widg‧et /ˈwɪdʒɪt/ [wij-it] -noun: Pointless ramblings from the New Forest. Obviously complete & utter Rubbish. Why must I contibute to all this endless talk about me? My self-indulgent knees, spilling themselves all over the internet. Obviously i am Jon and his hair, I AM HIM!

Monday, December 17, 2007

Peachy Hoop Toss (Five)

Oh my arsing cheeks! The NME have finally relented and given a decent album a home at the top of their year end poll (Klaxons), but don't panic most of the rest is business as usual with a reliably shitty entry at number 2 (Arctic 'Shitting' Monkeys). Anyway, let's forget our seasonal grudges, adjust our beehives and gather together for a lovely, billboard time:

The Modern Tribe

Hands off my gold! It's all mine. Yes, good old Celebration can't resist a go on the cowbells or a little bongo fiddling.

When they appeared on my radar last year on the greatest label in the world, 4AD, I was intrigued. Their first album, while very good, seemed a little too empty and spacious in its production, with not enough going on to get your teeth into, more a cold buffet than a banquet. This, however, is a vast improvement.

They have returned with a moody, 80s-tastic delight, relying less on their presumed 'TV on the Radio' & 'Yeah Yeah Yeahs' influences, and really stamping their own unique personality on each & every song. There is lot more variety on show here, with a much fuller sound, but still retaining their odd, offbeat rhythms. Heavy organ can be heard in patches throughout, bringing to mind a rough around the edges 'Arcade Fire', but it gives some much needed welly and brings a sense of coherence to proceedings.

'Wild Cats' breaks out the 'Duran Duran' guitars, with extra brass for good measure; 'Pressure' is a slow bubbling mix of synth, bass & hand claps, culminating in a fitful, restless lullaby. Also, if you go here & get the Simian Mobile Disco remix of 'Hand Off my Gold' for flippin'free, you will discover a mighty fine, aerobic, Kraftwerk-style stomper with shimmering, whirly bits & strange, castrato vocals.

Finale, 'Our Hearts Don't Change' is an erratic mess of drums & cymbal crashes with Katrina Ford's voice, not so much floating over the top, as getting stuck in and having a good rummage around. In fact, the whole record reminds me of a perfect, childhood jumble sale; with the emphasis off rancid socks & moth eaten jumpers, and firmly focused on the hunt for dog-eared comics, footless Star Wars toys & bits of previously unknown space Lego.


Blogger AlphIANo said...

Despite intially saying I hadn't heard it, I listened to this album at work last night, and... Well done, sir, an excelent choice!

Last year we were almost identical with our picks, this time it's all over the shop... how we've grown apart, *sigh*

3:05 pm


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