Elemeno P. Self Titled. Universal.
For their self-titled third album, the Auckland four-piece turned their back on the plush environs of an established recording studio.
Opting for the DIY basement option, they have produced a sound that is vibrant, immediate and fun.
It reeks of four mates huddled together, grooving on their own creative brilliance.
This is no quantum leap from a formula that served them so well on their two previous albums.
Justyn Pilbrow's guitar is still hook-laden and crisp in execution, Scotty Pearson's drums lock tight with Lani Purkis' up-tempo bass, as she squawks the same infectious backing vocals that made tracks like 11.57 so addictive.
Founding member, songwriter and lead baritone Dave Gibson is the glue that ties the whole thing together.
What he lacks in vocal versatility, Gibson more than compensates for in cunning.
He seems to understand better than any other New Zealand vocalist how to serve the song.
Gibson's wry musings on Generation-Y angst are perfectly suited to this forum.
Flashing across the airwaves like a rash, opening single Baby Come On is still a pumping tune even if Telecom ruins the party . . . surely they could have included the lyric about being stuck in dead-end jobs? Along with the sea-shanty refrain of the excellent Loaded Gun and the catchy Exponents-inspired Pay For It; the album is full of sing-along anthems.
But to these ears, the best moments lie in the mobile-phone-held-aloft genre.
Two tracks in particular - Better Days and Some Things - allow melodies to breathe and stories to slowly unfurl.
Simply by dropping back the tempo a notch or two, Elemeno P demonstrates a wealth in lush dynamics.
Third time lucky, and yet to pen a dud, Elemeno P is the most mature effort yet.
- Mark Orton
The Tweeks. Self Titled. Borderline.
"Write you a song made entirely of clichés . . . because I'm keen on you."
So sing Dunedin quartet the Tweeks on the chorus to the single I'm Keen, one of 10 tracks on their second album.
Despite such references, the album is pleasingly devoid of any standard riffery.
Instead, the Tweeks adopt a style that drummer Stu Harwood recently described as something between the Kinks and the Verlaines.
It's pop music with a twist, the tension largely resting in the unsteady relationship between dissonant guitars and on-the-money vocal harmonies.
At the risk of name-checking a couple more acts, I'm Keen could comfortably rest on a Weezer set-list, while the breezy, intertwined guitars of 160 Characters has a faint whiff of Calexico about it.
Yet those who have followed the Tweeks' progress over the past few years will know this band is more concerned with forging its own path than impersonation.
A busy gigging schedule has had obvious benefits, the group exuding a confidence that straddles tightness and spontaneity.
Key, too, is the role that production has played in the final result.
The album was recorded by the Tweeks (drummer Harwood is a sound engineer of growing reputation) at the University of Otago's Albany St studios, and sounds polished but not too slick.
The twiddling of dials is tempered by a decision to let the songs, and performances, speak for themselves.
- Shane Gilchrist
Spiritualized. Songs in A & E. Sanctuary/V.
Shortly before finishing this LP, Jason Pierce was hospitalised with a near-fatal bout of pneumonia.
This seems par for the course: Rumours of Pierce descending into a narcotic fug (or worse) dog each new release.
The man has ploughed a singular furrow since his days with the trailblazing Spacemen 3, but ever since 1997's astonishing Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space, Pierce's muse has been dwindling.
Even the stripped-back, grungier sound on Amazing Grace felt too familiar.
Still, Songs in A & E is as much a rebirth as a retreat.
Here, he reprises his love of gospel choirs, free-jazz squalls, minimalist drones and fuzz-rock.
Yet as the melodies wash over on Sweet Talk, Pierce's voice has scarcely sounded so frazzled.
On Death Take Your Fiddle, even the accordions sound like respirators.
Lyrically, he has passed the point of self-parody: At least three songs have "fire" in their title.
The record's sequencing is a shambles, as he switches from the frenetic rockers such as You Lie You Cheat to wig-outs like Baby I'm a Fool, which becomes a cacophonous wail.
Ironically, this schizoid approach enlivens his old tropes: It's hard not to admire the way he turns a song as miserable as Borrowed Your Gun into a call to arms.
Although Songs in A & E is Spiritualized's least surprising record, it's an oddly satisfying experience.
Songs tumble over one another, and there's genuine tenderness, not least in his duet with Rachel Korine, Don't Hold Me Close.
While playing spot the references, we can wonder whether he functions best at his lowest ebb.
There's no need to turn out the lights just yet.
- Matthew Littlewood
