In Search of the Albums of 2009, part one

So, has it been a vintage year for new music? If so - and I get the impression that it might have been - I haven't really noticed, and the fault is my own. Well, not entirely - the lack of a working laptop (a problem remedied yesterday) has hamstrung my ability to seek out new stuff; meanwhile, a lack of money means that actually buying music has become an impossibility. Which is a shame: plenty of what has been released has been of interest to me, be it new releases from some of my favourite artists (such as Daniel Johnston, The Fiery Furnaces, The Mountain Goats, Sonic Youth and Wilco) or debut long-players from much-touted bands (Cymbals Eat Guitars, Girls, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, The xx) and a great deal besides. Don't get me wrong, I've heard many of these albums. They just haven't become familiar to me, in the way that many of them should have. So over the Christmas period and beyond, I've been remedying this problem.

Since some of these capsule reviews are my first (or second, or third) impressions, I might choose to offer fuller reviews at a later date, because some of these albums might be growers. Time will tell.

On that note, though, time has done nothing to improve my opinion of Eskimo Snow, possibly the biggest disappointment of the year (much as I hate to say that). First song "These Hands" - what with its plaintive keys and fantastic opening lines ("I wear the customary clothes of my time/Like Jesus did, with no reason not to die") - promises much, but the album never truly takes off, consistently passing the listener by without leaving much of an impression. Comprising of songs mostly written around the time of Alopecia, most reviewers have been of the opinion that a full release was a mistake. I'd echo that sentiment - it might (just about) have made for a decent E.P. - whilst hoping that Why? spend more time on their follow-up.

Meanwhile, I feel as though my review of Casiotone For The Painfully Alone's Vs. Children may have been a touch too generous. Initially describing it as Owen Ashworth's "most complete album to date," my enthusiasm towards it has dimmed slightly - perhaps unsurprisingly, in retrospect, it is still Etiquette I usually turn to when I want my CFTPA fix. I appreciate what he's achieved here, though - creating an interesting narrative that throws up some wonderful instances of self-doubt and self-loathing that aren't so firmly rooted in the seemingly minor personal failures detailed throughout his previous output definitely represents a step forward, and a step beyond the expected limitations of the name Ashworth bestowed upon himself.

On Setting the Paces, BOAT offer their usual collection of scattershot punk-lite catchiness mixed in with the occasional slower jam. They're a fun band to be sure - and have enough great songs spread over three albums that they deserve to be an indie disco staple (this time round, the standout party tunes are "We Want It! We Want It!" and "Lately (I've Been On My Back)," both of which feature choruses just begging to be sang aloud after four beers too many) but unfortunately, it's difficult to make a convincing argument that beyond that, their music isn't essentially throwaway.

Despite all the hype, to my mind, Phoenix fall into the same category. Offering hooks and vocals that will sound immediately familiar to anyone with even a passing knowledge of alternative rock, fourth album Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix has still ended the year as one of the most highly-regarded releases within the music press. It holds up well enough when you consider how unquestionably derivative it sounds, but it remains hard to understand why people have embraced it to the extent they have done. Catchy in places but meandering in others ("Love Like A Sunset Part I" could be argued as the build-up to "Love Like A Sunset Part II;" it could just as easily be described as an unnecessary diversion during which nothing of interest happens), when they're pop, they're a lot of fun, but the more downtempo songs offer little.

The Rural Alberta Advantage took a stab at self-releasing their debut album Hometowns last year, but it is the Saddle Creek re-release that has seem them garner a lot of well-deserved attention. Songs like "Sleep All Day" and "In The Summertime" show them to be adept at the difficult musical task of evoking moments you may not have lived through personally, but which seem familiar nonetheless; meanwhile, songs like "The Ballad of the RAA" and "Don't Haunt This Place" show them to have a good ear for a pop tune. It's not all perfect - "Rush Apart" has a touch of the hoedown about it, whilst "The Dethbridge in Lethbridge," and its unmistakable desire to be "Holland, 1945," takes the Jeff Mangum influence a little too far. All told, though, I'm a little bit in love with this album, and expect even more from them with their next release - there's enough evidence to suggest that they're keen to forge their own distinct sound, rather than following in the footsteps of their forebearers.

