James Blake- James Blake

Extraordinary debut from minimalist mystery man as the post-dubstep era begins

We live in a musical era of bigness: be it the seemingly-endless scale of Muse, or the complex pop of mainstream artists like Lady Gaga. But a quieter way of life is slowly breaking through. Witness last year’s XX Mercury win, and now the critical whispers around James Blake.

What the world knows about him could be written on the back of a 5p piece. He was born in London, he went to Goldsmith’s and he’s 21. But after a short stint as an electronica producer on several heralded EPs, he’s put his own voice down (even if auto-tuned in a Bon Iver sort-of-way) over delicate piano lines, with XX-style delicacy, and whoomping dubstep basslines. Lo-fi doesn’t even begin to cover it.

More than anything though, the spaces on a record have never felt quite so important. There’s one song in particular here, Lindesfarne I, that strips it right down to his emotional vocals (falsetto and filled with sadness, winning comparisons to Jeff Buckley). On top of this whole seconds are left silent. It’s a brave decision that works on an enormously brave debut.

So those expecting 11 tracks like his haunting cover of Feist’s Limit To Your Love that hit the charts earlier in the year may be slightly confused. The rest of the album carries that track’s dislike for flourishes, but first listen will lead you to check that the music player isn’t broken. To start with it feels a very cold record, but after a few listens it will burrow deep beneath your skin and stay there.

It always goes back to the voice: rarely unaffected, but it makes it all the more special when heard in naked form. Piano playing on tracks like Give Me My Month and Why Don’t You Call Me are exceptional.

Words don’t often make an appearance either. This works to astounding effect on I Never Learnt To Share: “My brother and sister don’t speak to me/But I don’t blame them.” That’s it. No explanation, no insight, just those words over and over. It’s a phrase that haunts, and it’s all the more powerful just as it is.

Power also lies on the aforementioned Lindesfarne I, before it brings in quietly plucked guitar to flesh it out on Lindesfarne II. I Mind is perhaps a step too far: simple vocal vowels over a slim piano coda, skipping and jumping all over the place. It sounds like a seriously fucked up vocal warm up. It comes to a beautiful conclusion as Blake endlessly multi-tracks himself for a homemade gospel choir on Measurements. He ebbs and flows through the track, never unmasking fully, but it’s the closest to a big production number, even though it clearly isn’t when you consider it.

Be warned: this is not an easy, immediate listening experience. When so many are after instant gratification, James Blake should be commended for making the audience work a little. Despite this, those who prefer their minimal electronica more straightforward to digest should probably wait for Jamie Woon later in the year.

4/5

Best Tracks:
Measurements
Lindesfarne I
I Never Learnt To Share
Give Me My Month

Ritual- White Lies

Bigger doesn’t always mean better for Ealing miserablists

The emergence of White Lies’ Joy Division-owing gloom was hardly original in 2009. Interpol and Editors had it well covered. But debut album To Lose My Life...’s surprise stint at number one showed that there was something fresh and new about them, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

It was a great album filled with memorable hooks and eccentric optimism against the doom. Now they’re back and have done it all over again: just much, much bigger. This leaves a mixed bag.
At times on second album Ritual, they resemble a Ferrari without any wheels. It’s an impressive noise, but there isn’t really much point if it doesn’t move anywhere. Editors suffered a similar fate when they brought in the synths and stadium-aim, and lost something in the process. As well as borrowing their sound, White Lies seem to be on a similar trajectory.

First single Bigger Than Us is a perfect example of this, heavy on grandstanding, whooshing synths and gleaming production. Here it works. But while it shows them focused and onto something that works for them, but it’s a formula they too often stick to.

Opener Is Love is one of the exceptions. As well as the huge McVeigh vocals and swirling guitars, they also frequently stab violently, with a gleeful funk breakdown in the middle. For five minutes, the forward momentum is relentless and genuinely exciting. Ritual’s quality dips in the very next song, Stranger, which is filled with statements like “I’ve got a sense of urgency” and “I’ve got to make this happen” without actually achieving it.

And this is the main problem: it’s a wildly inconsistent record. To Lose My Life... was great for its song writing. Death was a tangible take on fear of flying, and Farewell To The Fairground was a living, breathing nightmare. Only occasional moments of “guilt smeared across your lips” show off the same skill here, and it never manages it for an entire song.

The initial thrill at the size of the beast soon wears off. Unsurprisingly, it’s the more Earth-based moments that stand out. The Power & The Glory still manages to be an epic, but in a more subtle and subdued way, with a backing guitar screech and late-night, skittering percussion. This brings relief from stadium-bait like Holy Ghost and ironically-titled Peace & Quiet. Hushed moments aren’t going to sell records, but they work in White Lies’ favour.

Individual tracks won’t stay with you, neither is the overall feel of the record. What they have got is singer Harry McVeigh. He carries far more detached power than his contempories, but let’s hope on record three they invest a little more human emotion, and remember why they so great to start with.

3/5

Best Tracks:
Is Love
The Power & The Glory
Bigger Than Us

The Joy Formidable, February 1 2011, Bournemouth Old Firestation

Welsh trio bring a riot to the south coast. What rock crisis?


For indie and rock fans of a more mainstream bent, the start of 2011 was overwhelmingly depressing. Very few “proper” rock albums finding a release, Mumford & Sons the only so-called “rock band” in the end of year charts (despite them releasing their album in 2009 and, yknow, being a folk band)- the future looks grim.

So it’s easy to see why The Joy Formidable’s album The Big Roar has been feted so. But far from failing to live up to the hype, their riotous show makes every ounce of it justified. Rather than come out all-guns-blazing, Ritzy Bryan and co build up with seven-minute album opener “Everching Spectrum of a Lie”, just as effective live.

From here, TJF are playing at hurricane force. Ritzy, pixie-like with blonde bob bouncing everywhere, controls it beautifully. After every earthquake riff and solo, she responds with a huge grin. That’s what’s so great about them: they’re here to remind people that music is meant to be fun, and we need that right now.

The cold venue is warmed fast by a responsive crowd, with tracks like “Heavy Abacus”, “Buoy” and “cradle” set off the moshers, all pawing for Bryan’s tiny frame. Every song is like a set climax- not always a good thing, as the set hardly flows. But by the time explosive closer “Whirring” comes around, this just doesn’t matter. Tell the world: rock music is back...