Lis-ten to the raaaaadiooooooo....

This is not a piece about Robbie Williams. Phew. But why oh why oh why can there not be a radio on at work? Amidst the morass of paperwork and emails that many of us suffer, our search for positives can be difficult. I'm afraid I am largely disinterested in discovering the innermost workings of Microsoft Word, instead feeling that this list of bullet points SHOULD JUST BLOODY WELL LINE UP AS I WANT IT TO. No, I am unlikely to gain anything resembling a greater faith in my point of being on this earth while using a spreadsheet so protected that it should feature in a hidden treasure-based fairy tale: "young Geoffrey knew he could win the heart of fair maiden, and restore the wealth of the kingdom, if he could only unlock this f*ckin Purchase Order....".

Sorry. I know the counter arguments - it's distracting, it disturbs people, it's unprofessional. Well, tough titty. Music comes from deep in our collective human past and is almost certainly linked to our evolution from cave dwelling pseudo-thinkers to sophisticated spreadsheet manipulators. See Daniel Levitin's fascinating, This is Your Brain on Music (Atlantic Books, 2007) for more, but suffice to say that music is fundamental to our continuing existence and, I think, a massive force of buoyancy within a never changing environment.

So the campaign starts here. We demand our music! We must have the opportunity for emotional release in that most tedious of moments, 2.24pm, when it's too long after lunch to pretend you're still having it and too far away from declaring the day a write off. Harmony for everybody! Verse chorus verse for the Inbox Proletariat! What's that? That's fine so long as it's Heart FM? Oh, okay, nevermind then.

I Think Ur A Winner

This is my third blog about Vampire Weekend so I'll keep it brief. Rather like their new album, in fact. Everything about The Weekenders is tight, nothing goes on longer than it needs to, so Contra was never gonna be a "long" player. But a more pleasing 36 minutes you may be hard pushed to find.

Lead single and opening track "Horchata" has grown on me. On its own it didn't give enough to draw you in, but within the context of the album it's a pleasing start to a collection that combines water-tight tunes reminiscent of the first album ("Holiday", "Cousins") and other numbers that are brave enough to let their attractions unfurl more slowly. "California English" uses Auto Tuned vocals without being annoying, "Run" uses some sinister, jarring harmonies to add depth and closer, "I Think Ur A Contra" is quiet, delicate and very brave.

A development rather than a revolution, but a good one. Upper West Side Soweto still has plenty to offer.

January is brilliant and here's why

I've never had a problem with January, personally. At least no more than the average childhood disappointment: "you are now leaving Present Central and entering I'm Not Made of Money City...". Going back to work is mildly depressing but it's nothing a quick job alert email won't fix.

This all, of course, runs contrary to what the media will tell us, especially when we get the inevitable, "this is officially the most bummed-out day of the year" stories. We will be told that this particular Monday is after Christmas, far from the next pay day, bloomin' cold and that we're all too poor and bored to believe otherwise. Nevermind the fact that not everyone has the same motivations and interests and that not everyone wished they lived in a permanent British summer, such differences are unhelpful for a media desperate to package us into easily understandable and identifiable consumer chicken coups.

So - I am delighted to unveil the answer to all this self-reinforcing, glossy media misery in the form of Vampire Weekend's new single, "Cousins". A fabulously tight blast of Strokesian afro-pop, as busily noisy as it is gloriously upbeat and with a pounding, church bell flavoured coda, it's joy incarnate. The video's a laugh as well. Check it out here.

Stay tuned to CALM for some words on their second album (Contra, XL Recordings) when it comes out on Monday, but for now may I suggest a Rage Against The Machine for Christmas number 1 type campaign (only a bit less vitriolic and for precisely zero pence). May I suggest that every time you hear that January is rubbish you head straight to Koenig and co and grab some Vampire action. If the press are watching they should get the message.

Stop Foo-ing about!