That said, Throw Me The Statue were a band I would've said exactly the same about, and yet to my mind, Creaturesque is an inferior effort to their 2007 debut Moonbeams, an album that contained a handful of should've-been "hit" singles - "Lolita," "About To Walk" and "Take It Or Leave It" amongst them - that have yet to be embraced by indie discos across the land (much like BOAT). The same cannot be said second time around: standout track "Dizzy From The Fall" aside, the album is a somewhat low-key affair, lacking in any sense of immediacy, often rather reflective and, dare I say it, even melancholy (which, in fairness, is a direction their first album occasionally hinted at), at times sounding like early CFTPA with better production. Indeed, all the most upbeat tracks come in the second half of the album, a strange sequencing decision which makes building up momentum difficult even before penultimate track "Shade For A Shadow" effectively grinds proceedings to a halt. Ultimately, a disappointing sophomore effort.

In the end, then, it was left for Micachu and the Shapes to bring the fun, impressively managing to give art-pop a good name in the process. Songs as infectious as "Vulture," "Golden Phone" and "Wrong" deserve the wider audience that all the praise for their debut album Jewellery looks set to gain them, and the fact that they're a great live band will only contribute to their success.

(A number of end-of-year lists and websites have proved invaluable in finding any releases that might have passed me by, all of them well worth reading through: The A.V. Club, Coke Machine Glow, Piccadilly Records, Pitchfork, Pop Tarts Suck Toasted, Spin, and The Line of Best Fit.)

I'm getting back into getting back into getting back into this writing thing

Sure, maybe the title of this piece should've been something simpler, rather than a Silver Jews lyric that, almost typically for the band, manages to straddle the divide between amazing and tortured. But, seeing as how they regrettably broke up at the start of this year, it seems fitting. David Berman's explanation for the decision, and what appears to be his retirement from music - "I always said we would stop before we got bad. If I continue to record I might accidentally write the answer song to Shiny Happy People" - was typically fantastic. The band will be missed.

Anyway, since my laptop completely fucked it late this summer, actually writing anything has become a bit of a nightmare (as has listening to music in general - more on that in a later post). But now that I'm back home for Christmas, with nothing to do but listen to things/watch things and then write about them, it seems as good a time as any to get back on the horse (or do whatever the title of his piece implies, I don't know). So I'm currently working on listening to as many 2009 albums as possible, in preparation for an eventual list; possibly compiling a list of my favourite albums of the decade; and maybe doing the same for films, I don't know yet (I haven't seen that many this year - although the ones I have seen have often been excellent). In the meantime, I'm going to look ahead towards next year (and not just because a new, working computer is in my future):

A decent place to start would be here: Stereogum's list of sixty-nine albums worth looking out for in 2010. On this evidence, it looks set to be a good year. Some of those acts have already started previewing new songs ahead of the release of their latest efforts. Vampire Weekend currently have three tracks from their second album Contra up on their MySpace page, offering a glimpse of what we can expect - which is "pretty much the same as last time," albeit with a few added bells and whistles (almost literally, in fact). That shouldn't be a problem, though - Vampire Weekend remains an excellent album, and I'm staying positive that the lessons they should have learnt since then puts them in a position to improve upon it.

A new Liars album is also in the offing, and they're always worth checking out. The first song is available free from their website (or listen to it here). Once again, it marks a drastic shift from their last release, but at this point that's what we've come to expect from them. At this point, they probably don't get enough credit for pushing the boundaries of alternative music (Animal Collective are too busy soaking up all the plaudits).

Meanwhile, another promising upcoming release is the James Mercer/Danger Mouse collaboration. Going by the name of Broken Bells, they've put their first song out into the wide world (or worldwide web, if you prefer). "The High Road" might not be much to go on, but hopes remain high, considering the talent the two men possess.

In other words: plenty to be excited about. On a different note: Deerhunter are offering a free download of experimental 2005 home recording Carve Your Initials Into the Walls of the Night; inexplicably, Death Cab guitarist (and producer) Chris Walla teamed up with hardcore legend (and producer) J. Robbins to create "Mercury"; a shoutout to my favourite discovery of the year with regards to online comics, Hark! A Vagrant, which crafts its humour from historical figures/events, often juxtaposing them with modern day sensibilities (take Lord Byron macking on Mary Shelley, or Kierkegaard concerned with his public image); a new Channel 4 comedy starring Arrested Development alumni David Cross and Will Arnett; and a couple of end-of-decade A.V. Club lists, the best books and videogames of the the '00s. I've only read two of those books myself - The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time (which I disliked, despite the praise everyone poured upon it) and Carter Beats The Devil (which I would wholeheartedly recommend to everyone).

Why? "Eskimo Snow"

Three plays in, and I can't shake the feeling that Yoni Wolf and co. have blown their unbeaten streak of fantastic records...

