Do You Actually Care About The Avalanches Anymore?

So customers, it comes down to you. Do you want the same, or do you want different? And how long are you prepared to wait for it?

So, after that Chinese Democracy timeframe that had eventually led to The Avalanches return, nobody seems quite sure how it’s all unfolding. The brand-name could perhaps never live up to weight of the myth that built around them over a decade-and-a-half. We appear to be getting a drip feed of the upcoming album, Subways (EMI) is actually third instalment of what they is now the formula of what they now do – which is a little odd in itself as ‘formula’ was the very thing they avoided for so long. Here they put the requisite electronic burps and farts around a couple of old songs – once-Countdown hit Warm Ride by Graham Bonnet being the one I recognised – and its catchy, and if they get around to a video, it’ll likely be quite surreal. But how much do we actually care anymore? Further trivia: Warm Ride was actually written by The Bee Gees, and Bonnet eventually left crooning behind and was the vocalist for somewhat louder Richie Blackmore’s Rainbow for some time. Funny old world, innit? 

So onward to moody angst, and imagery ranging from mysterious into the somewhat disturbing, and the completely unsurprising news that Sigur Rós have just done a continuous real-time 24-hour documentary on Icelandic telly as they drove the ring road round the island. Óveður (XL Recordings/Remote Control) takes a typical six-and-a-half minutes to unfurl, but as noted – that’s probably exactly what’s expected, and exactly the basis of their appeal. Either that, or the expansive use of accents over various letters in words in songtitles. 

Ditto, J.Mascis’ semi-interested drawl over his familiar slabs of blurry guitar is the Dinosaur Jr default setting, and has somehow never got tired to the faithful no matter how long between ear-bleeds. Tiny (Jagjaguwar/Inertia) rambles on in the way their many pretenders have tried to achieve but never quite managed. This will get some wider appeal and further notice on the basis of the visuals being another of J.’s strolling travelogues – complete with Beefy the heroically ugly bulldog. Of course Beefy skateboards, naturally. Or unnaturally, depending on which way you look at it.

And the glorious studied pop classicism of Teenage Fanclub is absolutely their currency. They’ve been at it nearly as long as Mascis and cohorts, but calling it Middle-aged Fanclub would probably undermine Norman Blake’s genuinely youthful-bordering-on-trainspotter enthusiasm they retain as they listen to old Beatles and Beach Boys records. I’m In Love (Merge) is likewise a perfect pop song title, and does everything it says on the packet. Bop your head and tap your foot unconsciously and appreciate the glorious – if traditional – construction of it.

See, you want something familiar, but maybe just that little different to keep you interested. The Coolites – a band project of Simon Gibson, he of indie names remembered with affection such as Disneyfist and Modern Giant – has a sparkling Australian feeling to it, undercut with some realism to perhaps muddy the waters. The Coolites have a bit of ‘surf band’ about them, but like Midnight Oil were a surf band sometimes. But All Bets Are Off (Independent) comes through a prism of simpler times past: sentimental for a country that was maybe a bit less vicious than now – although that might be just memories a little rose-coloured – of caravan park summers, paddle pops, and those bygone happy days when the Roosters had some chance in the premiership.

Hermitude realise their audience’s need for something they recognise so actually left Vibration (Elefant Traks) off their last album, as apparently “…it didn’t quite fit”. But that was probably more thematic than stylistic, as it burns and fuzzes in a manner most suitable for waving your hands in the air as the searchlights sweep across the crowd as evidenced in the attendant video. It has that feeling that appears in some dance-aimed pop music where those used to the verse-chorus-verse format find you’re waiting for something to happen but the point is that it just keeps building ‘til it stops. And then the next one starts.

Comparisons of artist to artist are, by nature, odious. But sometimes a necessary evil when trying to help find a new band’s place in the scheme of things. But Seratones will quite rightly end up well-shitted with seeing the words ‘Alabama’ and/or ‘Shakes’ in any introduction to them – if they aren’t already. This seems entirely on the fact they too have a brooks-no-shit lead woman in AJ Haynes who tells you exactly what she thinks in a voice you can’t help paying due attention to. Chandelier (Fat Possum) – no relation to the Sia tune, obviously – is angrier, ‘punkier’ than the band they’ll be compared to, but you still get the feeling they’re holding 20% back from what they might unleash live. You’ll like get evidence of that on YouTube in near future, probably as they do the rounds of the late-night American talk shows. Thanks Jimmy(s), Stephen, James, Seth, etc.

And so to summer vibes as winter closes in. Bad Pony manage to keep smiling even on the 22nd take of themselves and friends dancing and skylarking around locations in their native Newcastle for Sideways (Rare Finds). There’s a bit of that currently commercially fashionable double-speed folkie strum to it, offset with a nicely wobbly synth hook as a point of difference which will likely insinuate itself into the earworm section of your brain, whether you like it or not. Pop music, without much in the way of pretention.