I'd like to think that if I became uber famous and mega rich writing and/or playing music for a living then, at least after the initial shock ("who'd have thought, with Grade 3 Clarinet, woohoo!!"), I'd enjoy the freedom of being able to do anything. I'm not talking groupies and trout (file under Drunken Led Zep Escapades), I mean creatively. Say, for example, that I went stellar with my magnificent blend of Kraftwerkian synth and old school reggae - the last thing I'd want is to think, "god, that sold millions, I'm stuck now. I can't go and produce heavy metal renditions of Austrian folk or I'll lose it all". Surely the point is that you'd probably be alright if you're world renowned and massively popular.

Which brings me to Dave Grohl, modern rock's era-spanning gold-plated aristo-star. Great stuff Dave, love your work, always have. Even new recipe-for-disaster-because-supergroups-are-always-rubbish supergroup Them Crooked Vultures. You, John Paul Jones of the aforementioned Led Zeppelin and Queens of the Stone Age frontman Josh Homme have got enough of a heavy, groovy-but-nuanced thing going on there to (if not silence) then at least distract the doubters for a bit. But what's this I read about you enjoying these side projects because you can kick back and relax with a bit of fun, while the "responsibility" of your own Foo Fighters, "can sometimes be overwhelming" (Mojo, January 2010)? So basically you've got (at least) two bands which you're not driven to engage with artistically.

Hello? The Foo Fighters are your band Dave, remember? If you don't like what it's become then change it. You'd lose a few fans but you're not exactly short of them. If more and more bands keep down this road we won't see too many genuine band progressions anymore. And then where will our Austrian folk-metal fix come from?

Local music for everybody

I'm not made of money. If I were it would be difficult to go out for a drink without people taking chunks out of your leg. BOOM BOOM. But despite such cash conundrums, I deemed it a worthy investment to join Rough Trade's Album Club. The deal is you pay £12 a month to the record shop and they send you an album that they reckon is quite good. Not breaking the bank of course, but I spend far too much money on music as it is, without waiting for someone else to spend my money for me.

Up until this point, the albums that popped through my letterbox were largely ones I had either intended to buy anyway or had a certain curiosity about. Which was useful if slightly unexciting. Until this month, when a band I am perfectly happy to admit I had never heard of had their debut album sent to me. Local Native's Gorilla Manor, in fact. And it was worth the investment, because it's bloody ace. As wonderfully graceful as The Temper Trap but with more bite, as tuneful as Vampire Weekend but more subtle and cleverly arranged, they've played a blinder basically. For those who want a quick introduction I would recommend the majestic "Shape Shifter", which has been running through my head ever since I first heard it.

Tuneful and moreish, yet clever and deep. It touches my guts and my head all at the same time, which is a deeply pleasing experience. Well worth the money.

New.....stuff! It's great, buy it please, wooooo!!!

Advertising is often annoying but it's amusing to imagine the thought processes involved. Most clearly in the case of antibacterial wipes, where they have to convey that it will kill all germs ALL GERMS ALL OF THEM ABSOLUTELY NONE LEFT, but also that they feel nicey on your handy-wandys. So they call them Wet Ones, which sounds like the collective term for puppy noses.

Which brings me rather spuriously on to band names. You've got to have a certain amount of chutzpah to call yourself something that is clearly never going to be said in anything even vaguely resembling prime time. A name such as F*ck Buttons, for example. Their latest effort, Tarot Sport, is a very interesting industrially electronic effort, little bits of hook intermingling with harsh but passionate atmospheres. If you fancy something different but engaging then have a go at it. It's not getting anywhere near prime time, of course - so they might as well call themselves something confrontational and anti-mainstream. Thankfully, their name is not even remotely the most interesting thing about them.

Now if they were called the Humpto Bumpadoo Brothers, it might be a different story...

And this is the toilet - oh, not that Cribs.....

I have rather fallen for The Cribs' latest album, Ignore The Ignorant. Lest we forget, the Wakefield brothersome combination now have an extra member in the form of Johnny "yes, him from The Smiths, no really, it is actually him" Marr. So a bit like Eric Cantona joining your 5-a-side team then, only with less kung-fu presumably.