I don't say such a thing lightly. After all, I consider Elephant Eyelash and Alopecia to be two of the best albums released this decade. Yet Eskimo Snow has caught me off guard in pretty much every sense. I've been a little out of touch lately, and didn't even realise there was a new Why? album due until a few days ago. What they've offered is something very different to that which preceded it - it actually seems appropriate to tag Eskimo Snow with the word "mature," as though they've consciously decided to shake off any last vestiges of the hip hop stylings that are tied into the origin of the band, in favour of a sound that has more in common with the alt folk movement. Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but what they've offered is strangely flat.

Things start off promisingly enough. "These Hands" is a good opener, brief and understated with some fantastic lines (such as "these hands/are my father's hands but smaller") that highlight the subtle emotional depth that Yoni Wolf injects his songs with. Further proof of this is "This Blackest Purse," with Wolf asking "mom, am I failing or worse?" (another example of a seeming obsession with parents. There are others, too) before trailing off, clearly unconvinced that the answer is going to be to his liking. It's the strongest track on the album, bristling with a sadness that slowly transforms into desperation, scaling the heights (and depth) of the beautiful "Gemini (Birthday Song)". And "Into The Shadows Of My Embrace" is an excellent ditty (and yes, that really is the best word to describe it, at least as far as the fantastic intro is concerned) that serves as a necessary mood-lightener.

"One Rose" references both "A Sky for Shoeing Horses Under" and "The Kill Tone Two" (an Odd Nosdam track Wolf provides vocals for), which is a nice touch, in that it adds a sense of continuity to Wolf's oeuvre. But it also suggests that perhaps Eskimo Snow would have worked better as a companion to Alopeica, rather than as a standalone album. They did the same thing in 2005, to great effect - the Sanddollars EP was released a few months prior to Elephant Eyelash, and is arguably the stronger work. Most of Eskimo Snow manages to pass the listener by, which is the last thing you would expect from such a distinctive, inventive band. "January Twenty Something" starts off promisingly, but as it develops the percussion washes over everything else, and what remains is relatively bland. "Against Me" leaves no particular impression in its wake, and "Even The Good Wood Gone" makes it three similar-sounding and unsuccessful songs in a row, a passage that kills any momentum the album could ever hope to gain. Things do pick up in the second half - "On Rose Walk, Insomniac" and "Berkeley by Hearseback" are both more than passable - but not enough to raise the album to the level of its predecessors.

The lifelessness that pervades much of the album is a real surprise. Why? are never usually anything less than interesting, yet much of Eskimo Snow seems somewhat insipid. Maybe it's a grower (I'm clinging to the hope that this is the case). But initially, it sounds like something of a misfire. And from a musical standpoint, one of the biggest disappointments of the year.

Brendan Benson "My Old, Familiar Friend"

Brendan Benson's debut album One Mississippi was something of a revelation, a heady mixture of infectious pop songs and balladry that worked perfectly. He followed it up with Lapalco, which was solid, but lacked the inventiveness of his first. By The Alternative to Love - best described as "ponderous" - any remaining magic seemed to have disappeared, and as a consequence I almost entirely ignored his high-profile venture with Jack White (The Raconteurs). Yet whilst his fourth solo album offers definite reasons to be positive again, it also feels like further proof that he's content to stick to the middle of the road.

"A Whole Lot Better" starts proceedings off in a musically upbeat manner, with the song detailing the narrator's inability to decide whether or not the girl in his life is good for him - he keeps falling in and out of love with her, and cannot make up his mind one way or another (a wonderful breakdown sums up the dilemma perfectly). It has the kind of energy that powers nearly all of Benson's best tunes, and such is certainly the case on this album. The clear standout track "Poised and Ready" is fantastic straight-up rock, catchy as hell and fit to soundtrack any indie disco where the kids just want to dance. It also kicks off the best sequence on the album - it's followed by a couple of songs in a similar vein, "Don't Wanna Talk" and "Misery." Elsewhere, the slow build of "Feel Like Taking You Home" works perfectly, offering a balance between drive and restraint that the album benefits from; and the kitchen-sink-esque quality that runs through "Garbage Day" lifts it above most of Benson's ballads.

However, the "other" side of Benson's work is also on evidence here. "Eyes On The Horizon" is an uninspired, classic rock by-the-numbers effort; "Gonowhere" is a plodding track that, appropriately, goes nowhere, and "You Make A Fool Out Of Me" is pretty much identical to it. Songs like these serve to highlight the problem with Benson's output. About half of his songs can be filed under power-pop, and half under easy listening, and that kind of constant switching between the two vastly different genres comes across as somewhat schizoprehnic, and the gap between the highs and the lows is positively chasmic.

