It's one of those coffee table albums that everyone will buy, say “that's rather nice” and then only play it in the background at dinner parties because it's not too loud and won't offend anybody
This time around there doesn't seem to be the pressure to get it just right, a feeling that sometimes adversely affected their earlier songs.
I Am Kloot may be a band that are seen as “social misfits” by the rest of the music scene, especially in the UK, where to be a Bright Young Thing is all important; but I, for one, will raise a glass to that.
A mate called it punk's Trout Mask Replica. I don't know if that's true, but if it makes people draw connections like that one, you know that it's an essential if challenging record.
no fate... is simply overflowing with energy and a complete disregard for any rock'n'roll guidelines.
Read on and discover something wonderful.
It defies categories. It's a horrible noise. It's cut-ups to the Nth dgree. Part of it is just like Frank Zappa's Lumpy Gravy (the funny bit, thank the Goddess.)
Lloyd Cole's brain and face is made out of cowpat - we all know that and herewith is an instrumental track.
Attempts were gamely made by Mr Y to play Mother Sky by Can but, 30 seconds in, this mighty project dissolved in a fit of laughter.
I've never felt under-dressed at a gig before, but there's a first time for everything I suppose.
Irresistible? I think not.
Sometimes you've just got to shut-the-fuck-up and listen.
Alan got lost backstage. Incendiary could have been beaten up by De la Soul, but probably weren't (not that they can remember).
Don't people realize good music when they hear it?
No Cabaret! is one of the catchiest emo-funk numbers from the album written about the ridiculous cabaret laws in NYC.
Rasping a celebratory greeting through a French horn, Czukay bestrode the stage like a seasoned pro, taking photos of the bewildered (though jubilant) audience for his website
A few weeks ago an ex-NME journalist wrote a big piece in a national paper ...she displayed a complete lack of knowledge or interest in music. She had never heard of (for instance) Krautrock. It's a bit like a film journalist holding a hand up after ten years in the job and saying, ‘bugger me, have you watched anything by Kurosawa? Is he good?'
The last of the good, kind, honest and wise people left should come with me now, adorn their brows with garlands of wild roses and prepare themselves by drinking the annointed mead out of the blessed cups, prepare libations to their ancestors, pour sweet, fragrant oils on the ceremonial pyre prepared for them, and leave this Age of Idiocy.
I'll let Chuck D finish the tale: “London wasn't into soft music. They wanted their music rock hard.”
The singer pleaded for the crowd to come forward, which they did, like shy calves coming to get a mouthful of grass.