There are moments when you have to question your validity as a music journalist. Reviewing Radiohead is one of them. Radiohead isn’t a band; it’s an institution, and one with a fanatical membership at that. Those who care most about this release will (as they should) make their own minds up about it. So the value of critically appraising The King Of Limbs is clearly limited, and that’s before one even considers that its release was orchestrated specifically to bypass thoughtless critical appraisal, that can so detract from the pleasure of that first listen.

That this unexpected release was staged so successfully will, in fact, probably prove the most remarkable feat of this album; it has been many years since an album generated this level of release-date excitement. Bloggers everywhere went into overdrive, desperate to be among the first to deliver their verdict. That The King Of Limbs could begin arriving in people’s download folders halfway through Friday morning, with virtually everyone clueless as what to expect, was a unique event in the climate of music sharing. The launch gloriously transported fans and journalists to a simpler time, as it was analyzed, nitpicked, indulged in and pored over for the first time, everywhere, simultaneously.

The King Of Limbs is quite dense, and remains fairly opaque during those first few listenings. The album follows very much in the footsteps of In Rainbows, but lacks the immediacy and variation of its predecessor, making for an altogether more challenging experience. That’s not to say there aren’t rewards waiting if you’re willing to be patient. Morning Mr Magpie is an invigorating exercise in restraint. Its bass and drum lines click with tireless repetition, constantly threatening to burst into something elaborately complicated, but ultimately submitting to the song’s unapologetically meticulous structure. Little By Little is pleasingly textured, creating a game out of discerning the central melody from the wash of background noises. Feral is perhaps the one song on the album that misses its mark. A nod towards the avant-garde, this instrumental purports to thicken the record’s moody atmosphere, but perhaps lacks the invention required to validate its presence. Followers of Flying Lotus will recognise the inspiration Thom Yorke has taken here from his time spent contributing to the superb Cosmogramma, but feel disappointed that the song doesn’t quite recreate the magic of that album.

The King Of Limbs is reborn with Lotus Flower. This is the closest thing the album has to a single, and the video is well worth a look; Yorke heedlessly shows-off his own charmingly erratic brand of dancing. Separator, the final track, is possibly the album’s strongest. Jonny Greenwood’s guitar makes a rare, shimmering appearance, lifting an album that would otherwise be in danger of seeming downbeat, mournful even.

The King Of Limbs does not have the playful, creative streak of In Rainbows, and it steers well clear of the alt-rock anthems that built the band’s global reputation. Indeed, it can seem joyless and hopelessly understated in places. This is, however, a considered and well-crafted piece of music, but most impressively, a strong restatement of the band’s commitment to reinvention and innovation.

Speaking to NME earlier this February, there was an air of apology about Freddy-and-Justin-from-the-Vaccines. As they stared hazily into space, the pair struggled over how to best describe their debut album: “I think the sound is quite immediate…” “…Yeah… yeah I don’t think it’s very… err… testing… I think you’ll know straight away whether you like it or whether you don’t…” Their modesty is endearing. They seem genuinely concerned about what the public might expect from them. Who could blame them? Having been almost universally touted as ‘the next big thing’, ‘the sound of 2011’, or else ‘the second coming of Pete and Carl’, it’s understandable that the band wouldn’t want to raise their fandom’s already highly inflated hopes any further.

But does What Did You Expect From The Vaccines? deserve these defensive sentiments? Yes, sadly. It is a debut full of youthful exuberance and catchy hooks, but woefully lacking in depth, originality and just about everything else. The lyrics are the worst offender. Meaningless literary references (“The angles came F. Scott Fitzgerald / The evening news and the morning Herald”) and choruses worryingly suggestive of sexual grooming (“Her mind’s made up; she don’t wanna go steady / She’s only seventeen, so she’s probably not ready”) are just a hint towards how vacuous this record actually is.

The album isn’t devoid of value. The band certainly has an ear for a melody, and they clearly know their audience. It’s just disappointing that they haven’t developed their ideas into fully fledged pop songs, and that they’re too brazenly commercial to seriously be considered punk. They lend heavily from both genres, but do justice to neither.