It is this level of inconsistency that makes My Old, Familiar Friend so difficult to recommend. When it is good, it genuinely is very good, but when it's bad, it ranges from mediocre to painfully dull, and ultimately, not really worth your time. It's only right to hold true to the belief that albums are intended to be heard as a whole, and the number of skippable tracks this one contains seriously damages its worth.

Moon

In the not-too-distant future, Sam Bell (played by Sam Rockwell) is the sole operator of a moon-based facility that mines Helium 3 - an alternative power source - so that it can be utilised to cater for the vast energy needs of Earth. He's coming to the end of his three-year contract with Lunar Industries, and can't wait to get home to see his wife and daughter. The opening scenes are beautifully paced, as much an exploration of human loneliness as an entry into the science fiction genre, as Sam goes about his daily routine, which reveals the isolation he is forced to endure as part of his job. Not only is he alone on the station, but the lines of communication that would enable live conversation with people back home have never worked, meaning that he's limited to the recorded broadcasts sent to him. And his only companion is Gerty, a talking computer voiced by Kevin Spacey.

The similarities between Duncan Jones's directorial debut and 2001: A Space Odyssey are more than just superficial, but Moon cleverly plays upon the expectations Kubrick's masterpiece have raised - about a third of the way in, there is a significant twist that takes the film down an entirely different route. Of course, the problem with films that employ this kind of narrative shift is that they're difficult to talk about without ruining for anyone who hasn't already seen them. Moon is no different - the first twist is just the beginning, as the truth unfolds slowly, one reveal after another, until the true nature of Sam's contract is revealed.

Whilst it might be difficult to discuss the plot without giving anything away, it certainly isn't difficult to recommend the film. Sam Rockwell's performance is magnificent. Tasked with carrying proceedings almost single-handedly (Spacey's role is minimal, although full credit to him for getting the tone of Gerty spot-on), he excels, giving further evidence of the reasons he's spoken of so highly. Well worth a viewing.

Modest Mouse "No One's First and You're Next"

Modest Mouse's 2007 release, We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank, cemented the band as a mainstream concern, in that it reached #1 in the US Billboard chart - something which would have been inconceivable for the band at the start of the century. Even third album The Moon & Antarctica - tamer than the efforts that preceded it - was still abrasive enough to dissuade most people. That said, the transformation the band have undergone makes perfect sense in the context of their entire oeuvre - it feels like a natural progression, rather than the result of a band actively striving to make more commercially viable music. But whichever way you look at it, it's hard not to argue that the results of this change have been much less interesting than their earlier output.

No One's First and You're Next exists in order to bring together unreleased tracks and B-sides recorded over the last five years or so. As would be expected from such a release, there are songs that can be described as throwaway: "Perpetual Motion Machine" and "History Sticks To Your Feet" are easily dismissed as inconsequential. "King Rat," meanwhile, simultaneously calls to mind "Dance Hall" and "Bukowski," although you wouldn't want it taking the place of either.

That's not to say that all the songs are misfires, though. It's interesting to try and find spaces for the better material of this collection on the last Modest Mouse album - of the stand-out tracks, opener "Satellite Skin" follows the template laid out by singles "Float On" and "Dashboard," whilst not quite matching their heights; "Autumn Beds" is a laid back, banjo-driven tune with a fantastic melody that should have taken the place of the similar but vastly inferior "Little Motels"; meanwhile, the epic/rambling squall of "The Whale Song" is much more interesting than "Parting of the Sensory" or "Spitting Venom." What these songs illustrate is that the band could have offered a much better album than We Were Dead (which trails off spectacularly after a strong four-song opening salvo). It's not that they didn't have the songs - they simply chose the wrong ones. Even "Guilty Cocker Spaniels" and "I've Got It All (Most)" are decent enough to have improved We Were Dead significantly.

Ultimately, then, No One's First and You're Next proves to be more interesting than their last full album, although it remains to be seen which direction the band will choose to move in come their next release. After all, this is essentially a deck-clearing exercise - hopefully, its release constitutes the band drawing this chapter of their history to a close, and moving onto to something a little different.

Upcoming...

So, this last week kind of got away from me. Mostly, the (hopefully temporary) return of my insomnia has been my undoing - it's very difficult to compose decent sentences when you're barely getting any sleep at all. Then, there was the usual weekend revelry (including an incredibly impressive performance on my part at the launch of the Manchester Metropolitan University Art & Design degree show - so much free wine, that led to all manner of questionable behaviour afterwards, and a fair amount of memory loss) acting as a further distraction. Which is why my last entry was over a week ago. Which I'm not thrilled about - I really did want this to be a regular thing. Which is why I've decided to outline what I expect to be posting in the following days - as much as a reminder to myself, as to anyone who might be reading this.

