Apparently, Some by Sea will be throwing a launch party with fellow Seattleites Hypatia Lake. When I discovered this news, I felt a little concerned. I hoped to all of the deities that I could think of that On Fire(Igloo), the debut album proper from Some by Sea, was nothing like the Hypatia Lake album. After my review of that album, I doubt if I made it on to HL’s Christmas card list and I didn’t want a repeat performance. My concern was misplaced, it seems, as Some by Sea are a different kind of animal altogether; nevertheless, there is some kind of inkling that they are from the same habitat. Some by Sea are not happy, and they write complicated and clever songs.

Indeed, Some by Sea have cleverly crafted a compendium of cracking compositions that are solid gold whimsy. On Fire (Igloo) may not win any prizes this year for Album Title of the Year but the CD that lies within its understated packaging is likely to win the hearts and minds of a large portion of those that listen to it. And quite right, too. It is a record that reminds one of a time when LPs (like a CD, only bigger and blacker) were only beginning to lose their dominance and popsters wrote songs that demonstrated how Existential and well-read they were. This platter stirs up a few images of Prefab Sprout, Aztec Camera, the Lilac Time, and, less pleasantly, Deacon Blue, because of its swish production values and knowing lyrical content.

They describe themselves on their website as “[y]our broken-hearted best friend that made you listen to Carissa’s Wierd, R.E.M., Matt Pond PA, and Built to Spill.” The band contend further that they are “hip without being slick.” I’m not sure quite what that means, but they have produced a collection of tunes that have an insidious quality about them. The choruses are by and large not big and boisterous; indeed they creep up on you like some kind of musical Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster where the gold brick is replaced by the distilled essence of little fluffy clouds. In fact, on first listen I was convinced that this record had no choruses at all. After several listens, they were clearly there for all to hear. Or perhaps you have to prime you mind with one listen first.

If I were to pick some of the highlights it would have to be “Look What I Made Without Your Heart Getting In The Way” for its charming look at toxic relationships and the classic line “. . . and I know the things that go wrong when you can’t stop making out with all of your friends”. “One More Day Goes By” is similarly well observed, but in other places, such as the gargantuan “Only One Bullet”, they go into Deacon Blue overdrive. Here they clearly forget where to draw the line of editorial control and the presence of this track alone tends to temper the overall album enjoyment experience.

Yes, in fact my major gripe about this record is that the songs are just too long. Pop songs have absolutely no business being over 5 minutes in length. The final track, the aforementioned “Only One Bullet”, is a whopping 12:21. Twelve minutes and twenty-one seconds. Perhaps they were trying for some magic palindromic (I made that word up I think) number that would bless this release with unimaginable success, but I reckon that 3:13 might have been a better choice. The result of this excess is that the album clocks in at just over seventy minutes. Some might say value for money and fair dues; you do get a lot of quality pop for your cash. However, there are attention span issues to consider here. There is only so much cleverly crafted pop your brain can take in one sitting before it melts into mush. Like the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, once mixed this record should be listened to very, very carefully. Even if only to stop your brain simple shutting down.

That said, the album is pretty solid. It is long, but persevere with it; after the first listen, you will find some charming little gems that you can put on your iPod that will cause you to knowingly smile as you truck on down the street.

originally on popmatters.com

https://www.popmatters.com/some_by_sea_on_fire_igloo-2495675854.html

When I was a kid I would pop down to Woolworths and fork out 99p of my hard earned pocket money for a cassette of Top of the Pops hits only to discover that when I got home I was listening to a bunch of (not too convincing) cover versions. Invariably, the cover of the cassette bore a lady with large breasts and a small t-shirt plus on closer inspection the caveat emptor “featuring the music of…” As a result I was left with the feeling that I had been slightly misled but still managed to enjoy my purchase immensely. When the new Paul Weller CD As Is Now first pooted forth from my speakers I was transported back to this bygone era, where things were uncomplicated and the act of living brought with it no uncomfortable and let’s face it unwelcome surprises.

A lot of other reviewers of this CD have heralded it as a grand return to form for the “Modfather” after the frankly disappointing releases in the 10 years since Stanley Road. However, I discovered that As Is Now is not an instant record. In the course of writing this review I have listened to this collection repeatedly, refusing to believe that it was as bland as I had first thought. Paul Weller is an icon from my formative years. I can forgive his association with Oasis because he wrote “‘A’ Bomb in Wardour Street” (I used to work for a company whose head office is in Wardour Street, so I appreciated the sentiment) and “My Ever Changing Moods” (it is hard to believe that it could even be the same guy). With this in mind I stuck with it. Sure enough, I found some real highs but they need to be teased out.

The obvious peaks of this album are where the ghosts of the Jam are explored during the spunky “From the Floor Boards Up” and “Come On/Let’s Go”. Here we are treated to Weller kicking against the pricks; rousing and ordering his older followers to get off their collective asses and dance in a spikey and dangerous fashion. He tells them that they should forget that for most of them retirement is only 15 years away; remember when you used to dance like this? He sounds like he is genuinely uptight again not the spit and bile of “Going Underground” but after hearing these two numbers you at least can see that it is the same guy, only sort of grown up. I presume this approach is also a warning to the more recent pretenders to his crown (I will name no names) that this is not a brand new bag and Poppa don’t want to give it up just yet.