Prolificacy is not an issue for Bradford Cox. A quick scan over the recording dates for this four volume demo set is an intimidating exposition of an unusually active mind – 49 songs recorded in just a few afternoons at his home this Autumn. Artists yearn for days in which they can write a single decent song, for Cox it must be as trivial as remembering to brush his teeth. The man breathes, sweats, and bleeds music, and fortunately for us, he collects it, distills it, and makes it freely available to anyone willing to listen. And listen you should.

It must be emphasised however that these are demo tapes. That isn’t a reflection on the quality of the material, just the fullness of the sound: it doesn’t always reach the rich, textured heights of his previous solo releases Logos or Let The Blind. Furthermore, lyrics are often underdeveloped (if not all together absent) on most tracks, which means these recordings require a little more patience than Cox’s more recent endeavors.

Volume One begins at a snail’s pace but soon picks up. Wild Love is a typical Atlas Sound anti-pop song, stacking a repetitive, layered, whining chorus against a beautiful guitar and synth counter-melody. In the second half of the volume he covers Kurt Vile and Bob Dylan songs, although you would never recognize them from the originals – Cox completely dismantles them in his own unique style. The second volume of the set is possibly the most experimental and eclectic, containing only very rare points of accessible entry. It’s not however, brazen or repellent, merely a little two-dimensional, slightly dull perhaps. Having said that, Here Come The Trains, an epic, twelve minute noise barrage, is full of surprises to jolt you back to full attention.

Volume Three is the most guitar heavy of the four, and kicks off with the most accessible track of the set, Mona Lisa, which is almost a conventional pop song, and an extremely catchy one at that. Border Agents is an all together more sombre affair, as Cox deploys harmonica and silence in equal measures to the point where you can hear his breath on the mic. This is offset by the uptempo Indian Bitrate, providing evidence that these demos are considered and deliberate, much more than a series of disused off-cuts. The final volume is the weirdest but best realised of the four. Farmland Fantasy is a fusion of bird-song to the strangest, most unnatural melodies, yet the finished product is not the Frankenstein’s Monster you might expect. The demo ploughs forward on this course, venturing into the deepest, darkest, and strangest depths of Cox’s musical mind.

A lot of what’s on these tapes, I think Cox would be willing to admit, is experimental horseplay. But it is wonderfully imaginative horseplay. True, these demos have been tacked together with minimal production, but in an age where music production is big business there is something exciting about how raw they’ve been left. All four volumes at times suffer from being slightly overly self-indulgent, but more often than not they are simply a shop-front for an extraordinarily talented musician, and what one man can achieve alone in his basement. Cox’s generosity at making these available for free is staggering. He is truly unique.

Of all the reasons to recommend you getting hold of this album, one stands out above the rest: it’s free. Happily, its price tag is not a reflection on its quality. Its complimentary nature is simply a means of avoiding the mess of copyright infringement that Greg Gillis’ previous releases have been plagued by – a necessary step when you sample 370 songs in 71 minutes.

So yes, All Day is a mash-up album, shamelessly profiteering from the hard work of other musicians. But that’s not to say it’s void of artistic merit. The speed at which Gillis skips from sample to sample is truly impressive. Admittedly, this means sitting down and listening to it start to finish, proves more than a little irritating, but it does make for an interesting game of ‘guess that sample’. The album actually has pretty strong pop credentials, and flows beautifully from start to finish. Some of the most impossible change-ups are achieved on Get It Get It, which marries Lady Gaga to Rage Against The Machine, Depeche Mode to Daft Punk. The result isn’t consistently pleasurable, but is always surprising.

All Day is a useful edition to any party thrower’s back-catalogue, and will always be a preferable alternative to letting your friends indulge their questionable tastes via Spotify. So despite the fact that at times your listening experience will feel akin to being harassed by a small child with ADHD, it undeniably serves its purpose. And remember: it’s free!

Some people would say that the likes of Jack White or Thom Yorke are mysterious. I can see what they’re getting at: what could Jack be thinking of when he gets that far-off glint in his eye? Hype Williams is mysterious in a whole other way. Hype Williams is mysterious in the way that I have absolutely no idea who they are. Even that fountain of knowledge Wikipedia is of no use. The digital age has not as of yet caught up with this weird, futuristic, ambient, electro outfit.