Firstly, I'll be continuing The 69 Love Songs Project. I haven't decided on songs six through ten yet, but I have plenty of candidates in mind, Pasty Cline's "Crazy," Elton John's "Your Song," Nilsson's "Without You," Roy Orbison's "Crying" and Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl" amongst them. As those songs would suggest, the next instalment will be more about acknowledged classics of the genre.

I'll probably be offering a review of Milan Kundera's Life Is Elsewhere at some point in the near future; I've barely picked it up this week, due to my aforementioned difficulties/distractions, but I'm sure I'll get it finished presently. I hope so - I'm not reading anywhere near as much as I'd like to be. And considering that we're planning on setting up a library in our new house...after that, I think Charles Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities may well be my next port of call - I'm really trying to take this 'English Literature Student' thing to new extremes, with the loose aim being to have read as many classics by this time next year.

And at some point, a trip to the cinema to see Looking For Eric needs to happen...any film centred around Eric Cantona is certainly going to get me out of the house. Hopefully, it'll live up to its promise/premise.

The 69 Love Songs Project part one

...of an occasional series that exists entirely to allow me to talk about some of my favourite songs.

I've become totally infatuated with The Magnetic Fields's "69 Love Songs" as of late, at the exact same time my interest in music has waned a little (I go through these phases from time to time; I hate to be one of those people claiming that "there's just not that much new music that interests me at the moment," but...). But anyway, the variety of songs "69 Love Songs" offers is proof that Stephin Merritt is one of the most talented voices in modern music, and the album offers more with every listen. It would be one thing to admire the ambition and scope such a project entails, but that it is so successful musically is really something to behold.

The very nature of the album has gotten me to thinking of the importance of love as a theme in songwriting. In fact, I wrote an essay on lost love for one of my degree courses (American Popular Song), using Jimmy Ruffin's "What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted" and The Louvin Brothers "When I Stop Dreaming" as examples. The conclusion I drew was an obvious one - that love can leave its mark in many ways, but in the aftermath it often leaves the afflicted wishing they'd never found it in the first place.

This fits in nicely with "69 Love Songs," which isn't exclusively positive exploration of love. There's plenty of heartbreak - the various narrator's speak of needing a new heart to replace a broken one; of bitter tears and love in the shadows. "Yeah! Oh, Yeah!" sees a girl asking "are you out of love with me?" to a guy who responds emphatically with the words of the title. The tone is often downbeat, which makes the work all the more honest - love is many things, but it'd be ridiculous to ignore the negative sides of it.

These considerations have led me to one question - what would my own personal sixty-nine favourite love songs be? Well, that's what I intend to find out - at present, it's not like I have a list already drawn up, even though some of the songs that will appear are a given. So I'm not presenting them in any kind of order or ranking, instead simply writing about them as they stand out to me as deserving inclusion on this list. Today, it's a handful of alternative rock staples, but in future installments I'll definitely be broadening my scope.

1. Neutral Milk Hotel "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea"

Where to start with what I consider to be the greatest album of all time? (to such an extent that I don't really consider there to be any room for debate.) I've never felt as emotionally connected to any piece of art - the number of lines that floor me every single time is staggering. I used to play these songs through my head whilst working my crappy supermarket job, and they not only got me through the day, but they got to me even then - I'd have to disguise my state as best as possible whilst feeling overwhelmingly affected by the beauty of Jeff Mangum's work. In particular, the lines "as we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for," from opening song "King Of Carrot Flowers pt. One," and "in my dreams you're alive and you're crying," from closing song "Two-Headed Boy Pt. Two," never fail to evoke a reaction. To me, that's exactly what music should be capable of.

However, it's the title track that really gets to the hopeless romantic in me. From the opening line - "what a beautiful face I have found in this place that is circling all round the sun" - there is a sense of joy that prevails throughout, as though Mangum has found the perfect girl, and not only wants to express how happy he is to have done so, but to justify the weight of his feelings by drawing parallels between love and the wonder of creation. By the end of the song, Mangum is marvelling at "how strange it is to be anything at all," a remarkable line that takes the song right back to its beginnings, highlighting the transformative power of love. At no point is he kidding himself - he knows that one day it will come to an end, that "one day we will die/and our ashes will fly/from the aeroplane over the sea," but that doesn't matter, because in the here and now, everything is perfect.

