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OCTOBER: Alvvays – Antisocialites

It’s “at last” in more ways than one (with profuse apologies for the incredible tardiness of this review) – last in that this is my final contribution as being one of the Brothers on this rather wonderful blog.  Opening those windows and throwing them open wide to the music I’ve been exposed to for the last… eighteen months or so…? has been a joy and I’m thankful to my fellow the Brothers for bringing me into the fold.  At last, as well, to Alvvays in bringing which seems to have been a long time coming, ie that elusively consistent indie album.  Such things tend to be a rarity, as we know.  There are, more often than not, dips and on repeated listens, those tracks which we just skip by in search of the one that grabs us.  That’s not to say that Antisocialites is perfect all the way through – but the skip point for me doesn’t appear until Already Gone, track eight from ten, and even then that’s the only one.

But I’m getting ahead of myself somewhat; Alvvays grabbed my attention with 2014’s release of the achingly glorious and sweepingly sublime Archie, Marry Me, about as classic as modern alternative music can get and stands Up There with the greats.  Forward then, pinging on three years and we have the second long player from the Toronto quintet.  They’ve not moved on a bunch in terms of their sound, so there’s no gear change progression in their approach.  Indeed, they road tested much of what ended up on Antisocialites when on tour through 2015 and 16, so they’ve stuck with their “jangly pop” (the band’s own description for their brand of music) which fits in with their existing catalogue.  Still, reinventing the wheel isn’t always essential and their craft is honed splendidly here.  Melody remains at the heart of their art; it’s the hooks that grab and won’t let go – the trainer-pogo Plimsoll Punks evokes memories of bouncing indie discos featuring stupidly wide grins as That Guitar Riff makes you jump that little bit higher.

There’s a lot to appreciate with Alvvays’ occasionally etherial electronica where they exude an other-worldliness distance which bleeds through time and again; Forget About Life is pure romance and the sweetest proposition to simply hang out, be faithful to your own being and spend time with someone who means the world.  It’s enough to make a middle aged reviewer sit back, smile and sigh in reflection that sometimes, things aren’t that bad and, indeed, can be pretty good.  But looking back in the collection, Forget About Life was quite neatly foreshadowed earlier by the album’s second single, Dreams Tonite and it’s worth following the link as it’s a time capsule video, capturing Alvvays’ vintage but modern look and feel.  Look out for the hat tip to MuchFACT, the Canadian music fund towards the end of the short.

Antisocialites ticks the indie kid box and appeals to the electronica side of my tastes and if those two loves can be catered for, that’s usually a win for me and that’s what we’ve got here.

Thinking of a Place – The War on Drugs

I imagine that Brother David hates The War On Drugs … sorry if I am wrong  … but I freaking love them. This track is beautiful, so beautiful. The guitar break / solo / thing in the 3rd / 4th minute is immaculate. I grew up in the 80’s, I loved Springsteen, my Dad still loved Dylan. The War on Drugs are still finding fertile creative ground in these two artists’ output from this decade (not often considered to be their most influential). And I relish what they’re doing. Cool it may not be. I wasn’t going for cool anyway.

Mr. Story’s Albums of 2016

In no particular order, the albums that I have most enjoyed this year …

Frankie Cosmos – Next Thing

No matter what mood I am in I love listening to this. It’s bizzarely universal for me. If I want to jump about and sing like nobody is in the room then I put it on, if I want to chill out, I put it on. Morning, evening. I think you get the point.

Nicolas Jaar – Sirens

I loved his first, I loved the Darkside album and I love this. I don’t think this is as strong as Darkstar – Psychic but its a hell of a listen.

Olafur Arnalds and Nils Frahm – Trance Frendz

I listen to loads of music that I would never choose for the AOTM. Maybe that is disrespectful to the Brothers. Perhaps I should branch out? These two musicians / composers (whatever) get together to go on hikes and talk about making music. Occasionally they meet in one or the others home cities to make some music. One evening they recorded 6 tracks, live with no overdubs or post fannying about. They created a haunting alum of calm lilting piano music that is then blended into electronic claustrophobia. Those of you who know Paul Ledger will appreciate his comment after he sat in the dark and listened in full on his head phones ‘Its beautiful Joey but you’re still one dark fucker’.


Bon Iver – 22, A Million

I didn’t know what to make of this at first … I love it now. He’s pretty bloody consistent isn’t he!

Christine and the Queens – Chaleur Humaine

I don’t care if its not the artists original words, language guests etc. I love love love it. Probably album of the year for me. Thank you David.

Anderson .Paak – Malibu

This has been with me nearly all the year I think. This and Frankie Cosmos. They’ve been consistently albums I’ve turned to.

