The latest releases reviewed
Ever so slowly and stealthily over the past 10 years, Canadian Ron Sexsmith has delivered some of the best records in the overcrowded, often creatively weak singer-songwriter genre. You can trust him, however, to come up with reasonably effortless melodies and words that refuse to break under the weight of cliche or repetition. Time Being, his eighth album, again sees him reaching more than his potential; here is a record so abundant with classic pop tunes that if it was released under the name of Paul McCartney it would most certainly be hailed as a genius return to form. But it's not by McCartney, and therefore it might not even get to be heard by a fraction of the audience. More fool them - this is an exceptionally assured collection of songs from one of the most unheralded talents around. Suppose a name change by deed poll is out of the question?
Tony Clayton-Lea
Somewhere in San Diego lies the black heart of sunny southern California, where every walk is a funeral march, every chance meeting is a showdown, and death is a neighbour smiling across a tombstone-shaped picket fence. Here is where Pall Jenkins and Tobias Nathaniel practise their dark arts, using violins, synths, lap steels and bowed saws to create haunting music that conjures up a carnival procession of restless ghosts and troubled spirits. The Spell is BHP's fifth album, and the one in which they finally get the mood just to the right side of uneasy. Tangled sets a sombre, measured pace that goes from drunken barroom stagger to whacked-out waltz, and on through the shadowy, silver-lined moods of Not Just Words, The Replacement, GPS, The Waiter #5 and To Bring You Back. If it reminds you of a morbid Modest Mouse, then there's no suprise at the presence of MM drummer Joe Plummer. But it's not all deathly glory - there are fine, incandescent moments here, such as The Letter, Return to Burn, Places and the rather spellbinding title track. www.blackheartprocession.com
Kevin Courtney
In recent years, indie pop has become a very broad church indeed, yet much of its flock still prefer to keep to the straight and narrow aisles. What's interesting about Ciarán Smith's debut as Crayonsmith are his subtle attempts to steer songs away from preconceived routes and notations. It doesn't always work (there are quite a number of Pavement-as-rewritten-by-Tim-Wheeler moments, despite the gallery of instruments gathered around the microphone) and a more adventurous approach to his experimentation would have been welcome. But the intention is at least commendable. Smith is on surest ground when he cuts his melodies from simple cloths, and the likes of Drunken Smile and Lock-In highlight perfectly Smith's knack for finding cohesion in the messiest of musical circumstances, helped hugely by his likable voice. www.crayonsmith.com
Jim Carroll
His third album in three decades and the perfect completion of his trilogy of Climate of Hunter (1984) and Tilt (1996), Scott Walker's The Drift is the artistic triumph of the maverick singer songwriter's mercurial solo career. Mixing acoustic instrumentation (strings, guitars, drums) with electronic and found sounds (braying donkey, punching meat), each of its 10 fractured and lyrical songs is an exuberant collision of short melodic fragments, elliptical verbal phrases and shards of discordant noise (droning shawm, crashing percussion, brooding guitar buzz), all contained in exquisite tension by Walker's signature dramatic croon. Although boldly experimental in form, it is surprisingly confessional in spirit, effortlessly encompassing the political (Cue, Buzzers) and the personal (Hand Me Ups, The Escape) with the poetic (Clara, Jesse) to create a song cycle of extraordinary power and intensity. www.4ad.com
Jocelyn Clarke
The Raconteurs aren't the only Venn diagram group currently doing the rounds. The Drips, a crew of Californian ex-punks (The Distillers, Bronx) and a Los Lobos member, make for an ear-popping journey of 11 short tracks. From the first rattling guitar chug, this is sharp-angled punk with a rock centre that revels in eat-it-up-spit-it-out aggression, but around these frayed hardcore edges are plenty of melodic riffs and electrifying hooks. With its sub-Fugazi feel (Downbrown), it's hard not to notice how familiar it all sounds. When it's good (Old Sex, 16, 16, Six), it's the stuff mosh-pit dreams are made of. But, while The Drips are the purest intravenous rock, pumping along through 27 minutes, you can't help craving a few surprises. www.thedrips.com
Sinéad Gleeson
EMM GRYNER The Summer of High Hopes Dara/Dead Daisy ****
Her voice is a curious cocktail of Björk and Carly Simon; the opening strains of her latest collection pay homage to Lou Reed, and her politics are a mile to the left of centre. Can Emm Gryner really exist, or might she be the product of some disgruntled former A & R executive? The Summer of High Hopes is the distilled voice of an original. Though at times mining the depths of maudlin bedsitland, using cello lines like a hacksaw to set a mood, Gryner generally navigates a picaresque course through a finely modulated angstland (Almighty Love), detouring to explore the precision-engineered world of Star/Crossed, where echoes of Kate Bush lurk in the undergrowth. Raw edges abound, but Gryner carves a refreshingly idiosyncratic niche in the airwaves, which can only be a very good thing. www.emmgryner.com
Siobhán Long