2. The Postal Service "Such Great Heights"

One of those bands that came to me at exactly the right time in my life. Already a devoted fan of Death Cab For Cutie, I'd read a couple of (mixed) reviews about a new Ben Gibbard side project, without particularly feeling like it was essential to my life. I only bought it because I stumbled across it in the HMV that used to live in Manchester Piccadilly train station, and only then because I had the exact amount of money in my pocket to purchase it with. I didn't get the chance to listen to it for a few hours, so I read through the lyrics (not something I do too often, because for the most part, song lyrics are only successful as song lyrics). And to be honest, there didn't appear to that much substance to them. Of course, having listened to the album a few times, all I felt was a sense of love towards it. Sure, it isn't perfect, but there's enough good about it to mean that it has still retained its importance to me to this day.

I'll readily admit that the lyrics of "Such Great Heights" are somewhat trite, in a way that would undoubtedly annoy the hell out of me if I didn't like the music. But this is Gibbard at his most gloriously uplifting - how can you not get swept up in a love story where the narrator speculates "that God himself did make us into corresponding shapes/like puzzle pieces from the clay"? Gibbard doesn't really belive the sentiment as such - acknowledging that it "may seem like a stretch" - but that isn't the point - it's the thought that counts. It isn't a complicated song, but it is another fantastic example of the transformative power of love - which has literally lifted the protagonists of the song to the "great heights" of the title - and another example of two people finding perfection in the faces of one another.

3. Pavement "Major Leagues"

Not known for being a straightforward lyricist - and often choosing to be actively disingenuous - Stephen Malkmus does have moments of openness that stand out a mile from the rest of his oeuvre. "Here," from first album "Slanted and Enchanted," is a good example - the opening lines "I was dressed for success/but success it never comes" carry with them an air of absolute failure that manifests itself as self-pity; the plaintive desire of "Range Life" - "if I could settle down/then I would settle down" - comes across as a genuine yearning for an easier life; and in "Shady Lane," when he declares that "I'm an island of such great complexity," you get the sense that he's speaking on a personal level.

"Major Leagues," however, stands out as the clearest statement of sentiment in the Pavement catalogue - at one point, Malkmus even goes so far as to sing "cater to my walls and see if they fall/don't leave me," trying to bury "don't leave me" under the weight of the preceding line in an effort to disguise the desperation those three words contain, but not quite succeeding. When the song first begins, it sounds like a love song, but the dismissive nature of the second line ("relationships, hey, hey, hey," delivered as though they're the least interesting subject in the world) shakes that false sense of security, creating a new state whereby you expect Malkmus's usual lyrical evasiveness. But he can't keep it up, going on to remark of his lover that "you kiss like a rock/but you know I need it anyway," and in the process displaying weakness for everyone to see. "Major Leagues" certainly doesn't detail a conventional love, but it captures perfectly the neediness that is always partially associated with the feeling.

4. The Shins "New Slang"

When considering The Shins for this list, it occurred to me that, as far as "Oh, Inverted World" is concerned, the lyrical content has always been something of a mystery to me. So reading through the booklet, I was delighted to realise that "New Slang" is indeed a song about love - of love lost, more precisely. It's honest and open in the same way "Major Leagues" is - it contains the exact same sense of longing for companionship - but whereas Malkmus is seemingly clinging on to something that he isn't entirely satisfied with, in "New Slang" James Mercer is yearning for the past. The song begins by detailing the naivety involved with the initial stages of becoming intimate with someone new, the line "I was happier then with no mindset," capturing the sense of easy contentment that soon gives way to a process of overthinking everything, a process that is often the death of any burgeoning relationship.

That's exactly what the rest of the song details, and it sees Mercer in a particularly somber mood. He makes the mistake so many of us make, motivated by the same feelings that drive us towards it, revealing that he "never should have called/but my heads to the wall and I'm lonely," knowing that it was the wrong thing to do from the start but going through with it anyway, because it somehow feels right. Ths song makes it clear that whatever he felt for the girl, she didn't share, Mercer singing "if you'd 'a took to me like/a gull takes to the wind," with the key word obviously being 'if.' 'If' she had of done, "the rest of (their) lives would'a fared well." But because she didn't, Mercer is riddled with self-doubt, his feelings of hopelessness best expressed in the line "I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find." He details the feelings associated with the aftermath of any love affair brilliantly, coming across as a man who has completely given up, who sees no future for himself outside of the relationship that he has lost.