First listen led me towards the conclusion that some of the guts and subtle knowing-ness of previous album, Men's Needs, Women's Needs, Whatever had been lost to make way for the more grown-up approach to expression. Although I reckon this is probably still the case, it hasn't allowed me to shift the frantic "We Were Aborted" or the sing-a-long-tastic "We Share The Same Skies" from my massively-foreheaded head. Calmer maybe, but The Cribs still manage to sound like both a tender-hearted pop band and a bunch of bruisers, only now with an added guitar sound that is as beguiling as it is familiar. Check out recent single "Cheat On Me" for an ending straight outta Marr City.

In short, it's a grower.

Hitting the wrong note

I know it's all for the kiddies, but that's no excuse. Frank Skinner and Lee Mack gallivanting through Europe on the first leg of Children In Need's Around the World in 80 Days was largely as uncontroversial as you'd expect entertainment in the name of charity to be. That's fine. However...why did they have to drag Massive Attack into it?

It is, these days, very standard for a programme of any description (from Top Gear to Property Ladder) to use a vast array of music from a multitude of genres. Secret Machines don't get a look in on Radio 1 but their booming drum-heavy sound will end up showcasing a shiny vehicle (you could tell it was a good one because it was silver and went wooooosh and stuff). And on the aforementioned Save the Kiddies travelogue they even had room for School of Seven Bells amidst the echoes of England's greatest ever football spanking in Budapest.

But then, to accompany a slightly fretful moment involving a Visa (or lack of, seemingly solved pretty quickly by a few bob), we had Massive Attack's "Angel". Sure, they looked a bit anxious, but this is a piece of music so monumentally malevolent that it could (no - should) soundtrack the coming of the devil, something so deeply foreboding that it's throbbing bass refrain feels like it's being played by a ghoul somewhere in the caves of your soul. It's like putting Picasso's Guernica on a cereal box to represent a story about a bunny rabbit with a sad face.

Music and images and context used together well creates something fabulously multi-layered and powerful. Used badly and it's Hollyoaks. Next week Nick from The Apprentice gets his soup served to him slightly too cold to the tune of Mozart's Requiem. Maybe.

Look into the eyes, not around the eyes....

J Tillman kinda reminds me of Derren Brown, which is not really something I thought I would say. It's not because the J-ster (also known as Joshua, also known as the drummer in Fleet Foxes but not ever known as the J-ster) has a scary wee beard and a strangely hypnotic habit of bobbing his head.

It's more the style of their acts. When I saw the Brown-ster live in 2004(ish) I spent the first 30 minutes wondering how he was doing it and the rest of the show just enjoying the sensational live drama. And superb it was too. The J-master and his band get a groovy countryfied atmosphere going, and to begin with you feel compelled to nitpick, to think, "well, this is all very nice, but is it saying very much, is it pastiche, is it all the same". But then, as his songs begin to grow in length and ambition, you stop thinking about it and let his wonderful massive noise wash over you, slide guitar screeching overheard and tearing at your soul.

He is also a somewhat dry chap, bone dry in fact, deadpanning his way through at first sly digs at music critics and blando pop and then upping the ante through a mid-song rant that goes something like this:

"Critics...hypocrites....when the work of your hand works over the work of other people's hands will it mean anything?!"

My grip tightens on my paid-for ticket. A great show and a great musician, just don't end up having a widdle next to him if you've got a notebook on show.....

Be in bed by nightfall.....

Hey hey, afro-beat fans, some good news a-foot. Vampire Weekend are at work on their follow up to their rather successful debut and will hopefully be able to quash your post-Christmas blues by releasing it in January. I'm sure there are some who have not been convinced by the idea of posh boys from New York writing songs about university and grammar and using some of that there African pop style to do it. But in my mind,their debut album was one of the most uplifting and fantatistic things to emerge last year. Not to mention the magnificent "M79", which could just be the most brilliant use of strings and harpsichord in a pop song I've ever heard. Ooooooo, bold statement.

Apparently they've gone "Californian", which to them means they've gone "emotional". Most importantly, they've kept the trademark Strokes-meets-Soweto sound. Good work, lads. By the by, if you want something a bit Afro in the meantime (and you've not already sought it out), check out the album by The Very Best, called Warm Heart of Africa. It features some guest vocals by one Ezra Koenig of Vampire Weekend...

Resistance is useless. Well, not useless...

