The Single Life: Kanye West, Spoon, Madonna & More

There’s often consternation expressed among some (many younger) musical geek friends of mine, that there’s no Beatles product on my vinyl or CD shelves, or in the digital files behind this screen. But even as a child of punk, at least I do know who Paul McCartney is. He’s the guy whose daughter makes nice frocks for Target. And yes, I do know who Kanye West is – even if I can’t quite work out why he and his mostly synthetic missus are famous. But among all this pop cultural teacup storm, did you actually listen to the song? I have. And Only One (Roc-A-Fella/Universal) is a few minutes of my life I won’t get back. Macca burbles tunefully away on the keyboard, while the lord Yeezus pontificates auto-tunefully away – mostly about himself, as would be usual. It’s two artists having a play around after a nice dinner and a couple of jazz cigarettes, which wouldn’t (indeed, probably shouldn’t…) have seen the light of day except for one of them having an eye forever open for finding income streams and trying to self-mythologise his place in music history.

Meantime, the Lady Madonna likely rattles around her English manor-house like an increasingly dotty dowager duchess in a lesser Charles Dickens novel. She stares twitchily into her iDevice - shaking her fist at Beyonce being quoted more often. Irritated at Katy Perry’s relationship status being pondered. That Miley’s tits-and-arse are discussed more than hers. And even Tony Bennett called Gaga’s number before hers for a duet album. She rages at the dark, makes a new album, parts of which ‘accidentally’ leak to wide indifference. Living For Love (Live Nation) is the first official chunk of her new work, and part of the problem is perhaps revealed – it could be anyone, and you used to never be able to say that. Has a bit of a Like A Prayer gospel breakdown in the middle, then wanders on a bit further. And then it stops.

In these days of such internet leakages, some are still looking for novel ways to make the world notice their music. Panda Bear has the album coming – the happily-titled Meets The Grim Reaper - but hit on the fine idea of giving a different track to different sympathetic radio outlets to make the world aware. Thus, alongside tunes on BBC6 and America’s NPR, Sydney’s own FBi got to be the first to play the languidly unfurling Tropic Of Cancer (Domino) for their little part of the marketing plan. And rather than individual visuals, Mr Lennox offers a ‘teaser’ video, with sexy aliens. As you do.

And then there’s old money-saving ways. Here’s the split vinyl single, 2015 variety. Hot Palms are one of those Melbourne collectives of people who seem to be a range of other bands and styles. And Muss Blues (Metal Postcard/Why Don’t You Believe Me?) is moodily instrumental and just uncomfortable enough in the way it wraps around you. Turn it over (or click through to the next Bandcamp track) for Soda Eaves – main man Jake Core actually also doubling as guitarist with the mob on the other side. It’s more questioning and almost poetry-with-music in its approach, as voice and words drift in and away.

There’s obviously something in the water in Perth. That is, something potentially hallucinogenic, if the number of psychedelic bands from western climes is anything to go by. SpaceManAntics are another on that Impala-led wave, Katzenjammer (Independent) has the woozy guitars floating by in the prescribed manner. That manner as prescribed by a pharmacist friend of Syd Barrett in 1967, and forever thus. They do it well.

Spoon! As The Tick’s old battlecry goes. Band of that name are enjoying their creative resurrection immensely it appears. The positivity surrounding They Want My Soul has emboldened them, and new tunes of this second (or was it third?) coming suggest another full-length affair is in the works. Satellite (Loma Vista) has already inveigled its way into the live set, and here’s a hint of what you may get when they turn up in our antipodean climes next month.

So, what’s the designated less fucked up member of The Libertines up to while Pete enjoys the ‘comforts’ of his latest rehab stint, this time in Thailand. And is it just me, but do the words ‘Thailand’ and ‘rehab’ not exactly fit naturally? But we digress. Carl Barat and his ‘other’ band, The Jackals suggest A Storm Is Coming (Cooking Vinyl), but it’s more a slightly ragged passing shower that seems to working out what to do next, but never quite deciding. Rumours of a Libs reformation are likely dependent on how dependent Doherty proves to be on his return from the east.

And when you consider the inherent glamour of the drugs/rock and roll interface, of course the squalid deaths of Sid and Nancy come to mind. Fall Out Boy – dear old punk traditionalists themselves – claim Mr and Mrs Vicious as some inspiration for chunks of their new record, first single, Irresistible (Island), coming at you with some white line fever, but almost too polite and too musically competent to really be tribute to a couple of smelly corpses at the Chelsea Hotel with needles in their arms.

It’s not quite retro cabaret that Melbourne’s Sugar Fed Leopards do, but there is an element of rummaging through Mum’s dress-up box to their Latinesque West (Brunswick) Side Stories. Mi Querida (Independent) adds some kinda Mariachi horns to it – imagine, if you can, a mostly female Calexico having a tequila (or two) between tunes. Personally, I quite like the idea.