Daniel Z

Ah-hahahaha. Hahahhaha

Nick Lachey
What’s Left Of Me (Zomba / Sony/BMG)
What’s Left Of Me is possibly the first pop tune which doubles as its own, self-contained PR campaign. As pre-pubescent fans and socially retarded adults consider their options in the ‘should I take Nick or Jessica’s side?’ debate, Lachey strikes the first significant blow to Camp Jessica with this sickly whinge tune. Here’s hoping Jessica’s PR team consists of the type of people who think the ‘shut the fuck up and die’ approach would be an adequate response.

David Hasselhoff
Jump In My Car (Sony/BMG)
Postmodernism and irony have a lot to answer for in general, but when you combine it with persistent German fanaticism, you’re left with something rather scary. Note to The Hoff: it’s not funny any more. You were the subject of a concerted Internet spamming campaign because you’re an annoying, unrespected tool. You look more and more as if you were created by Madame Tussaud tripping on bad acid, and your cover of Jump In My Car is an insult to the memory of KITT, and talking cars in general.

Even after ripping a Hendrixesque solo in the middle of a crowded street, the man could not attract a cab.

Muse

Supermassive Black Hole (Warner)

The best thing about Supermassive Black Hole is the fact that it will likely drive to tears Muse’s legion of pouty-faced, pseudo-goth fans, who drew such catharsis from the overwrought baroque angst of the band’s Absolution album. 

Supermassive Black Hole sees the band doing quite a cool disco-rock thing, with Bellamy’s falsetto vocals sounding strangely less annoying than in their natural register.

The rumbling fuzz bass provides a nice contradiction to the overtones of funk, whilst the Queen-esque harmonies add a welcome sense of tongue-in-cheek, whether intentional or not. And the simple, incendiary guitar fuzz of b-side Crying Shame evokes only pleasant memories of the band’s killer Showbiz debut.

The entire front row prayed for a few more metric units.

Metric

Monster Hospital (Last Gang Records)

Dodgy name, Metric. Sounds like an Irish pub cover band, or, worse, a modern rock band that may as well be a cover band. Thankfully, the Metric in question are neither of these. They hail from Canada, are led by Broken Social Scene contributor Emily Haines, and deliver raucous, no bullshit indie-fuzz. Monster Hospital is the proud owner of one of those classic radio refrains, in the form of “I fought the war, but the war won!”, an instantly memorable lyrical hook that’ll have you belting it out with gusto, first listen, guaranteed. On either side is a lazy, jangly drone – punctuated by intermittent squeals of both guitar and voice – whose sole purpose seems to be to provide lead-in space for the ‘good bit’.

The man wore special specs to prevent burning his eye.

Radio Birdman

You Just Make It Worse

(Crying Sun Records)

As someone who’s never seen Radio Birdman in their natural habitat of live performance, I’m finding it difficult to imagine You Could Make It Worse at the appropriate levels of decibel and smoke-soakedness.

Still, from the opening, descending riff and the deployment Rob Younger’s ageless, biting vocals, it would seem that Radio Birdman have lost none of their bitter snarl. In this atmosphere of recycled rock imagery, Radio Birdman here sound gloriously fresh.

Unable to find a suitable tree, Igor squatted in a meadow while his hiking buddies politely averted their eyes.

Mew

The Zookeeper’s Boy

(Sony / BMG)

Musically, Denmark has given us the good (The Raveonettes), the awful (umm, Aqua) and the ‘how come we haven’t heard of them before?’ (Dizzy Mizz Lizzy – thanks, Google).

Now comes indie-art-rockers Mew, the next Scandinavian band-most-likely. The Zookeeper’s Boy introduces itself with unsettling jabs of mechanical, staccato guitar over an ominous synth drone and pounding toms – then, all of a sudden, it’s Queen-stylee harmonies and chimes taking over with suitable operatic pretentiousness. Weird, but good weird.

God stopped past for ten minutes and a swift pot.

Howling Bells

Low Happening (Liberation)

It’s easy to be cynical when a band changes name, location and image in order to pursue success in a new musical market, but the pseudo-gothic folk produced by the Howling Bells would never have made sense under the old moniker, Waikiki. After gushing reviews in their adopted UK, Howling Bells return home sounding darker and more assured. The relentless, cymbal-lite drum rumbles work in perfect unison with Juanita’s sultry vocals, the spiky, minimalist guitars of brother Joel adding a suitable sense of foreboding. The problem is, there’s also an unshakeable sense that it’s all a little too contrived, too slick, too perfect.

