When promos of the latest deluxe Pavement reissue – “Brighten The Corners: Nicene Creedence Ed”, no less – turned up last week, it struck me that perhaps, in 12 months’ time, we might just be talking about a Pavement comeback being one of the key reunions of 2009. For in spite of vague (presumably) unresolved animosities, ongoing careers (Malkmus’ “Real Emotional Trash” remains one of my 2008 favourites; doesn’t Bob Nastanovich do something involving racehorses full-time now in Louisville?) and so on, there feels like something inevitable about them getting back together sooner or later. Not least, I suppose, because various ex-members of the band have alluded to it happening, perhaps with the sort of droll, apparently powerless phlegmatism that was always one of Pavement’s key assets. They’re still one of my favourite bands, though one I only interviewed once: a farcical night in Leeds that involved me clumsily annoying a raft of fanzine writers, Sonic Youth and, eventually, quite a few of Pavement – apart from Gary Young who, on his last tour with the band I think, was doing a good job of annoying his bandmates himself. If I remember right, that day he’d put a dead rabbit in Malkmus’ luggage, and spent most of the evening handing tiddlywinks out to audience members in the foyer of the venue. I digress. Anyway, listening to “Brighten The Corners”, I’m reminded just how much I love Pavement, not least because this one has always been perhaps my least-favourite of their albums, and it still sounds terrific. In contrast with some of the chaotic things that came before it, and the intensively divisive Malkmus/Godrich business surrounding “Terror Twilight” that followed, “Brighten The Corners” sounds like the calmest album in Pavement’s canon. It’s here, maybe, that they started tentatively grappling with the idea of a sort of maturity, where the concepts of lo-fi or whatever that loitered around them became less pressing. Great songs, then – “We Are Underused”! “Stereo”!, “Starlings Of The Slipstream”!. The first stirrings of Malkmus’ nascent guitar hero instincts – check out the grand coda to “Type Slowly”, which might be my favourite thing here. Endless quotable lines, beginning of course with all that stuff about Geddy Lee in “Stereo”. And a more integrated Scott Kannberg, who still managed to have maybe one of his very best songs – “Winner Of The” – left off the actual album. “Winner Of The” is, of course, included here as one of 30-odd extra tracks; nothing less than we’ve come to expect from these hefty reissues of the Pavement catalogue that roll out once every couple of years. Picking a way through it all, there’s an argument that this might actually be one of the richest Pavement periods, given the quality of all these b-sides and offcuts. On Disc One, for instance, there’s a great, tentative, generally instrumental version of “The Hexx” that flourishes without the Godrich wooshing it received on “Terror Twilight”. There are more great offcuts (“Harness Your Hopes” and “Roll With The Wind”) that originally limped out a few years too late as b-sides to “Spit On A Stranger”. And there’s one of my favourite Pavement songs of all, “Westie Can Drum”, a seemingly jokey prelude to the sniping which would eat away at the band during the “Terror Twilight” sessions. Disc Two begins with a racey version of “Type Slowly”, “Slowly Typed”, and wanders through a bunch of revealing and fun cover versions (of which “The Killing Moon” is the most familiar, but there’s also The Fall’s “The Classical”, and a punt at Faust’s “It’s A Rainy Day, Sunshine Girl” which I’ve never come across before). There’s also an unreleased song called “Neil Hegarty Meets Jon Spencer In A Non-Alcoholic Bar”, the title of which has bewitched me so completely that, every time I’ved played the album thus far, I’ve failed to notice what it’s actually like. A lot to take in here; I’ll play it all again, and get back to you. . .

