The latest CDs reviewed
OASIS
Stop the Clocks SonyBMG ****
With their glory days long behind them, the time is right for Oasis to release an album of greatest hits, and show just why they were the biggest Britpop band of the day. But that, like the chords of Live Forever, would perhaps have been too easy. Instead, the brothers Gallagher have given us a selection of songs which they believe best represent the band, ones that the crowds have consistently voted for with their feet. So, if you're disappointed by the omission of Roll With It, Shakermaker, She's Electric, Hindu Times and D'You Know What I Mean?, you can be amply consoled by the inclusion of Acquiesce, Talk Tonight, The Masterplan and Half the World Away, songs most fans will agree are as good as any of their A-sides. Also included are such defining album tracks as Slide Away and Morning Glory, along with such immortal 1990s anthems as Wonderwall, Champagne Supernova and Don't Look Back in Anger. The overblown Be Here Now album is stealthily bypassed, while the underachieving Standing on the Shoulders of Giants and Heathen Chemistry only get a brief look-in (Go Let It Out and Songbird, respectively). They might be revising history a bit here, but at least Oasis know which songs their bread is buttered on. www.oasisnet.com Kevin Courtney
COLD WAR KIDS
Robbers & Cowards Downtown ****
Spirits of all kinds haunt these wonderfully woozy songs. Be it the unsteady boozer lurching through a lifetime of regrets on We Used to Vacation or the desperado running for the hills in search of salvation and another bottle of whiskey in Rubidoux, the Cold War Kids sketch all-American characters from the wrong side of the tracks worthy of a gritty TV drama. But while this might sound like the latest rub of Springsteen-isms from the American heartland, it's the rambunctious and fiery spirit at the heart of the album that marks out this debut from a band first drawn together at a Christian university in southern California. Part revival hall holy shakers, part desert bluesmen, these Kids sound as if they're trying to exorcise sights and sounds that still haunt their day-dreams, with lead singer Nathan Willet's Jeff Buckley- and Jack White-like timbre showing the way. Lets hope future chapters are just as thrilling. www.coldwarkids.com Jim Carroll
MOBY
The Very Best of Moby Mute ***
Poor Moby just couldn't win. One minute he was a vaguely interesting, God-bothering vegan with a neat line in experimental, cheesy rave/metal. Then, after allowing every track on his gazillion selling breakthrough album (Play) to be used on TV ads, he became the most loathed man in (pop) history. The good moments here (mostly from Play), such as Honey and Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad, remind us that Moby came up with a great idea once: take old blues recordings, filter the atmosphere and soul and add a dance track. But New York New York, the Debbie Harry-fronted new song, only emphasises that Moby has run out of ideas and has nothing new to say anymore. So the guy still can't win. He may no longer be so roundly loathed, but you feel that's because nobody cares quite enough anymore. Poor bugger. www.moby.com Paul McNamee
BEIRUT
The Gulag Orkestar 4AD ****
Hailing, in fact, from war-torn Brooklyn, having drifted there from Albuquerque (by way of spells in Paris and Amsterdam), Zach Condon settled on Beirut as his nom de guerre. And why not? Every note of the 20-year-old's remarkable debut surges with a similarly restless and wandering spirit; from the woozy, weary lurches of a Balkan brass band to the appealing wheeze of accordions and the melodic drive of ukeleles, mandolins and pianos. Seemingly incapable of meeting a folk instrument he can't get along with, Condon tends to muffle his Stephin Merritt baritone and Rufus Wainwright melisma with rough thickets of orchestration, letting song titles (Prenzlauerberg, Brandenburg, Postcards from Italy, Mount Wroclai) sketch out something like an adventurous inter-rail route. But whether his nomadic spirit plunges into a chorus of the damned or swoons to the loveliness of daybreak, it's a sound you could happily follow to the end of the Earth. www.beirutband.com Peter Crawley
PAUL WELLER
The Hit Parade Box Set Polydor ***
Paul Weller has probably had the most rewarding career of any former member of the original UK punk rock vanguard. Justifiably derided in certain areas for his forays into plainly unsuitable music options (Style Council, Paul Weller Movement), he is equally (and just as validly) lionised for his work in The Jam, one of the best pop/rock groups of the past 30 years. Hit Parade (the four-CD box set; a pick'n'mix standalone CD was released a few weeks ago) gathers together all of Weller's ever changing moods and music and as such succeeds where other compilations failed. Taken as a whole, Weller's music remains rooted in tradition; he was never and probably never will be a visionary artist. He's good at the basics - an occasional decent tune, functional, rarely inspirational lyrics (excepting quite a number of Jam songs) and a blokey gruffness that is fast getting him a reputation of being punk rock's Van Morrison. This is a decent career overview and a well produced package (including a memoir-laden booklet written by Adrian Thrills) that will fit nicely between those Tom Waits and Paul Westerberg albums. www.paulweller.com Tony Clayton-Lea
Paul Weller has probably had the most rewarding career of any former member of the original UK punk rock vanguard. Justifiably derided in certain areas for his forays into plainly unsuitable music options (Style Council, Paul Weller Movement), he is equally (and just as validly) lionised for his work in The Jam, one of the best pop/rock groups of the past 30 years. Hit Parade (the four-CD box set; a pick'n'mix standalone CD was released a few weeks ago) gathers together all of Weller's ever changing moods and music and as such succeeds where other compilations failed. Taken as a whole, Weller's music remains rooted in tradition; he was never and probably never will be a visionary artist. He's good at the basics - an occasional decent tune, functional, rarely inspirational lyrics (excepting quite a number of Jam songs) and a blokey gruffness that is fast getting him a reputation of being punk rock's Van Morrison. This is a decent career overview and a well produced package (including a memoir-laden booklet written by Adrian Thrills) that will fit nicely between those Tom Waits and Paul Westerberg albums. www.paulweller.com Tony Clayton-Lea
MAJELLA MURPHY
Brave New World Stonetrough Records ***
She's got those high lonesome vocals that plead for attention - bagged that by the spadeful, since this CD was released on mobile phone last summer. Majella Murphy's debut is a shiny, not always happy popsicle reeking of an artist long in gestation. Unapologetically middle of the road arrangements cosset vocals that whisper at times of Mary Black (Lunchtime). She's at her best when corralled by the mixing desk. Such occasional acoustic interludes as I Can't Wait are testing, high-octane pleading drenched in a lyric that simply doesn't stand up to endless repetition. But May Jones is a pitch-perfect calling card, life's underbelly giftwrapped in a daytime radio-friendly grammar. Murphy's vocal range soars and dips with an agility that may yet serve her well on the long haul. www.majellamurphy.com Siobhán Long
CALIFONE
Roots & Crowns Thrill Jockey ****
America's roots are turned into space-age soundtracks in Califone's hands. By carefully browsing and picking through an immense sonic junkyard of vintage mutterings and machinations, Tom Rutili and cohorts have long found the means to a peculiarly funky, folky, ethereal end. There's a new confidence at play on Roots & Crowns, perhaps the group's finest album to date. You could put it down to a temporary relocation by the Chicago collective to sunny California, or Brian Deck's even-handed policing from the studio desk of the chaos, but you certainly will not overlook the strong, robust contours shaping the songs Rutili has found for this excursion. The atmospheric crackle and lull of Chinese Actor, the chamber pop pomp of Spiders House and a lovely, tender cover of Psychic TV's The Orchids are signs of rude health in this camp. Best of all are those moments when Califone's blues sound like the sweetest noises ever minted. www.thrilljockey.com Jim Carroll
