ella has range that can meet with grungier flavours. She even stretches her voice to its boundaries, happy for some imperfections to shine. Let it be noted here though that there is no lack of light, hope and even amusement amidst the frustrations expressed. The title track especially, whilst set up as a meditation on longing and the search for companionship, still manages to tell the story of a first date that went comically wrong.

“I trace the lines of the Dolomites and you curse the day I was born” Ella sings on ‘Dolomites,’ a track that begins as an icy waltz before erupting into an explosion of frustration at the denial of a space to be alone, brilliantly executed it is too. ‘Ripples In Bedsheets’ is the folkiest sound we have heard thus far, and the weight of the lyric welcomes a dynamic string arrangement, again all for the good of the song but I come back again to that Clayton voice as the centrepiece of all that is profound in these numbers. She is fearless in her letting go, even on a more becalmed number such as this, when Ella goes route one and lets her voice convey the feeling, she really soars. ‘I Miss Strangers’ can be added to the overflowing well of 2020’s songs inspired by lockdown and the absence of fresh human interaction, but it earns its place at the table with a nice boxed in guitar hook and a lyric born out of genuine distress. ‘Rain All Day’ mournfully misses someone lost with a more forgiving thought, gorgeously demonstrating too the power in a well written middle eight. Expanding her range further still, there is a soothing country lilt to ‘October Trip’ before ‘Seagull Song’ arrives with the easy lift of a sea breeze until ‘Tell Me Something’ brings a little sombre violin to the table. It transpires that this tranquil three song suite is tactfully sequenced as a set up for the return of Ella’s lolling, soulful folk free form truth seeking on spectacular extended finale ‘As You Are.’ Before playing out to the most satisfying of closing instrumental breaks, we hear Ella celebrating the warmth of love, platonic as much as romantic, felt with the most intensity in moments of mundane everyday life. It is a fine place to end because firstly, you are hungry for more but secondly, it cleverly wraps the essence of deferential respect for the unexpected tangents in life as mirrored by the unplanned diversions heard in this music. So, I come back to where we started, by admiring how Ella Clayton is effortlessly attaining an honest integrity to her work that many declare an ambition for but far fewer actually realise. The sound on ‘Could It Be You?’ is music creation that is wholly uninhibited to be what it feels, that is free to be true.

Danny Neill

Get your order in for ‘Could It Be You?’ here: https://amzn.to/4cpGIja

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New Release Reviews

ESYA – Chasing Desire

ESYA is the name of a new project from Savages bassist Ayşe Hassan launching with this debut album, ‘Chasing Desire,’ a work that revs with the energy of the new whilst building on the experience of the past. After three exploratory EPs and the dissolution of Savages, Hassan uses this record to rebuild her musical identity from the ground up, merging her silken‑force bass work with synths, electronics, and programmed beats that map the contours of a turbulent personal period. The album also captures a return to Hassan’s DIY roots despite years spent touring the world, as she learns an entirely new setup in pursuit of a sound that projects honest vulnerability and a potency for self‑invention. It is so much more than an audio vehicle too for surrounding the release, Hassan is staging a series of ‘Chasing Desire’exhibitions across the UK, inviting listeners into the machinery of the album; from private listening stations to hands‑on synth experimentation, even offering space for visitors to record their own “Desire Transmission,” a growing archive of confessions that will feed into a future ESYA release.

The album begins with ‘Fallen,’ the deep throb of a heavy synth bedrock evoking an imposing, urban landscape where the pulse of human life is fighting against the darkness where “the sun has disappeared.” Ayşe sings with a pain that will pierce you and this is an opening more than hinting at the trauma we might encounter on the journey ahead. But there is a flip side to this, because for all the intensity of the electronic sound there is still something quite warm here. This is electronica rising from other planets, swirling in a melange of molten lava and bursting with colour; in other words, there is beauty emanating from this chilling terrain pointing to brief flashes of clarity amidst the uncertainty. ‘Take My All’ has a touch of chaos that somehow manages to hold together, which might have been exactly the effect Hassan was seeking. She remembers it like this. “Because I was still learning, I decided to embrace the imperfections. I love music where there is that awkwardness and tension and something that’s not right but that I can resonate with.” And she was determined to hit her post-Savages phase with fearlessness, retaining the bass from her past life but otherwise diving into previously untested waters, even singing was a step in a new direction. One thing Brian Eno used to do to shake a band up in the studio was get them all to swap instruments, I sense a similar approach has resulted in some refreshingly bold sounds and textures on ‘Chasing Desire.’

The blank canvass approach and its freedom to explore ideas really inject these tracks with added depth and variety. Something like ‘Wandering’ wrong foots, beginning in broken down ballad territory, before the icy grind of industrial sound pushes the pace into a metronomic space, even though Hassan holds down the personal, whisper in the ear aspect of emoting, leading to an unexpected mix of the frosty and personable. The singing voice Ayşe has uncorked for ESYA is a less than conventional instrument too. She literally plays it like an audio tool on certain tunes, mixing the vocal in a way that marries it to the instrumentation rather than leading it. But then on the title track, with its repeated “I don’t want to be a lover” refrain, she really pushes the character in her delivery to the forefront, properly owning the space as a lead vocalist and allowing every atom of vulnerability and fallibility to bleed through. ‘Heaven’ is easily one of the most accessible tunes to be found here and a major stand-out track for sure. The collision of a cut that is daring you not to dance to it and a lyric about the anxiety of retreating from a difficult situation make for an abrasive yet exhilarating combination. It is like Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’ was produced by Scott Walker (yes that good). A similar effect is heard on ‘Lullaby’ which is anything but berceuse, more like a ghost in the machine. These contrasts co-exist to perfection all the way across ‘Chasing Desires,’ one never threatening to overwhelm the other, a satisfying fusion of tension and release. This is a work overflowing with wonder at the endless possibilities in experimental music and considering the raw material Ayşe Hassan is collecting to move the ESYA endeavour forward, this promises to be a vehicle we would be wise to keep an eye on.

Danny Neill

Get yourself a copy of ‘Chasing Desire’ via this link: https://amzn.to/4cV7mjT

ESYA by Neeq Serene
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