A grim struggle to the death on the blogs between American and British music again today, though it seems Americaโ€™s interests are being defended primarily by an Estonian. Meanwhile, here, the reliably lucid Glory asks whether my taste โ€œis more geared towards American styles of music (eg Americana) or because you think American artists are generally more talented than British artists?โ€

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A bit of both, perhaps. I certainly think artists like Jamie T are talented, but theyโ€™re part of a musical tradition which Iโ€™m not really partial to. It seems that, given the relative size of America to Britain, there should be many more interesting bands there. But as Iโ€™ve said before, Iโ€™m also conscious of personally fetishising American music: at home last night, I noticed for the first time in ages, a quote from Adorno that my wife had pinned over the desk years ago โ€“ โ€œIt is part of morality not to be at home in oneโ€™s home.โ€

Still, Iโ€™m determined to prove that I have a healthy open mind towards the music of my motherland. So Iโ€™ve spent this morning hunting for some British music to write about. The Queens Of The Stone Age preview will have to wait a day or two.

Instead, here are the Vibracathedral Orchestra, a reliably magnificent bunch of skronky improvisers based in Leeds. Iโ€™d like to say that โ€œWisdom Thunderboltโ€, the latest in a large, obscure and very fine sequence of albums, is in some way quintessentially British. Actually, though, it closely resembles the commune jams served up by those avant-garde tribes on the fringes of the American psych/folk scene โ€“ Sunburned Hand Of The Man, Jackie O Motherfucker, the No Neck Blues Band, The Vanishing Voice, that kind of thing. Chris Corsano, something of a regular on this blog (heโ€™s also on the new Bjork record) emphasises the connection by turning up on the best track here, โ€œA Natural Factโ€.

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Vibracathedral specialise in a sort of frantic, ecstatic drone that veers all over the place. The few times Iโ€™ve seen them live, theyโ€™re a pretty remarkable spectacle: high, rearing epiphanies being conjured up by intense types crawling about on the floor and swapping instruments on a whim. Thereโ€™s a good joke after a fashion here, too, when โ€œSway-Sageโ€ starts with a swaggering orthodox metal riff before being overwhelmed by a truly awe-inspiring cacophony. Someone whoops in the middle of it, and I can see their point. Bracing stuff, which you can experience with a live snippet here. I think I saw this show, actually.

The other thing I found is a single by Wild Beasts called โ€œThrough Dark Nightโ€. Wild Beasts appear to be from the Lake District, and have got that sort of shambling, romantic charm that I keep being told is in bands like The Maccabees and Larrikin Love, but which I can never detect myself.

โ€œThrough Dark Nightโ€ sways unsteadily like early Orange Juice, has a deeply equine clip-clop rhythm, and a singer whose incredibly mannered falsetto yodel is, I suspect, an acquired taste. I like it a lot, and the flipside, โ€œPlease, Sirโ€, is good, too โ€“ it reminds me of The Servantsโ€˜ track on โ€œC86โ€, though I havenโ€™t heard it in years. Iโ€™ll check with the officeโ€™s resident ex-member of The Servants and report back, but have a listen at good old Myspace and see what you think.