On Syd Barrett

I stopped using the word 'genius' a long time ago. Once in a while I may still slip it into the odd sentence but it would never be about a person. Rather, it would be about a song, a plot device or an especially good scene from a film. Basically, an artist can produce a genius painting without being a genius him- or herself. I think the problem that I have is that the word 'genius' presupposes a certain purity that is simply nowhere to be found. It is all too diluted and tampered with. And yet there are moments in my life when I come back to the music of Syd Barrett and the dim, broken light of the word 'genius' starts to shine again. It just becomes overwhelming, and for a while there is no other art that I can accept. 

It still gives me chills, that brilliantly unnerving fact that back in 2003, when I was in England for the first time, Syd Barrett was alive. Apparently content, if not actually happy (that is, according to his sister Rosemary), he could sometimes be spotted in the streets of Cambridge, lost and barely recognisable from the old days, with a desolate stare and a paper bag filled with groceries. Tim, a friend of mine, kept saying that Syd Barrett had to leave Pink Floyd in 1968, that he was no longer compos mentis and that there was nothing else for his bandmates to do. While I was having none of it. They pushed him out, I reasoned. They forced him out of his own band. Obviously, I did not know the full story back then, I did not know about the mind-altering effects of acid and just how much he took, but I knew what I loved. It was called The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn, and it had gripped me like nothing else. 

He would die three years later, in July, during my second stay in Gateshead. By then, I had read and reread the full lyrics of Syd Barrett's songs and learnt them by heart. There was a certain sentimentality about them, a certain childish magic that I could relate to. And there was one song in particular for which I developed a strange fascination. It was called "Scream Thy Last Scream" and I could not find its recording anywhere (members of Pink Floyd had blocked its release for many years). So instead, I came from school one day, took my sister's guitar and tried to set those lyrics to my own melody. Happy with the results, I even recorded it on a dictaphone. Many years later, when I finally heard "Vegetable Man" and "Scream Thy Last Scream", I was quite disturbed to realise that a small part of my largely hopeless melody for the latter was eerily similar to what Syd Barrett wrote in 1967. It was one of his last songs for the band that would in a few months cut him off and terminate his contract. Interestingly, none of subsequent revelations, documentaries, interviews and books (of which A Very Irregular Head and Random Precision are absolute must-reads) would make me see the break-up in a different light from how I felt more than 20 years ago. There is something truly horrifying about Rosemary's words that in later years, when he was living in his messy, half-empty house in Cambridge, suffering from diabetes and severe mental issues, the very name of Roger Waters would send Syd into a fit of rage. 

I sometimes go back to that summer of 2003 and think about this chance that I had. I could ask Tim to drive me to Cambridge where I could perhaps come across Syd Barrett in the street or even knock on the door of his house. But then again - what next? Robyn Hitchcock has once described his own experience of undertaking a similar pilgrimage and being stopped at the door by Syd's mother or sister. "Oh he is not at home, he is in London". Nervous, pink with anxiety, Hitchcock felt a great relief and was happy to leave Cambridge without ever meeting his hero. 

And it was actually Robyn Hitchcock who, I believe, gave the best explanation of what happened to this incredible, singularly gifted man of twenty-four years old. That generally speaking, all artists dilute their talent. That there are these tubes filled with paint, and they squeeze the paint out a little and smear it thinly over a canvas or a page. Syd Barrett was different in that in those couple of years he squeezed it all out very quickly, in one go. And those colours were amazing, and glorious, and truly magical, but they could not last. Soon it all ran dry and there was nothing left. 

Peter Jenner, I believe, the manager of Pink Floyd in those early days, would say at some point that he could never listen to either Barrett or The Madcap Laughs. Moreover, he would say that he could never understand the people who did. He actually called the very idea of listening to those albums strange and even 'ghoulish'. While I understand his thinking, I also believe that the sheer light of Syd Barrett's music (tragic though it was during the disjointed sessions for his two solo albums) is such that not listening to it, even in the form of frail, occasionally incoherent outtakes released in 1987, is a big loss and grave mistake. Because this was, in a kind of terrible and perverted way, a part of his world that he shared with us for a brief few years of his music career. It is not for me to judge how inevitable it was, but I have come to believe that it was integral. And we should all be grateful to people like Malcolm Jones, David Gilmour and Richard Wright for making those 1969/1970 recordings even possible.