5. The Mountain Goats "No Children"

A song I'm completely obsessed with at the moment, even though that can't be seen as a good thing when you consider its lyrical content, with the lines "I hope you die/I hope we both die" being the payoff to each verse of gradually escalating rancour. Has anyone ever captured love gone sour so bitterly as John Darnielle in this song? The narrator hates his ex-wife ("I hope I lie/and tell everyone you were a good wife), his friends (whom he hopes "give up on trying to save us," and if they don't it doesn't matter, because he'll "come up with a fail-safe plot/to piss off the dumb few that forgave us"), and even himself (not only hoping for his own death, but declaring that "I hope I never stay sober"). He's positively embraced the collapse of his marriage - which the title implies has ended because of irreconcilable differences over the issue of children - which may simply be a coping mechanism, or may indeed be the celebration the song sometimes suggests. Either way, when singing "I hope it stays dark forever/I hope the worst isn't over," you believe him.

Batman and Robin #1

"This is it. Batman and Robin. Together again for the first time"

It's always a good idea to periodically shake things up with a legacy character, even if such changes often come across as shock tactics. Under the banner heading of 'Batman: Reborn,' DC Comics's big initiative this summer is the repositioning of the Batman universe. With Bruce Wayne "dead" (because actually he's not dead, simply trapped in the past, and he'll return to the present at some point, certainly in time fot the next movie), the three-issue mini-series Battle for the Cowl (which I didn't read, because I'm not THAT interested) explored the fallout from his absence, whilst also setting up Dick Grayson - the original Robin - as the new Batman. Which is the obvious choice, but not necessarily the right one. In a recent episode of The Big Bang Theory ('The Hofstadter Isotope'), a comicbook store owner named Stewart argues that the role should have gone to Jason Todd - the second Robin, who was killed in the line of duty, and brought back from the dead a few years ago - rather than Grayson, who as Nightwing has been a hero in his own right for many years. Todd, on the other hand, has flailed between good and bad ever since his resurrection; had he been the new Batman, we could have been treated to his redemption arc. Instead, the aforementioned Battle for the Cowl set him up as a villain again. Ho hum.

So when wandering into Travelling Man, and realising that the first issue of Batman and Robin was out, I tried to resist buying it. But when you see the names 'Grant Morrison' and 'Frank Quitely' on the front cover of a comicbook book, that's easier said than done, even though Morrison's recent run on Batman wasn't received all that well. It's tempting to say that people didn't get it - which, given the complex nature of his plotting, is at least a partial truth - but, to be honest, it wasn't consistently fantastic. Perhaps his greatest success was the introduction of Bruce Wayne's "evil" son, Damian, a character whom Morrison seems particularly fond of, and who has taken over the role of Robin. His rebellious nature is in full effect throughout this issue - he'd really rather have taken over the role of Batman himself, despite his youth, and tells Grayson that "you can have my respect if you earn it, that's all I'm saying," adding "you're not my father" by way of an insult that is likely to become one of the central themes - the first issue spends time dealing with Grayson's insecurities at having to take over from his mentor and friend, whilst he also attempts to have some fun with the role, as befits Grayson's personality.

As with any first issue, all it really does is set the scene, but Morrison has done so extremely well. The dynamic between Grayson, Damian and Alfred already feels firmly established, and should prove to be a highlight of the book. It reads as a breath of fresh air, a needed change that hopefully DC will persist with for a couple of years - a period of time which would make Wayne's eventual return seem all the more significant. Meanwhile, Quitely's artwork is at its best, full of his usual expressive detail, and a real sense of fun, not least in the couple of splash pages he's given (and who wouldn't enjoy themselves drawing a flying Batmobile?). He perfectly compliments the weirdness that is always to be found in Morrison's writing, infusing the final scene - the introduction of new villain Pyg - with the necessary horror to convey exactly why we're supposed to view him as a threat to be reckoned with. The two belong together - as their definitve work together on New X-Men and All-Star Superman has already proven, and contained within this issue is enough promise to suggest that readers should be preparing themselves for another instant classic. Here's hoping they live up to that.

Ivan Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

"Of course, you cannot understand me: we belong to two different generations"

It is expected that each new generation will challenge the ideas and the ideals of the generation they succeed - it is, in theory, how society evolves. Ivan Turgenev used Fathers and Sons as a means of exploring generational differences, which proved to be a great source of controversy when the novel was first published in 1862 - it read as an attack on the traditional values of contemporary Russian society. Which it almost certainly was, but its importance has persevered because the theme never grows old - Turgenev offers a timeless message, suggesting that it is the natural function of society to aspire towards progression, and that such a thing requires change inspired by new ways of thinking.

