The Single Life: Steve Aoki, Deerhoof & More

So, let’s hear it for local boys making good. Even if it’s guesting somewhere you might not quite expect. For indeed, that is Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker adding his - let’s say ‘relaxed’ - tones to Mark Ronson’s latest collaborative effort, Daffodils (Allido). So there’s still a retro element to it, but not so much the kinda-1967 Motown soul you might expect, but more a night at Syd Barrett’s around the same year.

Your guests sometimes don’t even have to sing. The suitably cultish Deerhoof draft suitably cultish actor friend Michael Shannon – one of the dark and crumpled guys from Boardwalk Empire to many, General Zod to the half-dozen of you who saw that last pretty crap Superman movie – for Exit Only (Polyvinyl). Things gets supernaturally weird, before the guitar solo triumphs. While some say ‘punk rock’ - the band reckon they were arguing about whether they wanted it to sound more like Joan Jett or Janet Jackson. Of course they were.

Then there’s that often potentially offensive term, the ‘actor-turned-singer’. And when the douchequiver in question - sorry, that should have read ‘artiste in question’, of course - is James Franco, the alarm bells should be blaring. To damn them by words from their own press release: “The motivation behind Daddy, the newly formed band comprised of artists James Franco and Timothy O’Keefe, is to push beyond the sonic space of music into the surrounding ecology.” Well, that clears that up. Their first multi-media project is a film based on The Smiths songbook. But wait, while this song is called This Charming Man (tfo Music), it ain’t actually Morrissey’s words or music. Young Jimmy has taken it upon himself to write poems ‘inspired’ by the originals, and then set them to music. They’ve even paid/blackmailed proper Smith Andy Rourke into playing on them. You have been warned.

About as far as you can get from such posed pretention, that splendid Brisbane collective The Gin Club offer a free sample of what you’ll get for your money’s worth if you help crowdfund their in-the-works next album. Dancing With The Ghost (Independent) is of their usual effortlessly melodic and harmonied craft, suitable both for simply listening and/or drinking along to.

While the line from Brisbane to Portland might not be obvious, The Decemberists tend to work from similar priorities, although with a little more baroque pop in the music, and a little more cash in the budget. Make You Better (Capitol) is also first taste of an album you’ll hear next year. It is to be called What A Terrible World, What A Beautiful World. Which shows they also have a realistic grasp of life, the universe, and everything else.

For a band in the metal genre to last heading toward fifteen years and perhaps even keep growing in reputation, despite the usual revolving door of members that seem a trademark of the form – although they don’t appear to have had any drummers spontaneously combust or suffer mysterious gardening accidents – is a good trick. Machine Head risk fate by calling their new tune Now We Die (Nuclear Blast), and go well ‘ard in the playing of it.

There’s few bands who’ve revelled in their fall from credible grace to laughing all the way to the bank, as The Black Eyed Peas. It was fashionable for a while there to blame the girl. But while Fergie may be held responsible for delivering the sublime poetry of ‘My Humps/lumps/bumps’, the fault was not entirely hers. But LA Love (La La) (Interscope) has her name on the marquee, and enough gratuitous bikini shots to allow the checkout magazines to pontificate on her ‘post-baby body’ and the state of her relationship with Josh Duhamel.

To stick to the facts, it was of course the now omnipresent will.i.am who actually found all those rhymes for ‘Humps’ back then, and now apparently all he has to do is turn up to judge talent shows, or make guest appearances on other people’s tunes to keep the till ticking over. Steve Aoki takes advantage of his presence over a fairly generic backing of electronic burps and farts for the fairly tame Born To Get Wild (Liberator Music/Ultra Music), but you do get Mini-Me in the video to raise the artistic merit of it a few points.

Then there are those who, for whatever reasons, maybe never reached their full worth. Hungry Kids Of Hungary were a happily raucous thing, and Born Jay Dead is that somewhat-missed combo’s bassist, Ben Dalton’s new band. Hey Blood (Independent) lopes along not unpleasantly, and hopefully will take advantage of some leftover goodwill.

Gazar Strips also hail from sunny Brisbane. But the music they make seems to owe more to dark English winters of around 1982. The song’s called Daylight (Sonic Masala), but it’s not the dappled sunlight sound coming through the venetian blinds. Think The Cure as they were walking through A Forest, although the overcoats and pallid complexions may not be the uniform the Strips sport as they wander beneath the Storey Bridge, looking troubled.