Besides those timeless early singles and three albums (of which The Piper and The Madcap Laughs are in my personal top ten of all time), I find myself coming back to "Jugband Blues" time and time again. In a somewhat emotional move by the band, they attached Syd's last song for Pink Floyd at the end of A Saucerful Of Secrets. It is a harrowing and very pure expression of the artist's state of mind, impossibly sad and yet one of Syd Barrett's best creations. There is nothing tampered or diluted about what is expressed here, the song comes at you full-on, with gut-punching lyrics and inescapable melodies. It is both unbearable and irresistible. Sometimes, though, it is too hard for me to listen to it, almost as hard as watching the closing few seconds of this video, the last that were recorded with him in the band:

Robyn Hitchcock in Brighton, 11.09

One of the sights from this show I will not forget is an expression of utter bewilderment on the face of a young girl sitting at one of the front tables. At that point, Robyn Hitchcock was playing "My Wife and My Dead Wife", an oddly irresistible story of a man who lives in the company of two wives, one dead and one alive. 

My wife lies down on the beach, she's sucking a peach 

She's out of reach

Of the waves that crash on the sand where my dead wife stands 

Holding my hand

Those lyrics are as clever and disturbing as they were 40 years ago, and it must have been a treat to hear them for the first time. But then again, it was a real treat for me, too, and I have heard them a hundred times. Robyn Hitchcock does not play it every night (his setlists are remarkably diverse), but the 1985 song remains an enduring classic in a vast catalogue of amazing consistency and whimsical brilliance. 

Along with Robert Forster, Luke Haines and a few others, Robyn Hitchcock is one of my all-time favourite songwriters. The first time I heard his song (I believe it was "Executioner" from Eye), I genuinely could not believe I had never heard this music before. It was confident, charismatic, idiosyncratic and oddly appealing. I have since heard everything else in his discography, and this feeling has only become stronger: how could this be so obscure? After all, The Soft Boys' Underwater Moonlight is one of the greatest albums of all time, and so are Fegmania!, Eye and I Often Dream Of Trains. The answer, inevitably, is what Stephen Pastel once said: "In the end, you become as big as you are meant to be". Or, alternatively, Robyn Hitchcock has never truly desired fame.

In Brighton, at the Komedia club, he does a long set divided into two parts. We start with the wistful "September Cones" (originally on You & Oblivion, a great compilation of demos and outtakes) and end with a brief encore featuring "See Emily Play" and "Waterloo Sunset" (both taken from his new album of 1967 classics that once inspired him). In between, it is what you have come to expect: sex, cheese, insects and death (well, he scales back on sex a little). Plus, the man is genuinely, effortlessly funny with his onstage ramblings and droll English humour. The best joke of the night was perhaps to do with two ways of looking at things. There are two groups of people in the world, optimists and pessimists. Some think The Beatles are half-alive and some that they are half-dead. 

Again, with a catalogue so big, there were bound to be some omissions (I would have wanted "My Favourite Buildings" and "The Man Who Invented Himself"), but you can't fault his choices, either. He did The Soft Boys stuff ("Queen of Eyes", "Tonight"), he did the Egyptians stuff ("My Wife and My Dead Wife", "Madonna of the Wasps"), he did things classic ("Queen Elvis", "Cynthia Mask") and new ("Raymond and the Wires", "The Shuffle Man"). For me, one of the highlights was "Autumn Sunglasses" (from the eponymous 2017 album) whose melodicism came through in style in the intimate live setting. He was eccentric and charming without trying too hard. And he was humble, too, and introduced Syd Barrett's "See Emily Play" as a song written by 'the original Robyn Hitchcock'. 

Interestingly, there were two glasses of water on the small table beside him, and, inevitably, the amount of water was decreasing all the time. I knew he timed it, in the sense that he would finish it off before or after his last song. And yet there was a part of me that hoped against hope that the water would never disappear and he would be playing there for us until the end of times. It would have been amazing, too, and with songs so timeless, such a Robyn Hitchcock thing to do. 

Oasis: worst to best

This post will be my personal contribution to the Oasis reunion. I have decided to relisten to all of their albums to see if my old opinions still stand (spoiler alert: they mostly do). This will be a list in ascending order, from worst to best. 

Also, just to make sure: in the Blur vs. Oasis debate, the correct answer has always been Pulp.

8. Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants (2000)

You know what? This album is not even bad. It is too safe to be bad. Noel Gallagher has always been a somewhat limited songwriter, which means he could never really move beyond the waning lights of Britpop. You may call this post-Britpop (true for the Gallaghers' music after the split), but what it is, essentially, is Oasis going through the motions in a very smooth and boring way. Not exactly terrible (although the title of the album as well as the cover certainly are terrible), just mediocre. 

Best song: "Go Let It Out" (which is not very good either)

7. Heathen Chemistry (2002)

I think Pitchfork gave this album a 1.4 or something. That said, a couple of years earlier they had published that review of Kid A, so who cares anyway? I am not here to defend Heathen Chemistry (it is Oasis by the numbers), but there is more life in it than in the previous album. Songs? Well, I find "Little By Little" to be awfully formulaic, but the sweeping "Stop Crying Your Heart Out" and Liam's tender "Songbird" are both excellent.

Best song: "Songbird"

6. Don't Believe The Truth (2005)

Interestingly, only five out of these eleven songs were written by Noel. He certainly came up with the best ones ("Mucky Fingers", which sounds like "I'm Waiting For The Man" by The Velvet Underground; "Lyla", which sounds like "Street Fighting Man" by The Rolling Stones; "The Importance Of Being Idle", which sounds like "Sunny Afternoon" by The Kinks; "Part Of The Queue", which sounds like "Golden Brown" by The Stranglers; and "Let There Be Love", which is a grand old John Lennon ballad cloaked in "Retrovertigo" by Mr Bungle), but the contributions from the other band members do bring a little variety, and some breathing space. Overall the band sounds fresh and engaged. Don't Believe The Truth is an awfully derivative album, but a very enjoyable one, too.

Best song: "The Importance Of Being Idle"

5. Be Here Now (1997)

I need to get this off my chest: saying those first two albums are all-time classics and Be Here Now is dog's dinner makes little sense to me. Yes, so this album is dog's dinner and, in fact, it should be the dictionary definition of a 'fucking mess'. Yes, the production was probably overseen by a drug dealer. Yes, each song goes on for a million years. But - and I will die on this hill - in terms of actual songwriting, there is no seismic dip in quality. It is just that it was all amplified, blown up, pushed to the limit. Essentially, though, "Don't Go Away" is hardly all that much worse than "Wonderwall", and "All Around The World" is not far behind "Champagne Supernova".

Best song: "Don't Go Away"

4. Dig Out Your Soul (2008)

I remember how I was in England in 2008 and Dig Out Your Soul was released. There was an Alan McGee article about the album in which he compared it to Beggars Banquet. "Oh for fuck's sake", I thought, and forgot all about it. When I finally did hear Dig Out Your Soul, a couple of years later, I was surprised by how much I actually enjoyed this album. "Bag It Up" was a brilliant opener. "I'm Outta Time" and "Falling Down" were both classic singles. "(Get Off Your) High Horse Lady" was jangly and murky, and Noel's successful attempt at being adventurous. Yes, so the album is let down towards the end by democracy, with Gem Archer and Andy Bell both contributing very unremarkable rockers. Still, Liam's "Soldier On" is a good closer, and that initial seven-song run simply cannot be denied.  

Best song: "(Get Off Your) High Horse Lady"

3. Definitely Maybe (1994)

"Rock 'n' Roll Star" is not a very good song but it is a terrific opener. Which is what you need to know about this album: it is all swagger, no subtlety. The production is a mess, the arrangements lack any sort of nuance - but all the same; there was something about them right from the start: the relentlessness, the oomph. Noel's songwriting was not especially plodding at the time (as a matter of fact, "Shakermaker" is the only song with no saving graces). The classics were, of course, "Live Forever", "Supersonic" and "Slide Away", but the dirty groove of "Columbia"? The middle-eight of "Up In The Sky"? The surprising understatement of "Married With Children"? Good stuff. Not as good as Noel and Liam think, but I still enjoy it after all these years. 

Best song:  "Slide Away"

2. (What's The Story) Morning Glory (1995)

I have always hated that album title. Why so long? Why the parentheses? Why the corny rhyme? That said, the songs are mostly good. Morning Glory is catchy, glorious onslaught of Cheap Trick and nods to The Beatles so low Noel is basically touching the ground with his forehead. Not everything is equally great, and after all these years I'm still not convinced by "Roll With It" or the title song (despite some mild creativity in the arrangement). All the same; criticising "Wonderwall" at this point seems to me as pointless as criticising "Yesterday" or "Hotel California". Most importantly, though, that song number four is such a timeless classic that it lifts this album above the debut all by itself.  

