The Observer - 04.08.2019

The Observer

04.08.19 41

It seems there’s a revival of the

post punk revival going on, given all

the prominent basslines, scowled

vocals and busy guitars leaping out of

the indie labels. A slippery fi ve-piece

from Brighton called Squid are among

its most active practitioners. Th ree

packed-out shows at Glastonbury

in June also established them as one

of Britain’s most energetic new live

guitar bands.

Th ings began more gently for

Squid. Th eir fi rst release in 2016

on Bandcamp was Perfect Teeth , a

small-scale ambient epic in thrall to

the soundscapes of Joy Division. An

atmospheric EP, Lino , came out a year

later, after which infl uential south

London label Speedy Wunderground

snapped them up. Th e Dial, a 2018

single, saw them getting much bolder

and louder, siphoning the energy of

early 00s groups such as the Rapture.

Th e track’s lyrics, about a hospitalised

loved one, matched that intensity:

“Suck your blood,” yowls singing

drummer Ollie Judge. “I want to check

your levels.”

Th is year, Squid have all moved

to London, released chaotic seven-

minute funk single Th e Cleaner , while

a new EP, Town Centre, arrives on

Speedy Wunderground in September.

Th e band are touring all summer too,

with dates at the Green Man , Knee

Deep and End of the Road festivals

mixed around club gigs and European

dates. Th eir recent description of

their sound to NME is one to savour:

“the Coronation Street theme tune

played on fl utes by angry children”.

Jude Rogers

Ty Segall

First Taste

(Drag City)

Garage rock made with saxophone,

mandolin, Japanese koto and

bouzouki? Most garage-inclined

albums, even those of the psychedelic

persuasion, don’t often leave the

traditional band confi guration.

First Taste – which might be Ty

Segall ’s 12th solo studio album

(it depends how you’re counting)

• adds a music shop’s worth of
  exotic instrumentation and double
  drummers to this Californian’s
  driving, sprawling oeuvre.
  Magnifi cently, songs like Taste
  or The Fall are only energised by
  these diverse sonic signatures. The
  double-drummers are key, too:
  Segall’s in the left-hand channel,
  while frequent collaborator and
  multi-instrumentalist Charles
  Moothart is in the right. Tracks such
  as I Worship the Dog (dogs are a
  recurrent theme in Segall’s work )
  simultaneously peddle protean
  sludge, ticklish percussiveness
  and heady drones. The skronk is
  fabulously full-on, but Segall’s
  Beatles fi xation comes to the fore on
  sweeter-natured swirls like When
  I Met My Parents (Part 3) or Ice
  Plant , lightening the assault but not
  sparing the senses. Kitty Empire

Karine Polwart

Karine Polwart’s Scottish

Songbook

(Hegri)

The C90 cassette unspooling on

the sleeve makes an apt motif for

an album that is both a tribute

to Scottish pop and a personal

testimony from Caledonia’s reigning

folk queen. Not that there’s much

folk involved; most of the songs

Karine Polwart interprets here are

from the mainstream, drawn from

a live show in turn inspired by an

exhibition, Rip It Up , celebrating

Scotland’s distinctive contribution

to British pop. Big Country’s Chance ,

for example, was an air-punching

anthem for a teenage Polwart in

smalltown Stirlingshire, though it’s

here transformed into a meditation

on domestic abuse and an

abandoned young mother.

Polwart works similar

reconstructions on the likes of

Deacon Blue, the Blue Nile and John

Martyn. Strawberry Switchblade’s

Since Yesterday morphs from

bubblegum romance into a

commentary on Alzheimer’s , while

the Waterboys’ rocking The Whole

of the Moon gets a minimalist

treatment, with deft backings of

glockenspiel and clarinet from

a fi ne band. Whatever the song,

Polwart’s vocals, austere rather than

exuberant, tease out underlying

themes of resilience and resistance

to make a compendium of small -p

political pop. Neil Spencer

Squid

Clairo

Immunity

(Fader)

Virality’s a fi ckle mistress, as

Massachusetts singer-songwriter

Claire Cottrill discovered last year.

A viral hit recorded in her bedroom

• Pretty Girl – sent her soaring on
  YouTube’s algorithm, but the crash
  came soon after. Cottrill’s father is a
  marketing executive; her record deal
  was secured through his contacts.
  And so, whispers began bubbling
  up from the cesspit depths of Reddit
  that she was an “industry plant”.

Nérija

Blume

(Domino)

There ’s a real warmth about

London-based jazz septet Nérija

on their debut album. It might have

something to do with the close-knit

harmonies of the horn front line –

Nubya Garcia on tenor saxophone,

Sheila Maurice-Grey on trumpet,

Cassie Kinoshi on alto sax and

Rosie Turton on trombone – or the

fact that this young collective have

known each other since they were

teens attending the free weekend

jazz workshop Tomorrow’s Warriors.

