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James Dean Bradfield
The Great Western
Street Preachers take a two-year sabbatical, its lead musical force, James Dean Bradfield, has decided to fill in the time by striking out on his own. His album The Great Western sees him in a contemplative mood, reflecting on his home country, past friends, and himself. But you can’t tell from the music. Much of The Great Western sees Bradfield in shouty pop mode. His rasping bellow falls somewhere among Rod Stewart, Jimmy Barnes and Bono as he embarks on this jaunt of formulaic verse-chorus-verse pseudo-rock songs. That energetic wailing/singing seems at odds with sentiments in songs like Still a Long Way to Go, which is what should be a quiet self-searching meditation, but Bradfield can’t help himself with the shouting. The word ‘restrained’ to this guy probably means a second filtering of tea leaves. Of course, it’s not all bad. Bradfield’s powerful voice and passionate delivery do lend his songs instant memorability, and catchy numbers like the opening That’s No Way To Tell A Lie and Bad Boys and Painkillers will fairly win him a number of fans. But after repeated listening, the abrasive power pop does start to grate.
HM |
 Pharrell
In My Mind
n My Mind is home to a Who’s Who of star celebrities, from the expected – Jay Z – to a more unusual choice in Jamie Cullum. It’s probably natural for Pharrell, a guy famed for working with other top pop and rap acts (Britney’s Slave, Nelly’s Hot in Here), to invite his entire address book to help out with recording. A shame, then, that the result is less catchy than a Kanye party stomper and less sleazy than a Snoop Dogg groove (though both artists appear). This record is gentle and well oiled as well as inoffensive and lacking many memorable tunes. There are highs (including Pharrell’s unbelievable falsetto): Can I Have It Like That is a laid-back number, complete with Gwen Stefani vocals, that’ll have feet tapping, and Raspy Shit with its driving rap is a neat little ditty. The production features ’80s style tweaking – some smoochy sax plays out the slushy Young Girl – and feels very organised, and sometimes lethargic, with a large array of bleeping electronics. Baby, with Nelly, breaks through the smooth barrier with dirty, spluttering percussion and come-hither lines – “I see that look in your eyes, I wanna touch you, baby,” adds some much desired edge to the record. The more discerning rap fan might be disappointed, but for MTV lovers, who lap up The Pussycat Dolls’ R’n’B flavour and Justin Timberlake’s crotch-throbbing anthems, In My Mind slots in quite nicely. EK |
 Alright, Still
Lily Allen
Lily Allen, like lots of young female cockneys, is full of scathing opinions. She is what you might term a bloody gobshite. But with what finesse she spouts. The MySpace darling du jour has produced some white-girl ragga dancehall tempered with lyrics about scummy love, life, and herpes. Her topics might be dingy, but her wit keeps things funny and fizzy. Smile is infectious, a bouncing tale of a toe-rag boyfriend busy “fucking the girl next door” that has an irresistible chorus. It bounded straight to the top of the British charts before anyone could say “Lily who?” LDN, about prostitution, and Friday Night, on the hassle of getting into clubs, spawn similarly gritty stories and other tracks continue in the same vein – a tour of England’s seedier side brought vividly to life in Lily’s humorous poetry. She’s most commonly compared to a female Mike Skinner (The Streets); imagining a 12-year-old cockney Gwen Stefani wouldn’t put you far wrong. Alfie, the final track, is a sweetly sung ode to Lily’s pot smoking brother, which, like all the best party tunes, would have gran up out of her chair, waving her arms around and singing with a gappy smile to words she doesn’t understand. We, on the other hand, will have a giggle at the lyrics, save some of the slang for later use and hope Lily has saved enough sass for a second coming. By the sound of it, she has plenty. EK
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