Agnes Obel – Citizen of Glass


Prince Rogers Nelson


What a sad, sad day. And another sudden death from an icon that crossed boundaries, race, sex, genres, and the globe. It’s easy now to look at him and think how crazy he looked and sounded, but you have to remember this was in a time when no one looked that way or sounded that way.

He played every instrument on his albums, certainly early on. A shy, introverted man that concocted an extroverted stage persona that took him to places that maybe even he didn’t know he’d reach. And what places. The fact that a guy could take r’n’b and make it funky, take a guitar and fuse rock with them both, and all at a time when someone of his race and background just didn’t succeed off their own back. He rewrote the rules, and for a time, there was no one on the planet that was as cool, as successful, as autonomous, as funky, and as star-studded as he was. He made films (fully formed in his mind before the cameras rolled), he produced five albums of unreleased work for everything that saw the light of day, he wrote for others (Chaka Khan, The Bangles, Cyndi Lauper, Alicia Keys, Stevie Nicks, MC Hammer for starters) and his legacy is 30 years of people wanting to sound like him, want to be him, and no one ever came close. And now no one ever will.

These days everything seems a facsimile of something else, but he didn’t sound like anyone, and no one sounded like him. He turned rock starts onto r’n’b and r’n’b artists onto funk, to soul, to anything he laid his hands to. His music knew no boundaries. And his style and his overt sexuality scared the shit out of middle America, and it captivated everyone else. I remember seeing his album covers when I was a kid, and it was as if he’d landed from another planet. Sometimes it felt like he had. He made kids from all backgrounds realise that they could make something of themselves, and he gave his time and money to causes that mattered, with little fanfare and publicity, and he had no qualms making those statements when it had the most exposure (search for his speech at the Grammys when he chose to support Black Lives Matter).

His output may have waned in quality in recent times, but when you have Prince, Controversy, Sign ‘O’ The Times, 1999, Lovesexy, Graffitti Bridge, Purple Rain, and many more to fall back on, you have a little leeway. He played right to the end, touring relentlessly over his entire career, with 21 famous nights at the O2 (then straight to the Indigo2 to do another show afterwards), then so many secret gigs in the last few years, even having a party at his legendary Paisley Park home last weekend. He famously said that he would make a song every day for the rest of his life. One can only imagine the size of the unreleased vaults, and the quality, but then for a man that was so private and had such control over his legacy, perhaps his epitaph will be just that: no Tupac-style re-releases. It would have him smiling down one last time, but with a back catalogue like that who needs bootlegs and secret albums?

Perhaps, like Bowie, he was ill. Stories flickered around the internet lately, but of course, no one really knew. Perhaps that tsunami of live shows of late was his raging against the dying of the light. We may never know. Even his piano tour was sold out, with no one, of course, realising it was his last. You rarely get to go out on your own terms, but it would be very Prince to be able to dictate even that. He changed his name, his style, he gave his music away in a newspaper and it was never anything less than simply what he wanted to do.

I’m no diehard fan. But nor do I claim to be. My twin brother Dave got me into him in our teens. I remember him playing Sign ‘O’ The Times relentlessly when we were at school, and while I listened and took it in, he was a full-on worshipper. But then you can’t help, as a child of the 80s, to have just been part of Prince’s world. He was everywhere: on MTV, in the cinema, on the radio, this huge, larger than life force of nature, making these amazing videos, that were barely concealing (or not at all much of the time) their sexuality. As a teenager in the late 80s, it felt like we were in on the secret as he sung Cream, Gett Off, Kiss, and so many more. He seemed everywhere, talking directly to his fans in the most colourful ways.

Much later in life, as I started playing records here and there, Prince pretty much popped up at the most fun and memorable times: I’ve dropped him at many of my best friends’ weddings (Controversy is the clear winner here), I’ve danced to many classics at Bugged Out to bring in each new year, and playing on the radio for the last two years he pops up regularly. You can’t refuse dancing to his Funkness. You never could. His music was powerful and above all it made you feel good. That’s a legacy as bright as any.

Hearing he’s gone, following so soon after Bowie, feels all of a sudden like we’ve got a big gap for genius left in the world now. It’s cliched and trite to say there will never be anyone else like him. So much feels like recycling these days in popular culture, but no one could ever sound like Prince did. This is the man that once stepped onstage with James Brown and Michael Jackson, played guitar then took his jacket off and danced, and everyone else just looked like second best. With everything so accessible now, the mystique that stayed with him all his life feels quaint and unusual, like a throwback to a more innocent time, but he was anything but innocent.

He’s probably busy covering Changes with Bowie right now, with God still sitting with his mouth open reading the back of the Lovesexy gatefold. It would be just what he’d wanted and just what we’d expect. It’s pretty hard to find someone that doesn’t like a single Prince record, because he crossed every boundary there was to cross. And that’s probably the most fitting epitaph of all.

Rest In Peace, Purple one.