Whoever they are, they have a sense of humour. Find Out opens with a gurgling, auto-tune adjusted wail. As if this wasn’t bizarre enough, it’s followed by a dead-pan, monotone recital of pokemon, followed by “gotta catch ‘em all, gotta catch ‘em all, yeah, pokemon, I want to be the best there ever was.”

The tragedy of this album is it never quite lives up to this early, weird, tongue-in-cheek promise. The Throning is probably the stand out track, and a particularly interesting cacophony of beats and melodies is developed on Jesus To A Child Reprise. Their sound is comparable to Nosaj Thing, like a weird distant cousin of Mount Kimbie. Unfortunately, much of the album is a little empty, as though they’ve stayed true to their minimalist style at the expensive of excluding a few of their highly original ideas. This album isn’t for everyone, but if you do happen to enjoy music of a slightly less coventional nature, there are few albums better than this that you could put on your Christmas wish list.

On the 4th of November Lil’ Wayne completed an eight month spell in Rikers Island Correctional Facility. He seems to have handled this potential ordeal well. He delayed his sentence a week to get dental surgery (just the eight root canals, and a couple of implants). Whilst inside he got his hands on an MP3 player, was treated to private custody, and was able to read his fan mail over the internet. He even released a new album, I Am Not A Human Being, selling over 250,000 copies to date. Of course, Wayne will have missed his freedom, his money, his four children, and his superstar lifestyle, but perhaps this could be the start of something bigger and better for the young rapper. He is by no means the first musician to do a stint behind bars. Can Wayne gain hope from others’ experiences?

Recently, admittedly, prison hasn’t served the musician-come-detainee so well, although that’s probably to do with the charges associated. Phil Spector’s nineteen year sentence for 2nd degree murder is unlikely to do the former Beatles producer any favours; partly because he will almost certainly die in prison, but mainly because we’ve now seen the miserable state of his toupee-less hairline. Peter Doherty’s stretches haven’t fared him much better. They haven’t so much convinced us of his rebel-till-I-die-attitude, as to what a boringly predictable junkie the ‘libertine’ actually is. Luckily for Wayne, there’s nothing so sinister about his charges, and he hasn’t yet made getting caught a boring habit. Possession of drugs and firearms actually seems understandable, mundane even, compared to the kind of thing Gary Glitter and Michael Jackson were allegedly up to. If Wayne had, for instance, been accused of having ‘relations’ with minors, I can’t imagine his fans would have been so forgiving.

Lil’ Wayne’s ace in the hole might just be his genre. Hip-hip has been extremely kind to its incarcerated crusaders. Tupac’s Me Against the World was released with its deviser firmly locked away, yet enjoyed unprecedented success, clocking 240,000 sales in its first week. Ol’ Dirty Bastard of the Wu-Tang Clan made light of his time behind bars, contributing Wu-Tang lyrics via the prison telephone, before going on to escape his rehab facility to “record on the run.” Of course, these two men did die almost immediately after their release: a coincidence, surely?

So, not all the omens are bad. As long as he doesn’t murder an actress, become a walking parody of himself, molest any minors, or die within the next six months, I’d say Wayne may yet do very well from his time away.

Down There is weird. There’s no other way of putting it. An assortment of voices take it in turns to hum and murmur, drifting in and out from behind dampened drum beats and an unlikely assortment of electronic rumbles and gurgles. But then again, would you expect anything less from an album inspired crocodiles?

This is Avey Tare’s debut solo project, but the experience he has amassed in his day job as multi-instrumentalist for experimental rock outfit Animal Collective is evident. Down There is deeply stylized, utilizing synthesizers and drum machines to create a natural-yet-unnatural sound. He stays true to this formula throughout, and the result is that the parts cohere beautifully to the whole. The album’s thorough unusualness only enhances the strange and surprising experience of listening to it.

It doesn’t work in West’s favour that the moment at which he has achieved stardom instantaneous world-wide communication has become the norm. Ten years earlier, his unfortunate habit of deviating from the script would have been a regular talking point, but it wouldn’t have been the staple of social media sites that it is today. And in simpler times, protective managers would have ensured that many of his most outrageous remarks never filtered through to the general public. Alas for West, Twitter makes it only too easy for millions to follow the inner workings of his brain and jump on all (of his many) slip ups. In another time West may have escaped such media glare, and perhaps could have even escaped being labeled a “jackass” by no less than the American president.