Best song: well, what do you think?

1. The Masterplan (1998)

There has to be something seriously wrong with a band when a collection of B-sides is this much better than regular studio albums. The Masterplan is, of course, a compilation but I'm willing to make it my number one just to underscore the inadequacy of their artistic choices. It is no masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination, but throw away the pointless instrumental "The Swamp Song" and the equally pointless Beatles cover, and you get a near-perfect collection of 90s Britpop. "Underneath The Sky"? "Talk Tonight"? "Rockin' Chair"? "Half The World Away"? "The Masterplan"? I get excited by simply typing those titles.

Best song: "Rockin' Chair"

Album of the Month: WILD GOD by Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

The album enters your speakers mid-song. There is no introduction or extended build-up. "Song Of The Lake" swirls triumphantly into the room and you wonder where the hell it has been all your life. Because after a decade of grief and suffering, trauma and death, Wild God is Nick Cave's LIFE album. Or, as someone on the Internet has commented, "Nick's so fucking back that I'm not sure anyone's ever been as back as him".

Wild God is not exactly straightforward but it does not hide under any pretense. It is filled with joyous, expressive sound that swallows everything around. Grand orchestration, powerful piano chords, expansive backing vocals... So much so that there is a sense that the album is simply too big to clock in under 45 minutes. It almost feels like it should have been a double or even a triple album. Instead, Wild God is a concerted, life-affirming explosion of pure joy. 

It is a beautifully sequenced, well thought-through album that only puts a foot wrong once, when in the otherwise excellent "O Wow O Wow (How Wonderful She Is)" Warren Ellis chooses to do the disturbing vocoder thing that reminds me of Bon Iver and thus fills my heart with cold dread. The song itself is Cave's heartfelt tribute to the great Anita Lane (whose two solo albums are essential listening as far as I'm concerned) and manages to be both anthemic and understated. 

Wild God is a forward-looking album (and will sound fantastic live) but the past is not entirely behind it. The piano that cuts through "Final Rescue Attempt" is reminiscent of No More Shall We Part. "Cinnamon Horses" is informed by Ghosteen. The album overall has the glorious, freewheeling spirit of Abattoir Blues/Lyre of Orpheus to it. And it is also as entertaining as "White Elephant", with certain songs featuring multiple sections (the title song, for instance, or my current favourite "Conversion"). 

Other than the rather oblique but amusing "Frogs", the lyrics of Wild God are fairly simple. But that is perhaps the whole point. Again, it is a LIFE album. Perhaps the LIFE album, and life is not to be fucked with. Quite simply, it is there to be lived. 

 

August Round-Up

In my review of Skinty Fia I expressed a wish for more nuance and diversity from Fontaines DC. Two years and one excellent solo LP from Grian Chatten later, nuance and diversity are the order of the day. However, there is a trade-off. Romance, great though it is, compromises some of their identity. The start of the title song could be mistaken for Radiohead. There are sections that bring to mind Blur, Slowdive and The Cure. There are even parts of "In A Modern World" that sound like Lana Del Rey (Chatten is a fan, apparently). Add to this an explicit desire to become the biggest band in the world as well as unhealthy expectations created by the rap/punk/indie hybrid "Starburster", and this could be a major disaster. It is not. They are excellent songwriters, and James Joyce is still an influence.  

Magdalena Bay is a band that everyone seems to give a damn about these days, and I, too, gave them a shot. Their new album is getting perfect reviews from all corners, and Imaginal Disk is, essentially, dreamy synth-pop with soulful undertones. While the supposed blissed-out brilliance escapes me (as of now), songs like "Tunnel Vision" do sound very lovely indeed.

I admit there are times when I find Gillian Welch a tad too perfect. For me, the rougher-edged Soul Journey remains her best work. She let it loose a little in 2003, and you got stuff like "One Monkey". Mostly, though, she goes for the transcendental. Woodland, her impeccable new album with David Rawlings (could I just repeat for the umpteenth time how much I adore "The Weekend"?), is, in essence, absolute perfection. From the very first single "Truckload of Sky" to the sparse, serene closer "Howdy Howdy", the album is transcendental country of the highest order that just gets better with every listen. Beautiful songwriting, accessible but not very approachable.