Pokett's receding hairline turned his forehead into a fivehead.

Pokett
Marmalade / Fall (Wireless Records)
Pokett is Paris-based artist Stéphane Garry and friends, who manage to create an immediately endearing blend of Nick Drake-esque gentle acoustica and subtle electronics. Marmalade starts out as a jauntily strummed acoustic number, and once Garry’s velvety vocals kick in, the tune begins to paint a dreamy landscape of tinkering keys and whirring effects. The folktronica is amped-up several notches in the more epic-inclined Fall, with the opening, nursery rhyme vibe and arpeggiated guitars making way for a contradictory wash of Hammond organ and hushed harmonies. Then something entirely unexpected happens – a pause, and some overdriven guitars herald a diversion into the realm of alt-country. Then it all falls back upon a solemn voice and acoustic guitar, signalling the kind of haughty eclecticism one expects – nay, demands from the French.

Bob Evans
Don’t You Think It’s Time? (Capitol)
If you believe Kevin Mitchell (and McDonald’s ads), there’s a Bob Evans-type character that quietly resides in all of us, that sweetly naïve little person who yearns for simplicity and honesty amidst the chaos of the rat race. Don’t You Think It’s Time? is the perfect antidote to all things hectic, as Bob continues his pursuit for the perfect pop melody. Again, it’s just acoustic guitar, Casio and voice, with some harmonica (isn’t that from Piano Man?) thrown in for melancholy’s sake. What’s most interesting is the fact that such simplicity is warranting repeat listens, with the basic formula throwing out new surprises until each one is firmly ingrained in the ‘repeat’ function of one’s own memory.

Come back LyricBot5000! We didn't mean it...

SHANNON NOLL
Now I Run (Sony / BMG)
Look, it’s all very sad when someone loses a loved one, and I for one was very pro the idea of Nollsy giving Will Anderson a long-overdue broken nose after the recent Noel/Neil Noll fiasco. But what Shannon has to remember is that somewhere in the afterlife there also exists a special place where pop tunes go to die, and Now I Run – his tribute to the late Noll Snr and the ‘emotional centrepiece’ of the album from which it is lifted – has itself a one-way ticket, along with every other trite, bring-out-the-strings and soaring-key-changes piece of emotionally manipulative and ultimately vacuous stupid-person music. Oh, and Shannon, for fuck’s sake, give the wordsmith duties back to the LyricBot5000 machine. These ones sound like they were written by an eight-year-old for his kitty.

YELLOWCARD
Rough Landing, Holly (Capitol)
If there was a pop-punk textbook (I’d call it ‘Pop-Punk: Shhh, They Still Don’t Know What Oxymoron Means’), then Yellowcard would contribute at least a couple of chapters. One of them would be ‘How To Pretend To Be Different: The Erudite Inclusion Of Unnecessary Instruments’, where they would carefully explain how a full-time violinist will convince legions of brain-dead, middle class teenagers that your band is, you know, talented and stuff. Rough Landing, Holly (which may or may not ever feature said stringed instrument) is yet another generic slab of meaningless guitar noise and nasally whines, which ostensibly falls in the same level of rockingness as, I dunno, Kelly Clarkson or something.

Years of cosmetics abuse left their complexions dull and lifeless.

MIND GAMES
Secret Identity EP (Independent)
Despite not hailing from Southern California, Mind Games succeed in whining their major-key melodies over thrashy powerchords in a grating psuedo So-Cal accent. High-school stuff, really. Apart from the rudimentary musicianship, the kiddies that might have liked this four years ago are now all into their Emo, so if the band tried to trot out this lame rehashed-Blink 182 pap at Next Niteclub they’d be lynched. And what’s with moronic lyrics like ‘I want to be a superhero’? Trust me, fellas – you should aim lower. Like singing in key. Oh, and for fark’s sake, change your bloody beat – if you play one more damn song double-time on the snare with those feathery double-kick patterns, I’ll call the drum police.

MANDY KANE
Murder in the Daylight EP (Independent)
Apparently, War is bad. It’s akin to murder, except it’s in the open. In daylight. Profound, huh? Noam Chomsky eat your heart out.

Melbourne’s newly independent androgene lisps his way through a tinny mix of layered synths, digitally distorted guitars, and programmed drums so overly reverbed they sound like they were accidentally recorded from the studio next door. Meanwhile, Mandy’s vocals tread between a Brian Molko-ish effeminacy, Bowie-style angular enunciation, and diluted Marilyn Manson-esque snarl. In a word, gay. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.