“Blink and You’ll Miss It” and “Paper Smile” are also solid enough numbers but on reflection you can’t help but think that Weller has been hanging around the likes of Steve Cradock too long. They sound like damn fine Welleresque tunes as performed by someone like Ocean Colour Scene and suddenly I am a child again transported back to Woolworths with a 99p cassette in my hand. “But it said Paul Weller on the cover and it isn’t,” I say; to which the gimp at the counter scoffs, “it says ‘the music of Paul Weller’ now beat it.”

Pretty much the rest of the album is of “Wild Wood” quality, which would be an absolutely outstanding achievement had the man himself not already done that album in 1993. This similarity to what has gone before is the album’s strength and most damning indictment. It sounds pretty much what you would expect a Paul Weller album to sound like. He digs into the Santa sack of his back catalogue and pulls out the one that sounds like “Broken Stones” and the one that sounds like the Style Council and the few that sound like the Jam (in my view he does this the most successfully). There are no real left-turns on As Is Now, except perhaps for “Pan”.

It is fair to say that, unlike the rest of the album, “Pan” has no redeeming features at all. The song has no place on this or any other album. As a piano-led meander it leads nowhere using laughably epic, bloated proportions and pompous lyrics. The ballad’s entire job is to fill the album out by 2 minutes 25 seconds and it doesn’t even do this very well because I keep skipping it. I am forever grateful that it was not the same length as the um… well… funky, entertaining, but funking too long “Bring Back the Funk, Pts. 1 & 2”. However, I can forgive Mr Weller these songs and his association with the Gallagher brothers because he gave us “Start” and “You’re the Best Thing.”

Retrospective. Mature. Derivative. In places excellent. This album is not exactly a return to form but it is by no means a failure either. It works well as a collection made from the Paul Weller template but Weller makes no attempt to make comfortable any new ground. He is not coasting as such, but not stretching himself to any great height either. Then again, as you get older I suppose surprises become as unwelcome as they were when you were young.

I can’t believe I was this mean about Paul Weller on popmatters.com

https://www.popmatters.com/paul_weller_as_is_now-2495674896.html

The first thing that you will notice about Forget to Tell the Time is that the cover design is slightly different than on the previous three. This design sports a new logo on a lovely white package that sports a smashed clock. Everything about the packaging says that the past should be referenced, not relived. The Contrast have taken all of the good parts from the last three albums and distilled them into one very fine 14-track album. Little Steven of Underground Garage fame has gone on record as saying that he really loves this band, and from this album it is not hard to see why. It contains that raw enthusiasm of Mystery #1, the sparkly production and introspection of Wireless Days, and the full on rock of Fade Back In. It contains elements of all these that came before it, but it is like none of them.

“Caught in a Trap” starts the set and captures this renewed motivation perfectly. It’s a rocky little number featuring lush vocal harmonies. Andy Hawkins hammers the shit out of the drums; he and the rest of the band shout out loud the new and explicit agenda: “I’m not turning back”. In a parallel universe, the second song, “Forget to Tell the Time”, is the opening track to this album; it is that strong. It is not quite as full-on as “Caught in a Trap”, but the energy captured in it surges from the speakers.

With “Different Again” we are treated to an example of the Contrast’s hitherto overlooked quirkiness. It’s a prog-rock song filtered through early ’80s Cars and condensed into just over three and half minutes. Just when you think you know what’s going on, the song drops out of sight and is re-introduced with an acoustic middle section that is evocative of Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper”. When the song kicks in again, David Reid is going psycho: “Maybe I’m in love / Maybe I’m just lost / Maybe I should stop”.

“Adversity” is the first song on an album by the Contrast where someone other than Reid delivers a lead vocal. This is ostensibly a duet between Reid and new guitarist Matthew Zilch. The two serenade each other until the song disappears into a cacophony that includes, I’m told, a vacuum cleaner. This noise dissipates, leaving the dark, sinister, and almost impenetrable “Mean”. This is Reid writing material for as-yet-unscripted David Lynch films. Its space makes you feel confined in an uncomfortable manner. Like a Lynch film, its sinister-ness comes not from what is said, but what is implied.

“Someone Else’s Logo” also feels like an opener, and as a result, this sounds like the beginning of side 2. It shows Reid having a rare political moment, commenting on the general reliance on Nike trainers in order to project an image. A really nice Chris Isaak-style guitar solo sits uncomfortably in the middle. Another curveball is “Hold Your Fire”, adding a certain Tom Waits/jazz quality to the Contrast’s sound. The stars of the show here are Richard Mackman with a dog-tired, late-night-weary bass line and the accompanying solo duel from David Reid on guitar and Andy Hawkins on piano. There is something about this song that conjures Blade Runner-like scenes of rain and a dirty metropolis.

As with Mystery #1 and Wireless Days, this album finishes with a slow song. “Be There” is crying out to be in a movie at the end of Act 2 ,where the male protagonist is driving down a rainy highway thinking over his failed relationship with the female lead. Cue flashback sequence and sobbing from the audience. Andy Hawkins and David Reid take this one alone. No guitars in evidence, only piano and single vocal. It has a real frailty that brings a lump to your throat, like a good torch song should.

Since Mystery #1, the Contrast have been constantly refining their sound without losing what it is that makes them who they are. For some, this may seem like they are not breaking any new ground. This may be so, but they are so sure of what they want to be that their intention is not to burst boundaries but to be the best version of the Contrast possible. Forget to Tell the Time is, for now at least, just that.

This review debuted on popmatters.com

https://www.popmatters.com/the_contrast_forget_to_tell_the_time-2495674672.html