There was a time when I obsessed over Laurie Anderson. First time I heard Big Science, I wrote to my English friends who burned that CD for me and demanded another album exactly like that. Well, sadly there was nothing they could do, and even though I got my hands on Mister Heartbreak and Bright Red and Home Of The Brave, I was missing the chilling electronic novelty of her 1982 debut. Interestingly, with this year's Amelia (the album is about Amelia Earhart, the pioneering American aviator and the first woman to cross the Atlantic) gets us back to the topic of flying. And while nothing here moves me as much as the otherworldly "From The Air", it is a very consistent, and brief, work of modern classical with tasteful chamber orchestration.  

Songs of the Month:

"Bowling de Diano Marina" - Juniore

"Joy" - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds

"Green Rubble - Clean Shoots" - Godspeed You! Black Emperor

"TV Star" - Du Blonde

"Bug" - Fontaines DC

"North Country" - Gillian Welch & David Rawlings

"Holy, Holy" - Geordie Greep

"Tunnel Vision" - Magdalena Bay

"Rio's Song" - The Hard Quartet

"Zero Sum" - The Smile

"Crossing The Equator" (feat. ANOHNI) - Laurie Anderson

OFF Festival 2024

I thought I had the best joke in town when I said that we all wanted to see Jarvis Cocker at the OFF Festival this year, but all we ever got was Puuluup and Bar Italia. My sense of victory, however, did not last. The vocalist of Les Savy Fav beat me, quite comprehensively, with the nipple joke. More on that later. 

This year's edition of the legendary Polish festival did not impress with its line-up as much as it did last year, but there is a certain joy to stumbling upon a lesser known artist giving a disturbingly great performance in a small tent at the edge of the festival grounds. There was plenty of it this time - in addition to the usual: rain, smell of weed and the great museums of Katowice. With that said, it was a little heartbreaking to see an older gentleman in front of me in a T-shirt with the full line-up of 2010 on his back. The Flaming Lips, Tindersticks, Art Brut, The Fall, Dinosaur Jr... Oh well. 

Day 1

Who knows, though? Perhaps by 2038 English Teacher will have become a legendary act in their own right... Their early performance on Friday, to a scattered but receptive audience, made me reconsider my indifference to their debut album (This Could Be Texas, 2024). I was willing to write them off as yet another British band who wants to be like Black Country, New Road, but they were genuinely good here. Intense one moment ("Nearly Daffodils"), elegant the next ("You Blister My Pain"), they were charming, confident and quite humble. In fact, I have relistened to the album a few times since last Friday, and it just keeps getting better.

photo from Off Festival's website

Later on, in a tent, and just as the rain was starting to fall, Annahstasia was doing her intimate folk set. The two songs she did from her upcoming EP were nice, if little else. Still, while I do not find her music special in any way, she did create a pleasant, almost spiritual mood with her brooding lyrics and the gently fingerpicked guitar. 

Polish hip-hop is not something that could entice me, but from what I could gather, Łona (Adam Bogumił Zieliński) is something of a legend in this country. His lyrics in particular are widely praised. What drew my attention was the fact that he was playing with the jazz musicians Andrzej Konieczny and Kacper Krupa, and jazz rap is something I do appreciate (I still relisten to Blowout Comb once in a while). They were mostly doing last year's Taxi (also available as an instrumental album), and I found the juxtaposition between atmospheric jazz and shouty rapping quite engaging. 

Did I say English Teacher were confident, charming and humble? Well, Bar Italia were all that without the 'charming' and the 'humble' bits. A certain arrogance is healthy, no doubt, but then you must have the music to back it up. I know they are getting quite popular, and receiving a lot of coverage and rave reviews (not from Jarvis Cocker, though, who does not rate them), but their noisy indie rock just sounds like a racket and the hooks and the melodies simply drown in the sea of monotony and power chords. 

Finally, at midnight (when else?), Imperial Triumphant were playing. This concert was worth attending for two reasons: for the experience and because I never really cared for Future Islands who were at that time playing on the central stage. It was thrilling to see the masked avant-garde metal band from New York performing in the pouring rain of southern Poland. I really enjoyed the jazzy interludes which, nonetheless, always gave way to the lead vocalist growling wickedly into the microphone. It was quite an experience, if nothing else. 

Day 2

Best things in life happen on Saturdays. Klawo, a jazz six-piece from Gdańsk, kicked things off on the central stage. They dazzled without being overbearing, which is something I appreciate in jazz. To me, the highlight of the set was the brief, vibraphone-led, sweetly sung "I Feel Something" which exploded quite beautifully towards the end. 

