Round-up Tracks: Muse, Tame Impala & More

Muse don’t do small statements. Not for them the understated comeback or the low key arrival. So when their comeback track, ‘Psycho’, sees them riding into town on the 16-years-in-the-making mutant cousin of the riff from ’Personal Jesus’ spliced with Shania Twain’s ‘Man, I Feel Like A Woman’, nobody is likely to bat an eyelid. It’s expected. Encouraged even - who on earth wants to see Muse being anything other than so far over the top someone’s brought a parachute?

‘Psycho’, though, does mark a change for the band. Or at least, a return. In your face, it’s a step away from their more recent intergalactic albums. The space opera replaced with direct action, the dubstep with distortion; maybe it’s that long gestated riff that’s dragged them back (it made its first appearances live in 1999, dontcha know? - Ed), but underneath their lyrical content sits a massive rock band.

To try and place a formal marker on the standard good/bad scale would be as futile as it would be subjective. The battle lines on Muse were drawn over a decade ago - sides picked, opinions cemented. If you’re with them, you’ll forgive them any amount of lunacy. If not, every stratosphere scaled will send you further round the bend. But still, ‘Psycho’ manages to surprise. Matthew James Bellamy; our ‘ass’ certainly does not ‘belong’ to you. Get your own donkey. The cheek. (Stephen Ackroyd)

Never ones to fall in line with expectation, Kevin Parker and company announced their return without a word of warning. Having dropped the news like a penny into a well, they simply let it happen, and much like a wish, the band’s new track is an answer to a lot of extended hopes. Forsaking the thunderously driving guitar lines that dominated the last album, ‘Let It Happen’ is driven almost entirely by synth melodies and staccato rhythms that flood through its core. But in (perhaps the only) typical Tame Impala fashion, the song doesn’t stick with one motif for long. Constantly changing and evolving, it imbues elements of dance, sun-kissed psychedelia, and orchestral strings sounds, all neatly drawn together with Kevin Parker’s distinctive intonations.

“Something’s trying to get out, and it’s never been closer” Parker croons, awash with a dawning excitement. Intricate melodies twirl around; an invitation to move along with the song’s lush and ever-altering soundscape. It’s been almost two and a half years since Tame Impala hit stratospheric status with the release of second studio album ‘Lonerism.’ A giant leap and a natural progression onwards, ‘Let It Happen’ is the track everyone’s been waiting for. (Jessica Goodman)

Impressively divisive. That’s a good way to describe the career of Mumford and Sons to date. International superstars, on the whole they inspire far more devotion than derision. For the significant number who take a dislike, though, it’s rarely casual - with a trademark sound, the comeback has always been the same. So imagine if they changed things up; removed that one, distinctive element so often seized upon. With word the banjos were firmly out, and a more plugged in, electric sound set up in their place - to most ‘Believe’ firmly marks the first taste of Mumfords 2.0. Where Kings of Leon’s reinvention from likeable southern hillbillies to polished FM friendly radio-hoggers saw much of what made them great in the first place lost, Mumford and Sons actually find something new.

They’re already huge. This isn’t about the need to shift more units or buy a bigger house. Instead, they’ve uncovered something. Their breaking of the mould comes with no loss of urgency, but rather shows a band with more dimensions than many previously assumed. With the shield of tweed cast aside, emotion and sincerity are given more room to shine through. If it’s enough to win over those louder outliers remains to be seen - in truth, there’s absolutely no reason Mumford and Sons, their fans or otherwise inclined souls should have to pay it a moment’s thought - but to simply write this off as the same band that came before would be folly. What makes one of the biggest bands in the world take such an about turn on their most identifiable feature? It’s that question which makes ‘Believe’ at the very least interesting. This is no quiet revolution; with their trademark gone, it turns out there’s a whole different band underneath. (Stephen Ackroyd)

If there was even a molecule of vague indecision left in the air, Shura’s all about that pop. ‘2Shy’ sounds like the obligatory last ballady song to wind down a misty 5am basement party. A pre-DFS advert era The Human League were manning the door earlier on, but they’ve long left their posts to repeatedly request ‘Human’ at the DJ booth. Laura Branigan and Hall & Oates are soldiering on and getting in the tequila shots, and Tina Turner is slow dancing with her pal Taylor Dayne. Huge swelling synth-lines bursting with sassy panache are the order of the night here but despite all of Shura’s obviously gaudy pop influences, it’s undoubtedly her party, too, and everyone - no, really, everyone - is invited.

