Festive treats
Marcus Berkmann
What do you want for Christmas? The age-old question, as ancient as the term 'megastore itself. As ever, many thousands of CDs crowd in for your attention, many of them chill-out albums, which forward-thinking sales executives use to help them fall asleep while driving at 90 mph on the Ml. Three of every other four 'new' albums are either greatest-hits collections, or updated versions of previous greatest-hits collections, or unnecessary live albums, or screamingly pointless remix albums, or nu-metal (Don't get me started,' as my friend Peter would say), or by Michael Jackson. This leaves the once-ayear megas tore shopper wandering desperately between the racks, wondering what to buy and finally, with a muffled sob, picking up The Sol), So Far — The Very Best Of Rod Stewart. It's painful, it's humiliating, and it's got 'Handbags And Gladrags', which I suppose is some consolation.
So here are a few alternative ideas. For vibrant youth with acoustic guitars, try the Turin Brakes's clever debut album, The Optimist LP (Source). With lovely tunes and a gift for musical texture that (like Coldplay last year) recalls mid-period Pink Floyd, this duo provide further proof that pop music is now a valid career option for the middle classes (one of them is called Oily). Amazingly, the album was nominated for the Mercury Music Prize. Less amazingly, it failed to win. It's not an obvious piece of work, but it grows. Oily and The One Not Called Oily have an interesting future ahead of them, as long as people like us buy their album. The same thing could have been said 15 years ago of Stephen Duffy and his band the Lilac Time, and probably was. No one bought the albums but amazingly they keep going. Lilac 6 (Cooking Vinyl) is proper songwriting recorded for tuppence. and slots in neatly next to the previous five. Apparently it's Duffy's singing voice that puts off many people. Also, he once collaborated with Nigel Kennedy, the less said about which the better.
This year's dinner-party turntable hit was Goldfrapp's Felt Mountain (Mute). Commercially this is the David Gray of 2001; musically it's a fearlessly imaginative concoction, a little like Portishead with added John Barry. Alison Goldfrapp either whistles, caterwauls or whispers: astonishingly, you get used to it. Indeed, you may already have got used to it unawares at a thousand dinner parties. Another excellent Mercury nomination in the best shortlist for years. Only one record, for me, outreached Goldfrapp for sheer musical ambition: Air's 10,000Hz Legend (Source/Virgin). Critically lambasted as `prog rock' — not a nice thing to say about anyone — and detested by at least two trendy friends of mine whose opinions I normally respect, this album seemed to me an enormous advance on the bestselling Moon Safari, which was pleasant but lightweight. Nicolas Godin and JeanBenoit Dunckel have more ideas than they know what to do with and a wry sense of humour, which helps undercut their more pretentious moments. The result is somewhere between Pink Floyd (again) and Berlin-era Bowie, without the guitars. Wonderful tunes, too. Very nearly album of the year.
Next, the old wrecks. Leonard Cohen is back after nine long years — five of them spent in a Buddhist monastery — with Ten New Songs (Columbia), a quieter, more reflective collection than the more outgoing I'm Your Man and The Future. Always a canny collaborator, Cohen has this time written only the lyrics and subcontracted all musical labours to Sharon Robinson, who also produces, plays all the instruments and sings backing vocals. This might seem something of a risk. but Robinson co-wrote one of his greatest songs, 'Everybody Knows', and her backings here perfectly complement those familiar grumbling vocals. It really is a total treat, to be savoured for the many years it'll take him to start recording again. If he ever does record again — he's now 68. Coo, what a horrible thought.
My album of the year, though, is an obscurity, which is a shame, because this is one that really deserves an audience. James Grant is a Scottish singer-songwriter who used up his major label life with his band Love And Money in the late 1980s but has come a long way since. My Thrawn Glory (Vertical) is his second solo set and a glorious piece of work: mature, constantly revealing and wonderfully accessible. Most of the current wave of singer-songwriters are unfeasibly gloomy, and Grant is not exactly Charlie Chuckles, but there's nothing precious about his songwriting, nor his rich baritone, nor the surprising combination of jagged guitar and luscious strings that adorns most songs. If he didn't look like a special effect, he'd be a star. Highly recommended.
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