A little further away, on the experimental stage, the Estonian duo Puuluup were doing avant-folk using contraptions called talharpa (the sound is not unlike something you could get out of a pleasantly distorted violin). Catchy, whimsical, inessential and with some funny self-deprecating banter between songs. 

Mostly, though, I was here for Baxter Dury. Interestingly, the man was so hyped up (cocaine?) that even his band members were a little shocked. Mad dancing was in full display. When I saw him in Berlin last year, he slowly built himself up into this total frenzy of dancing and screaming. This time, he was that way from the start, from the very first chords of "Leak At The Disco". And it was one hell of a show. He played his best songs, including three from his latest album, and he was shouting 'we love you Poland' at the end like he really meant it. A great songwriter and an entertaining performer. All you could ever wish for at the festival. 

photo from Off Festival's website

Did I just say entertaining? Next up was art punk band from Brooklyn called Les Savy Fav, and this was one of the highest points of this year's OFF Festival. Basically, what we got was the vocalist Tim Harrington (who looks a little like the bearded man from a Gentle Giant album cover) stripping to his underpants and walking among the crowd while the band was playing tight, high-octane rock music without paying any attention to whatever was going on around. Harrington himself was a hoot, talking incessantly in between songs; at one point, he brought up the Polish language (sounds like an English person swearing), at another, he asked the audience if they knew the word 'nippy' and then said that actually, it was not nippy but nipply outside (true on both counts) and in fact, at least one of the band members had three nipples. I don't know, the whole show was intoxicating, and filled with great songs that span the band's entire career. 

Finally, Saturday was brought to an effective close by Grace Jones. She started with her brilliant take on the Bowie/Iggy Pop classic "Nightclubbing" and then she was by turns salacious, majestic, totally irresistible. She played a half of Nightclubbing LP and other classics ("Private Life" and "My Jamaican Guy" were incredible). The extended ending was her doing a hula hoop for ten minutes while performing "Slave To The Rhythm". A night to remember, obviously.

And another OFF Festival that delivered the goods, even if sometimes against all odds and with the rain pissing down all over the tent camp.

Five pop albums of 2024

These may or may not be the five biggest pop albums of 2024. Last month, I took the time to listen to all of them and these are my thoughts.

Charli XCX - Brat

This album is a perfect soundtrack to the world falling apart while you are sitting on your terrace drinking Red Bulls. Charli XCX's new album is, of course, a statement. This is largely nostalgic club music, done with style and great conviction. Not my kind of thing, but I do admire the gutsy inventiveness that runs through this thing. She throws so many ideas into the songs that they may on occasion sound quite messy ("Von Dutch", "Club Classics"). Still, the criminally catchy stuff like "B2B" or the opener "360" more than makes up for it. Extra points for the piano break in "Mean Girls". 

Billie Eilish - Hit Me Hard And Soft 

I'm sorry, but this is just boring. Forty three fucking minutes of a listless female voice whispering something or other. Call it subtle and sophisticated if you want to, I just find it bloodless. Side B is slightly more interesting, but not by much. Funnily enough, the most memorable moment on the whole album comes by way of Billie intoning the goddamn 'birds of feather flock together' cliche. Jesus Christ. 

Dua Lipa - Radical Optimism

As far as I'm concerned, this is harmless pop music. Nothing sticks out in particular, nothing is terrible. She has a voice, I guess, and these songs have hooks. Decent, derivative dance pop. I have definitely heard worse, but I do not get the adoration. 

Beyoncé - Cowboy Carter

This album has 27 songs on it. WHY?!? Why in God's name? This album is full of filler and what is not filler is hardly all that great either. Just your glorified country album done with aplomb, schtick and a lot of money. Not bad or anything, and occasionally quite worthy of your time, but there is nothing here that justifies the unbearable fawning from critics. Eighty (!) minutes, too. 

Taylor Swift - The Tortured Poets Department

I wonder what will happen when she takes her show to Warsaw this weekend. Increase the rate of the zloty? Cause an earthquake? Legalise abortion? Hard to say. The fact remains that what looked like a stylish advert for lingerie turned out to be a cover of a new Taylor Swift album. It features a million songs and 95% of them sound like self-parody. Still, she is a pop machine and the algorithm is still working (if you are into this kind of thing). She mentions Dylan Thomas and says 'fuck' a couple of times, but this is way too derivative to sustain my interest all the way through.