“We could be more than friends/ baby you’re just too shy,” goes the straight-to-the-point chorus, and true to form, she’s as frank as ever. The central dilemma of the song is hardly new or unique, but through talking about things everyone connects with, Shura’s writing finds a substantial, genuine weight. We’ve all been there walking home in the early hours, sometimes with an irresponsible rollie clutched in our hands, sometimes blasting power ballads through headphones, but always replaying conversations over and over. It looks like the Lonely Hearts Club just got its new theme tune. (El Hunt)

When Warpaint released ‘No Way Out’ earlier this year they promised it was to be the “first in a series of new snags being released this year.” The second is now here, with ‘I’ll Start Believing’ getting paired up with ‘No Way Out’ for a double A-side release. What instantly stands out about ‘I’ll Start Believing’ is its brevity. At 2:58 it’s remarkably short compared to pretty much anything Warpaint have done before, and with that comes a rare sense of urgency. While the four-piece are typically associated with stretched out, dreamy psych-rock, ‘I’ll Start Believing’ is a direct, immediate shot in the arm.

It’s all underpinned by Jenny Lee Lindberg’s driving, abrasive bass riff, which owes more than a hint to The Pixies. There’s still plenty of Warpaint to ‘I’ll Start Believing’ though, with the harmonised vocals instantly recognisable. Lyrically ‘I’ll Start Believing’ revolves around themes of parental abandonment, and once again it is hardly vague with its subject matter. Opening on “Daddy left me once, you know, he took off when I was six months old” there’s no room for confusion as to the songs subject. It’s not Warpaint as we know it, but ‘I’ll Start Believing’ is just as intense and beguiling as anything they’ve done. (Stuart Knapman)

Since way back in their early days as Deers, ‘Davey Crockett’ has long been a staple of Hinds’ live show. Originally by ramshackle garage rabble Thee Headcoats, the order of the day is all over the shop chanting and odd sprinkles of Spanish colouring the verses. It’s custom-built for Hinds, in other words.

The Madrilian band’s version is far more jaunty and loose-edged than the original, and it’s far more playful, too. The raucous beers-aloft backing chants of “gabba gabba hey” are delivered with smirking gusto, with little gleeful asides at every turn, and the guitar solo twangs and struts across the fretboards at a casual pace, in absolutely no rush to arrive at the final destination. The American folk hero Davy Crockett - who fought in the Texas revolution and died in a fairly dramatic manner - has had his fair share of song dedications already, as it goes. Besides musical tributes, he’s also had extravagantly sized sculptures, postal stamps, and even a small nuclear weapons system in America (how very quaint) named after him. Hinds’ new song - a Record Store Day special - is his most entertaining namesake yet. As for which girl he has in his pocket - and why - for that matter, who knows. (El Hunt)

Remember the days when phones - gasp! - didn’t have built-in cameras? There were certainly fewer meticulously posed selfies and pictures of people’s carefully arranged lunches around, and now that they’re everywhere, lots of people can be quick to complain. Not Sarah Bonito. “When you’re old and wise, you’ll find, all the shots you’ve got bring back the times,” she points out, quite rightly, along with providing informative selfie-taking instructions elsewhere.

‘Picture This’ hurtles into life with a panpipe solo that could easily be taken from Zelda, and once the pogoing main hook ricochets into life, there’s truly no stopping them. Kero Kero Bonito are quickly building up a solid back-catalogue of intensely infectious and multi-hued pop, and anybody who doesn’t dance along should probably go and get their funny bone checked out. Whether they take on party planning, video games, the merits of cats versus dogs, or letting your inner flamingo run wild and free, Kero Kero Bonito have the strange, playful sincerity that centres all great pop music. (El Hunt)

Tags: Muse, Tame Impala, Listen, Features