In honour of the clearly massive amounts of energy, time, money and Wagnerian brou-ha-ha that Muse have put into their new album, The Resistance, here is a short review. Or rather, ten semi-appropriate words to descibe it:
1. Overbearing
2. Inevitable
3. Monstrous
4. Show-off-y
5. Indulgent
6. Epic
7. Ambitious
8. Spectacular
9. Spine-tingling
10. Welcome
Anyone care to volunteer a word of their own?

We Love You Dizzee

It would not be an under- statement to say that Dizzee Rascal got the loudest roar at Creamfield 2009. The prospect of meeting Dizzee in the flesh was all too much for some of us, even the super-cool had no finger nails left by the end of the night. Anna, CALM camerawomen (pictured right), sums but the general hysteria backstage. Mr. Rascal was fashionable late but when finally reunited with the CALM crew he was more than obliging. He loves us. We love him. Pictorial evidence to follow. Watch this
SPACE .

The Cat that Got the Cream

James Barton, Creamfields Founder, speaks about CALM and Creamfields 2009.

Filthy Dukes. Potty Mouths.

I have never seen such a mismatched bunch – just look at their differing choice in footwear. The Duke in the Hush Puppies ate one of my sweets and asked if they were clean before popping it into his mouth!

The only band today that I would like to get fucked up with.

Bad guy rating: 0/10 (funny blokes)
Differing taste in footwear: 10/10
Chances of Mr. Rabbit getting fucked up with Filthy Dukes now BBC 1 are playing their tracks: Ice cube’s change in hell!

Click here to see their filthy little faces.

Erol Alkan: The King of Shut-Ups

Oi! Erol! I think you were being a bit harsh when you made Simon start the interview again. He was only being nice when he called you "The King of Mashup".

I couldn't hear what the tall one was saying - maybe I blocked out his majestic chit chat because I was so affronted by his reprimanding of Simon, or maybe it was because he was quieter than a muted blasphemer of The King that had just had his tongue lanced.

Either way, managed to catch one exclusive though - he's putting a record out with Boys Noize and as if to start the vicious rumours, their union begins tonight on stage.

I have to admit, I though it was Calvin Harris.
To hear the Simon Howler – click here..

Boys Noize

Two words. Cool and honest.

He said three things that I really like so I am not going to bother with the rest.
“Adulation is POWER. That’s good”
“I download stuff illegally. I don’t pay for it”
“I went to my first festival at 16. I played apparently”

Sorry about crap photo, click here to see moving images.

Michael Jackson, RIP.

A weird life in almost every way, all in all. Massive stardom, huge controversy, the biggest selling recording artist of all time and the owner of a monkey. Man, woman, black, white, he was all of these things in one way or another - genetics, botched plastic surgery, genetics again, skin disease, more botched surgery, respectively. The original metrosexual or just impossible to define?

The truth is that he couldn’t be defined. He helped invent a staggeringly catchy version of black pop that ticked boxes for anyone who liked a bit of funk, soul or rock. If you also liked a good tune, a great voice, brilliant production and the kind of moves that defy the laws of hip-physics then Jackson products probably floated your boat, or more likely propelled it into space. More than that, he invented Michael Jackson – the modern megastar. It goes Elvis, The Beatles, Michael Jackson and while others have been suitably impressive and important - Bowie, The Clash, Dylan, Pearl Jam (ahem) - they have never united quite as many people in their unadulterated fandom. We must take a moment to recognise the part played by his collaborators, Quincy Jones the producer and a co-songwriter called Rod Temperton (rather hilariously from Cleethorpes).

He may also have been a psychiatrist’s wet dream, a star since the age of 6, strict dad with a stricter dad, yada, yada and yet perhaps the most remarkable element was that Jacko had the showmanship to match the juicy records; can you be a man that dances like a demon and sings in the soprano side of manly yet still drown out any homophobic sniping with your success? Yes you can.

My favourite? Possibly, “Can You Feel it?”, simply for the whooshy noise that comes after the later choruses. It’s not just a gift from God, it sounds like a gift from God, and the Michael’s vocal embellishments are him at his soaring best.