Not that I take much notice of these things, but it did seem fitting that a copy of the new Sunn 0))) album arrived just in time for Halloween. Like most of their crushingly slow meditations on doom, “Dømkirke” would probably be interpreted by many listeners as an apt soundtrack for the gates of hell opening at an agonisingly slow pace. I personally find their music mostly quite restful, in much the same way as those early Earth albums – so critical to the original premise of Sunn 0))), of course – sound like contemplative ambience to me. But for all the abstract pleasures of this music, it’s hard not to be titillated by the concept of “Dømkirke”. This one is a limited edition double vinyl live album, magnificently produced and packaged, recorded last year in Bergen Cathedral, and I imagine probably sold out by now. According to the sleevenotes, Sunn 0))) were invited to play the cathedral, and commissioned to write a piece which pointed up the affinities between their excruciating metal drones and medieval Gregorian chants which reflected, according to Nicholas H Mellerhaug in those notes, “the despair, the terrors and darkness of the world”. There’s an element of inviting the devil into God’s house here, intriguingly, compounded by the presence of vocalist Attila Csihar contributing ghastly ululations – a man whose background is in the same death metal scene that resulted in various unpleasant activities in and around Bergen some years back. Sunn 0))) are all about intimations of doom rather than explicit satanic panto, of course, the cowls notwithstanding. And even the opening “Why Dost Thou Hide Thyself In Clouds” is subtle, after a fashion: operatic incantations from Csihar, and Steve Moore playing the reverberant chamber of the cathedral as much as he’s playing the pipe organ. As usual, Stephen O’Malley and Greg Anderson are joined by other collaborators, and Lasse Marhaug’s electronics come to prominence on “Cymatics”, a juddering noise jam, with plentiful howls of horror, that gets a bit too close to the industrial scene for my delicate tastes. But “Cannon” is fantastic; 18 minutes of creeping belligerence that’s as graceful and impactful a piece as Sunn 0))) have ever recorded. Among the brilliant live shots that adorn the package, there are great label shots of the congregation – predominantly bearded men looking very cold and intense. For all their stoic expressions, it must have been a thrilling event. Now, should I take this home and play it to the trick-or-treaters tonight?

I was just re-reading my blog on the first Marnie Stern album, “In Advance Of The Broken Arm”, from last year. I mentioned plenty of stuff about Lightning Bolt and Sleater-Kinney (and slyly avoided a couple of other reference points, more of which later), and about how Stern had certain similarities with early PJ Harvey. “It reminds me, in a way, of how PJ Harvey was initially so inspired by the music of Big Black and the '80s US underground, but twisted those influences into something that was accessible but never felt compromised,” I wrote. “I think Stern draws on the leftfield rock of the past few years in a similar way. And I also reckon that there's enough wit, melody and energy, never mind finger-shredding technical prowess, here to suggest that, like Harvey, Stern might go on to bigger things.” Now we have the second Marnie Stern album, that doesn’t seem quite so likely. Ostensibly, she’s made more or less the same album all over again, though fortunately with such exuberance and virtuosity that it’s hard to get too knotted up about artistic progress or whatever. The first great thing about this one is the title – “This Is It And I Am It And You Are It And So Is That And He Is It And She Is It And It Is It And That Is That” – which goes some way to putting the stream-of-consciousness-and-energy that is Stern’s schtick down on paper. That schtick, if you missed it first time, is built around her high-speed, tapped guitar-shredding. Each song is more or less built around these bombastic squiggles, with Stern’s own vocals and Zach Hill’s dynamically flailing drum strategy manically in thrall to what are, basically, guitar shop technical-wanks. It’s one of the more daring and successful re-inventions that I can recall in recent times, since Stern effectively makes artpunk capital out of (and here come those previously suppressed comparisons) Eddie Van Halen solos and, again and again, Rush’s “Spirit Of Radio”. I can’t pretend to be a fan of either of those things. And I’m anxious that you don’t think Stern’s music is some kind of irony-laden stunt; comparable maybe to some bootleg mixer like Girl Talk hacking up ‘80s hits as raw material for an exercise in party-rocking dialectics (In this new Pitchfork interview, interestingly, she plausibly makes a case for never really hearing those metal bands, and being influenced instead by math/prog bands like Don Caballero). Instead, as great tracks here like “The Crippled Jazzer” and "Shea Stadium" prove, Stern has noticed what many of us missed; that this historically self-indulgent technique can, in a new context, sound unexpectedly spiky and vigorous. How many times Stern can use it as the crux of her music remains to be seen, of course. Will the fireworks still sound exciting on her fifth album, or will she have found another way of presenting her undoubted, wilful songwriting talent by then? That may be something foolish to speculate about, or it may be a reason why a UK label – in spite of plentiful buzz round the first album – hasn’t picked up such a blazing talent. I suppose that’s not our worry, ultimately: this is another terrific album, and I’d really like to finally see her do this live, too