Reviews

This timid compilation suffers from the eternal failing of dance's left field in mistaking an imitation of Eno, Reich etc for a genuine response. And where Herbert is a maverick provocateur, making music from McDonalds wrappers or lurching into revisionist big band music, his prodigies are more faint-hearted. The majority of cuts (including those from Herbert himself) are sleepy and heavy-lidded-boring, even. There's nothing wrong with this LP if you like smoochy post-dance or cocktail jazz, but it's hardly sensual or murderous.

The Man Who Wasn't There's second solo album

Anthology of ex-Jayhawk's downhome career shift

That's Sir Rod to you, pal. Welcome to his humble pile

Excellent movie/montage with unique soundtrack

Seamus McGarvey is proving himself to be the UK's finest director of photography, and this visual poem owes its beauty to his eye. A fable following a man as he looks back over his life, from rural Ireland to modern London, it's like Cronenberg's Spider with the imagination turned up to 11.

Johnny Depp excels in highly entertaining Bruckheimer blockbuster

Look closely at the cover of Dylan's Bringing It All Back Home, and you'll see a copy of Robert Johnson's King Of The Delta Blues Singers. Released in 1961 but recorded a quarter of a century earlier, the Stones, Cream and Led Zeppelin all plundered it for source material, making it arguably the single most influential album on '60s rock. All 29 sides recorded by Johnson in his short lifetime are included here, and if you don't already own them, now's your chance. That they come with a second disc rounding up 25 of Johnson's contemporaries from Bessie Smith to Son House is a bonus.

Ex-Golden Rough mainman Walker is backed by a full band of buddies on his second solo album, Ashes & Wine, and sounds like someone snug in his own skin. Here he draws on his carpetbag of honky-tonk tricks ("Helpless Guy"), Stonesy strut ("Dissatisfaction"; "Letdown") and the rough-diamond rattle of early Son Volt ("Please Save Your Tears"). Walker's voice is equal parts whiskey and gravel—classic rawk and bottom-of-the-glass country-blues -somewhere between Jagger and Steve Earle. Expressive, literate and ballsy stuff.

Born out of Williamsburg's vibrant underground scene in 2000—and sounding not unlike the soundtrack to a painfully hip party there, Vic Thrill's debut is a fizzing cocktail of world music polyrhythms, camp theatrics and techno wizardry. The influence of Ziggy is evident throughout, but there are also strains of the kitsch disco of Pizzicato 5, the murky pop of The Frogs and snatches of the Happy Mondays and Underworld. Incessant and uptempo for much of the time, it is unmistakably danceable. As if entirely worn out, the record closes with the Grandaddy-esque "Zero Odds".