Democracy is their watchword.

Each band member has penned

their own compositions on Blume :

a mix of frenetic Afrobeats on Last

Straw , written by Maurice-Grey;

choral balladry on the title track,

by Garcia; and Kinoshi’s scattergun

hip-hop fusion on EU (Emotionally

Unavailable). For all the variety, no

Cuco

Do Better

Th is delicate, loved-up promise

closes the Mexican-American’s

impressive, woozy debut album.

Angel Olsen

All Mirrors

Just when you thought Olsen couldn’t

get more echo ey, All Mirrors ramps up

the resonance.

Molly Sarlé

This Close

Mesmerising, sunkissed folk, a

taste of the Mountain Man singer ’s

debut solo album, Karaoke Angel.

Hot t

tracks

Bringing back the

energy of postpunk

guitar, the London

fi ve-piece have

tentacles in many

musical pies

accreting streams hand over fi st.

Don’t Call Me Up – in which Mabel

declares herself over her former

lover – has more than 101m

YouTube views and over 250m plays

on Spotify. Just out, the video for

Bad Behaviour is closing in on 1. 5m

views on YouTube.

None of these tunes lacks lustre.

Don’t Call Me Up holds up well in

pop’s kiss-off subgenre (Icona Pop’s

I Don’t Care , Dua Lipa’s IDGAF ).

Bad Behaviour nags very nicely

in the ear, bang on trend in its

admixture of US R&B and diffuse

Caribbean stylings.

There’s no shortage of hits-in-

waiting on this tracklisting either.

FML might pose problems as a single

release (its chorus is “fuck my life”),

but you couldn’t imagine such a

catchy trap-pop bagatelle failing.

But with the exception of OK

(Anxiety Anthem) , produced

unmemorably by the usually

excellent MNEK , these 14 tunes

could have been made by anyone

with a well-oiled larynx. Even as

Mabel’s voice stands proudly without

Auto-Tune, High Expectations is just

disappointingly all right, lacking any

playfulness, or top spin, or a sense

of who Mabel is. Her own emotional

truths seem scarce. OK, which

probes Mabel’s anxiety , presents a

series of worn phrases for lyrics, the

production bereft of either nerve-

jangle or succour.

Ultimately, High Expectations

trades in well-appointed, British-

tilting genericness that ticks Spotify

playlist boxes, promising party vibes

and availability, then wallowing

in non-specifi c romantic dismay.

The prospect of lots of hot sex is

no bad thing, but songs about it

abound; you could imagine any one

of pop’s reigning female front-

people being very grateful to have

bagged Mad Love from a bidding

round: Dua, Rita, Ariana. Here, as

everywhere, Rihanna’s husky, catch-

in-the-throat R&B is the model:

fi ne when she does it, just overdone

when everyone from Anne-Marie

to Zara Larsson affects the same

sexpot weariness.

Rewind, and Mabel had a

personality. Thinking of You (2016 )

channelled Jessie Ware. Mabel

showed some backbone too, with

lyrics that seemed to have been

written by a sentient human, not an

automated come-hither generator.

Bedroom , back in May 2017 , found

Mabel fuming: “I broke your guitar

up against your television and I

smashed every glass that you had in

your kitchen .”

But however classy Jessie

Ware is, she has not had massive

worldwide hits to date. The

road on which sweet-natured,

retro-tinged emotional

soul-pop runs is short. The

stuff made from trap beats,

tropical breezes and a little

lubriciousness opens up a vast

highway. And that’s the road

Mabel is travelling.

Album reviews

You don’t have to come down on

either side of the authentic/fake

binary – it’s important to follow

the money and infl uence, but also

to remember that good music can

come from anywhere. And her

winning debut ranges intriguingly

beyond wistful bedroom pop (Pretty

Girl has been shaken off). North

feels like early Beck, grungy guitar

with an old-school hip-hop bump,

while Sofi a pairs Strokes guitar with

Stereolab-style ironic Eurodisco

and Impossible offers intimate

confessions over baroque-pop

harpsichord and shunting beats.

It’s all tied together by Cottrill’s

sleepy-but-smart delivery, creeping in

on a cloud of reverb like a vaporwave

Juliana Hatfi eld. The closer, I

Wouldn’t Ask You , shifts phase

halfway through to become a psychy,

sun-kissed, trip-hop epic, suggesting

Clairo’s future ambitions. She won’t

be, and shouldn’t be, immune to

critique, but she’s certainly strong

enough to weather it. Emily Mackay

single track stands out ; Nérija rarely

stray from the comfortable territory

of mid-tempo, mid-dynamic

improvisation. When playing live,

they’re a formidable force, carving

new shapes with propulsive solos

from Garcia, Kinoshi and guitarist

Shirley Tetteh. Here, though, they

feel constrained by the studio – their

warmth a safety blanket, rather

than a moving and engaging force.

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