There is, however, an undeniable maturity to West’s newest material. ‘My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy’ does not perhaps deserve quite so many five star reviews as it has received, but elements of it are often both enjoyable and genuinely progressive. His use of video, for instance, breaks the standard model of one per three/four minute single, as he instead uses just one 35 minute spectacular that depicts a single (albeit very bizarre) story. More importantly, he seemingly embraces the portrait of himself as the fool: “They say I was the abomination of Obama’s nation”, and uses this as a platform to ruminate more thoughtfully: “Is hip-hop just a euphemism for a new religion? The soul music for the slaves that the youth is missing.” It’s not quite Shakespeare, but it’s certainly a step beyond his earlier themes (“I ain’t saying she a goldigger…”).

Of course West is a clown. It’s a necessary condition for interrupting someone you don’t know in the midst of an award acceptance speech. But although West is definitely not the great bard he and some critics seem to think he is, a comparison to one The Bard’s great recurring characters would not be unfair: West is the jester, the rascal, the fool. For, although his antics are often misguided, there is clearly substance behind it all. He may play the rogue, but don’t think he doesn’t know what he’s doing; it’s your loss if you scorn his music for that reason alone.

Halcyon Digest will be the album to propel Deerhunter from their position as interesting indie outsiders into the front line of progressive, experimental pop music. Possibly. Halcyon Digest is a good album, very good in fact. But if making good music alone were enough to win popular acclaim, Bradford Cox, Lockett Pundt & co. would have achieved it many times over in the last few years. The band has been remarkably prolific and astoundingly consistent. Including Cox and Pudnt’s solo projects (Atlas Sound and Lotus Plaza respectively), the band have released a staggering seven albums (and two EPs) since 2005, each one of them exploring a different musical terrain, each one of them wonderful in its own right. So perhaps wider recognition will again remain elusive to the American four-piece.

Actually, this is probably how Deerhunter like it. The rate at which the band has evolved has not lent itself well to satisfying a wide-ranging fan base. Even the band themselves have been keen to disassociate themselves from their early material. When asked about their first LP, Turn it Up, Faggot (named after a particularly memorable slice of abuse they were served up at an early gig), Cox has gone as far to say that it “sucks” and they now find it “embarrassing”. Their follow up effort, Cryptograms, was unrecognisable: a fusion of murky, distorted guitar swell to a climax of psychedelic dream-pop. They then reinvented themselves again with the up-beat, poppier Microcastle, which included a 40 minute, reverb-drenched bonus disc (Weird Era Cont). So it should come as no surprise that, Halcyon Digest also breaks new ground, and bares little resemblance to their previous full-length efforts.

The distorted guitars and hypnotic vocal lines, which have been so characteristic of their music to date, are largely absent. They have been peeled away, and the happy result is that a new set of strengths reveal themselves. Cox and Pundt’s imaginative lyricism, the sensitivity of their song-writing, and the range of their soundscape are all allowed to flourish on Halcyon Digest. Revival is a clean and conventional pop song, but lit up by a jangly guitar lick and given depth by spiritual ponderings, “Would you believe it/ All of the day/ I felt his presence near me.” Basement Scene is a throw back to the minimalism of Cryptograms, and a love song to their days of small-scale gigging, “Dream a little dream, all about the basement scene/ I don’t wanna wake up.” The introverted reflections of Cox are counter-balanced well by Pundt’s quicker, guitar driven anthems. With its elegant riff and catchy chorus, Desire Lines might, in fact, be the best track on the record.

Coronado, like the Spanish explorer it’s named after, ventures into unfamiliar territory. Shockingly, it utilises a saxophone as its focal point: unimaginable on any of their previous outings. The album culminates with He Would Have Laughed; a seven minute tribute to recently departed punk rocker (and personal friend of the band) Jay Reatard. The guitar riff is brilliant in its simplicity, and works perfectly as a foil to Cox’s sorrowful ruminations, asking mournfully “Where do your friends go?” True to its subject, the song ends suddenly, unexpectedly, prematurely.

