Latest CD releases reviewed
VAN MORRISON
Magic Time Exile/Polydor
**
Like Woody Allen, Van Morrison trots out variations on a theme on a regular, often ineffectual basis; unlike Woody Allen, Van Morrison isn't remotely amusing or insightful. And yet his new album is something of a slight departure in its occasional pastoral stylings (The Lion This Time) and sense of melody (Celtic New Year). Everything else, however, is par for the course: lacklustre jazz/blues hybrids, unwittingly ironic song titles (Keep Mediocrity at Bay - we hope in vain), surliness (Just like Greta: "... Garbo, I want to be alone"; They Sold Me Out) and a staggering lack of invention in the songwriting department. Perhaps Morrison, surely one of rock's most overrated artists, should disappear for a few years and try to reinvigorate his music - with a couple of exceptions, this is as dry as a desert wind, as characterless as a day-old tea bag. Tony Clayton-Lea
THE FAT LADY SINGS
The Fat Lady Singles Warner Music
****
The late '80s/early '90s were arguably Irish rock's golden age; the fertile period between U2's The Joshua Tree and The Cranberries' Zombie spawned some world-class acts who, sadly, didn't conquer the world. The Fat Lady Sings - or TFLS as they became known to journos too lazy to type their full name - were one of our more regal acts, led by the rich, robust voice and delicately woven lyrics of Nick Kelly. Their finest moments are gathered here, and some fine moments they were, too. Arclight retains a luminescent power, while Man Scared still resonates in a post-Nick Hornby world. The Brechtian Dronning Maud Land is a brooding, bracing waltz, while Show of Myself and Drunkard Logic are high-production tunes about low behaviour. World Exploding Touch, however, lost the run of itself. There's a bonus CD of B-sides, rareties and live tracks, Opera Obscura, which shows just how broad Kelly's musical canvas was. He's still performing, and has just released his second solo album, Running Dog, so it sure ain't over yet. Kevin Courtney
TOM MCRAE
All Maps Welcome Sony BMG
***
Lyrical acuity or plain old miserabilism are possible reasons why Tom McRae draws comparisons with Morrissey. Sometimes, with a pithy line, you hear his sweet and tender hooliganism. But mostly this is an album of introspective beauty at odds with his previous work. Recording at the haunted Paramour Estate in LA with Joe Chicorelli, McRae sounds like he has exorcised the demons and banished the ghosts that circled his debut, Just Like Blood. Malevolence is ditched in favour of emotional narratives of love and displacement, as on It Ain't You and Still Lost. It's also damn melodic, with a fuller sound, thanks to a group populated by musicians from Beck's band. The title may suggest that he's lost, but Tom McRae has merely changed direction. It suits him. www.tommcrae.com Sinéad Gleeson
THE SUMMER OF MARS
Glaciers Loose Music
*
Glaciers contains a song entitled Step Right Up and Meet the Lame. I would suggest this would make a more appropriate album title. Formerly Glasgwegian "incendiary rockers" Vera Cruise, the newly slimmed down duo stick largely to their previous template: to help unfashionable pub-rock make an unlikely, mullet-esque comeback. At least the updated, remodelled mullet still seems vaguely ironic; when The Summer of Mars put their tongues in their cheeks, they merely gurn. Despite concessions to Pavement-like roots balladry, Glaciers is haunted by the spectres of '90s grunge and '80s Kerrang!: it's skin-tight, stonewashed jeans, it's Eddie Vedder's underpants, it's rumpled-Stiltskin, it's the soundtrack to a "straight-to-taped-over" zombie film. Full of irritatingly hackneyed riffs, mortifyingly juvenile hooks ("this is my heart/don't fuck around") and whiney, nothing vocals, Glacier is arguably the worst album you won't hear all year. www.loosemusic.com Johnnie Craig
THE GLITTERATI
The Glitterati Atlantic
***
The cover art puts it across nicely - a close-up of a zipped-up leather jacket that's plainly meant to remind you of Sticky Fingers. This Leeds quintet sure set their sights on the heights, paying musical homage to everyone from The Stones to Aerosmith to The Black Crowes to G'N'R (they've even brought in Appetite for Destruction producer Mike Clink). It's old-fashioned rock with a strong indie streak, probably closest in spirit to those high-flying Aussie rockers, Jet. Building on a bedrock of classic riffola, the band swagger confidently through such glizty, trashy rockers as You Got Nothing on Me, Heartbreaker (not the Led Zep one), Here Comes a Close-Up and Do You Love Yourself? While the record speaks of a sleazy, laddish lifestyle, The Glitterati are self-aware enough to write a vulnerable ballad such as Don't Do Romance. When they rock, they rock as hard and fast as any of their heroes, but they need a few more killer songs to go with the killer riffs. www.theglitterati.com Kevin Courtney