The character who dominates the novel, Yevgeny Vassilyich Bazarov, certainly fits into that template. Proclaiming himself a nihilist, he casts his shadow over proceedings, offering his anti-philosophies at regular intervals, and by his very nature represents challenge, announcing this fact when stating that "in these days the most useful thing we can do is repudiate - and so we repudiate." This 'question everything' mentality is the central theme of the narrative, and whilst his brusque exterior can be extremely trying at times, there is an undoubted intelligence behind each of his proclamations. Bazarov is of the opinion that "all men are similar, in soul as well as in body," an overwhelmingly negative mindset that cuts to the heart of his nihilism - if you can't believe in human beings and their individuality, why believe in anything?

Arkady Petrovich is his friend and disciple, a man so taken with Bazarov that he mimics him as best as he is able, whilst not quite able to take the principles of nihilism fully to heart, leading to various faux pas on his part that make him appear to be something of a simpleton. Trust Bazarov to best summarise Arkady when telling him "you're a soft-hearted mawkish individual...you're timid, you've no confidence in yourself." The pair spend the duration of Fathers and Sons together, and their relationship could almost be described as familial, were there anything of the paternal about Bazarov. Arkady looks up to Bazarov, who responds to such devotion in the dismissive manner with which he treats everything he encounters.

Bazarov's opinionated nature extends to Arkady's father, Nikolai Petrovich, whom he describes as "a good man, but he's old-fashioned, he's had his day." Which is typically blunt, but not particularly unfair. After all, Nikolai is something of a nostalgist, which is indicative of the backwards-looking nature that younger generations typically rally against. At the same time, though, he is desperate to cling on to some semblance of his youth, in order that he might remain close to Arkady - and that he wants to be a friend as much of a father is somewhat troubling in itself - and to this end, he has taken up with a young girl named Fenichka, as though her youth and her innocence might rub off on him. Yet we care about him all the same, because his affection towards his son is genuinely touching, as is his exasperation upon realising how much his son has changed.

"Why should we talk of love?"

The novel takes an interesting diversion from these issues during the middle section, presenting a Midsummer Night's Dream-esque sequence of romantic attachments badly in need of correction by a Puck figure: Madame Anna Odinstov manages to capture the heart of both Bazarov and Arkady; Arkady would be better served investing his feelings in Katya, Anna's younger sister, who clearly carries a torch for him; and Anna feels nothing for Arkady but is clearly drawn to Bazarov. Away from the realms of Shakespearean fantasy, it is unsurprising that this passage doesn't provide an entirely happy ending, but it does have some fantastic exchanges between Anna and Bazarov who, despite his best efforts, cannot help but fall for her, declaring with a passion bordering on obsession "that I love you idiotically, madly." We soften to him a little at this point, because we see the humanity that lies beneath the exterior self he projects - he is clearly not immune to the power of love, and becomes more relatable for exactly those reasons. Later, he reveals to Fenichka the weight of his loneliness: "if only I could find someone to take pity on me." At this point, it becomes obvious that the self-confidence he seems to exude is at least partially a facade. But then when we see his interactions with his family, our attitude shifts again - he comes across very badly, meeting their delight at seeing him for the first time in three years with his trademark condescension, in the process appearing to be a man without sentiment, especially when dismissing them on the grounds that he has nothing much to say to them.

"Aristocratism, liberalism, progress, principles - think of it, what a lot of foreign and useless words! To a Russian they're not worth a straw"

Turgenev had an axe to grind with the Russian ruling classes - and indeed anyone in a position of authority - and uses parts of the novel to do so, finding humour in the ridiculous contradictions and hypocrisy inherent within the system. Consequently, a governor is described as "a man who, as is often the case in Russia, was at once progressive and despotic;" a superintendent of the Provincial Treasury, meanwhile, coins the phrase "every wee busy bee takes a wee bribe from every wee flower" as a quaint way of justifying his corruption. It's moments like these that give credence to Bazarov's declaration that "we should not accept any species of authority."

Despite the message contained within the text, it never really feels like you're being lectured to, which is always a danger. Turgenev puts his point across by crafting characters who are both complex and believable, and creating an engaging narrative, meaning that the point of the novel is taken on board without any risk of the reader resenting its insistence. The ending stays true to that which preceded it, and is touched with a sense of melancholy even though the plots resolve themselves in the expected manner. For Arkady, there is contentment to be found in his acceptance that he isn't a nihilist after all; he is much more cut in the mould of his father. For Bazarov, there is the only fate a man of his nature could possibly expect. The character stands out as one of the greatest literary creations of the nineteenth century, a man whose presence illuminates every page he appears on.