Halcyon Digest is Deerhunter’s maturest work to date. It defies labels such as dream-pop or ambient-punk, and operates within a more conventional form and structure. It may not have the hooks and thrills of Microcastle, but it more than compensates in variety and sheer depth: it rewards with every new listen. Where the band go from here is anybody’s guess.

Nick Biggs

Nick Biggs gets to grips with Brooklynite rockers Vivian Girl

Getting to the heart of a band, finding out what makes them tick, can be no easy feat. The challenge is made doubly hard when the artists in question appear to hold apparently paradoxical sides to themselves. Vivian Girls’ music is simple and yet complicated, raw and yet refined. This seemingly contradictory nature is maintained by their appearance. As I wait for them during their sound check, the Girls’ long, unkempt hair and heavily tattooed arms seem awkwardly out of place when singer Katy as politely as you like asks for (the fourth time) “a little more mic through the front amps, please.”

Sound check finished, bassist Cassie Ramone retreats to man the Vivian Girls’ goods stall. Although critically acclaimed, the band’s popularity hasn’t yet allowed them to take money for granted. I ask drummer Ali Koehler and guitarist/singer “Kickball” Katy if they have been recognised during their time in Scotland. “Recognised?” Katy exclaims, half-shocked, half-smiling, “On the street? Here in this building we have, that’s about it.” Fame is apparently something they’ve never paid much attention to: “It seems like we have a strong UK fan base, but it’s really hard to actually know these things, because it’s kind of like we’re in the eye of the hurricane,” Katy explains. “It’s really hard to know how well you’re received,” Ali pitches in, “or how many people like you.” Although their answers hint at a desire to become more widely known, Vivian Girls’ music has remained unapologetically true to its indie/garage origins, prioritising artistic integrity ahead of mainstream success.

The band’s eponymous first album is notoriously short, clocking up less than twenty-two minutes. I ask them if the album’s brevity was intentional. “When we went into the studio to record our first album we literally recorded every song we had written over the course of that year. We knew we needed to use one song for the ‘Wild Eyes’ B-Side, ‘My Baby Wants Me Dead’, so that’s what was left: twenty minutes.” I ask them how they’ve changed or progressed with their second album, Everything Goes Wrong. Ali, a little shyly offers, “Well, a change of drummers, that’s a difference.” Ali is new to Vivian Girls, joining in July 2008 after they parted ways with former drummer Frankie Rose: “I don’t know what to say about that, that I could say in an interview,” says Katy looking uncomfortable, “but changing drummers was definitely a good thing for our song writing process. My favourite stuff is the stuff that we’ve been recording recently.” Katy is referring to a new single, out February 14, Valentine’s Day. “It’s called My Love Will Follow Me. I actually wrote it in the UK. Fun facts. It’s about, um, I don’t know, I don’t know what it’s about, but um…” Katy and Ali break into laughter and pause to compose themselves. Katy continues, “I guess it’s a more Spector-esque recording process than we’ve done before. We tried to record really minimally and tried to make the best use of what we had. I think it came out really well. It’s very vocal heavy, we’ve decided as a band to bring our vocals really high up in the mix to make them the centre of attention within the song.”

Contrary to the expectations that their trendy Brooklyn attire provokes, Vivian Girls are extremely modest and are reluctant to talk about themselves at length. They are infinitely more comfortable when asked about their own favourite bands. “Best Coast,” suggests Katy for starters. “Happy Birthday, they’re the best,” Ali continues, “and Tune-Yards.” “Yeah, Tune-Yards, we’ve been obsessed with Tune-Yards: so cool,” agrees Katy, “Oh, Heavy Hawaii is a band that I’m obsessed with right now…” Ali and Katy begin discussing bands with so much excitement that they’re voices become virtually indistinguishable and unintelligible in a wave of excitement. Their expressive enthusiasm for other people’s music bear’s little relation to the quiet, reserved attitude they use for discussing their own.

Vivian Girls are a band truly steeped in contradictions that only a better interviewer than myself could untangle. However, I managed to draw one piece of straightforward information from Katy, that really sums up what they are like and why they make music; “We just like playing music with our friends.”