The Single Life: Bjork, The Prodigy & More

Why is it in a certain time in a generation does an otherwise generic cityscape suddenly become a musical garden of earthly delights? Some claim it could be climatic – rather than looking out on a cold grey suburban wasteland, the inspired would choose to lock themselves in and be creative. This argument certainly works for Seattle, Manchester - and probably even Melbourne (…complaint letters to the usual address). But then there’s Iceland. Cold as a mother-in-law’s kiss, certainly – but a landscape that’s almost poetic in its wilderness.

And still, after a quarter-century, the regent of all this odd socially progressive, and yet craggy, little country has achieved is the singular Bjork. Every album is a work or art, a statement. Her latest opus, Vulnicura is ostensibly a break-up album of the visceral sort, where almost naturally she returns to the safety of Family (One Little Indian/Inertia). And, as ever, even the accompanying visuals are connective, considered, and quite extraordinary. She becomes part of that aforementioned landscape, and here it literally sews her back together. This is pop music on a higher plane.

But even she does not exist in isolation. Of Monsters And Men are also of that same windswept Atlantic isle. It could be suggested they are some sort of spiritual children of Ms Gudmundsdottir – whether musically, or merely the talent spotters being aware of where she came from and taking the time to come and listen to what else was happening thereabouts. Crystals (Republic) is all drums and horns, martial, tribal – certainly more orthodox than what their forebear still offers – but comes from the same place of inspiration. And frankly, I’d like to be as cool as the beardy guy mouthing the words in the clip. 

That’s not to say we don’t have our very own places of cold isolation where the kids can conserve body heat by milling together and energetically thrashing at musical instruments. Tiger Choir are from Hobart, and Tasmania’s sea breezes encourage from them a clenched harmonied pop – Shani (Higher Plains) is good example of what they’re about - guitars and synths twisting together to come out to make a quite summery feeling, undercut with some morning-after self-questioning. 

Actually, we of the wide brown land of #Straya do this music produced in isolation. Sid Pattni is from Perth, but his producing reputation already has Meg Mac among others working with him. The artist side of him is evidenced by Love And Desire (Pilerats) where Sophie Hopes’ tones dance over a twinkling bed of synths and such. It’s soul, kinda. And funk, kinda – anybody beside him remember Scritti Politti?, coz there’s some of that to it. But mostly, it’s just eminently danceable and classily-arranged gear that should find a place on radio and/or clublands.

And as some things break down and apart, they reform in other ways. Hungry Kids Of Hungary have well-splintered, but half of them are now Sans Parents. After forming ‘by accident’ when that other band went ‘phut’, Loose People (Rare Finds) is their second offering, and shows them further to finding out what they are about. The guitars and martial drums behind the kinda shouty and gleeful sing-yelling are just frayed enough, and they know when to stop before wearing out their welcome. No less than Megan Washington pronounces them her favourite band, if you needed any more convincing to the fact they make nicely unselfconscious pop noise.

James Murphy, in his LCD Soundsystem guise, was another who made music so carefully that it sounded forever like it was on the verge of falling apart. It’s a helluva trick. But in the world of soundtracking for the motion picture talkies, things have to be that bit more seamless. We Used To Dance (Milan) is the musical motif theme for While We’re Young, new flick from Noah Baumbach – a man forever to be admired, if for nothing more than his co-writing of The Life Aquatic With Steve Zoussou. It’s obviously going to be a movie for a certain audience, with Murphy’s musical direction also including a run at Bowie’s Golden Years, appearances from Haim and The Psychedelic Furs, and Lionel Richie’s All Night Long. Yeah, that. 

Perhaps it’s just at a certain age you care enough not to give a shit. Ask Ringo Starr. He doesn’t feel the need to hang out with Kanye. Then again, Heather Mills having a go at her ex-husband Macca for doing that? Frankly, for that opinion, she really doesn’t have a leg to stand on…(too soon?). Anyway, the drummer is about to drop his 18^th solo album – yes, really. It’ll have a few names from his rolodex aboard such as Joe Walsh, Benmont Tench, Dave Stewart, and Todd Rundgren. Ask your Mum, or even your Grandad who these people if you don’t know. Actually, first up you might even ask them to explain Ringo to you. Anyway, Postcards From Paradise (Universal) is the sound of bloke who probably doesn’t have too much to complain about in life.

Remaining defiantly grumpy into their middle-age, The Prodigy are still just a little scary – and that’s proper scary, not the odd pantomime Marilyn Manson brought to Soundwave the other day. But I digress. Flint still screams through the telly right at you on Wall Of Death (Take Me To The Hospital), and you can still imagine it making the wide-eyed leap about in waves a bit, even if they really are just waiting until the band gets around to playing Firestarter.  

But, if you’re seeking what is just about the template for alternative radio music, 2015-style, Django Django might be one version of it. Again, it’s old synths ahoy-hoy among the guitars, Reflections (Because) brightly revelling in its angst. They’ve probably gone past being nominating for Mercury Prizes and such as they once were, but they – and their audience – probably don’t give much of a bugger about such accolades.