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America in 'still racist' shocker
The Sun in 'moral outrage' shocker
Footballer in 'stupid celebration' shocker
English cricket selectors in 'don't know what they're doing' shocker
Croatia in 'strict ex-Soviet state' shocker

I suppose it was only a matter of time.

What may also be only a matter of time is Barack Obama being assassinated. I am genuinely worried for his safety (and now they're taking away his BlackBerry, so we can't even e-mail him saying "Duck"). This really might happen. If it does, it's a tragedy not only for the obvious reason that, well, he'd be dead and his family would be quite upset, but because I can't see America electing another black man into the White House if Obama were to be assassinated. He has inspired millions, but a dead black president would be the final proof that America isn't ready. We can only hope and pray he doesn't become a latter-day JFK.

And these violent race crimes aren't encouraging, although they are predictable. Still, I am surprised by the burning crosses. You'd think even idiots from the Deep South would think that's going too far – not because everything else is OK (clearly it isn't), but because you'd think they'd be sensible enough to realise that associating yourself with the Ku Klux Klan doesn't do your argument any favours.

"Hey, Billy-Bob-Joe."

"How ya doin', Joe-Billy-Bob?"

"How'd that stunt go just now?"

"No prob, Bob. Those monkeys just got a window full of shit."

"Good work, buddy. Just let me finish this 'KILL OBAMA' sign and we'll head on down to the subway. Hey, do we still have any of those burning crosses from that, uh, fancy dress party?"

"Burning crosses?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno... isn't that a bit too far? I mean, we want this guy to die, obviously – he's black and he's in charge of the greatest country in the world. But don't you think burning crosses kinda make us look a bit stupid? It's not even like it's ironic."

"Don't black out on me, man. We put up burning crosses and people know we're serious. Besides, what have you got against the Ku Klux Klan? Those guys were national heroes."

"Good point, man."

"Damn right good point. U-S-A! A-O-K-K-K!"

(Disclaimer: I feel no shame if you think this is in bad taste. I mock because I always do, and racism doesn't deserve special treatment.)

No one does moral outrage quite like The Sun. Or The Mail. Or The Evening Standard. Actually, most of the British press does moral outrage in quite a big way, and you have to laugh because if you don't you just might cry.

But what does make me want to cry is just how powerful these papers can be. After this little shenanigan, a Gary Glitter song has been axed from a GCSE Music syllabus. Understandable, you might think at first, since he's a convicted paedophile and it would be 15- and 16-year-olds listening to his music. But think again. Why should it have to go?

They don't want children listening to Gary Glitter's music. Fair enough. It's awful. But it's not as if I'm The Leader Of The Gang (I Am) has subliminal messages in it telling certain listeners to take sweets from dirty old men, is it?

Listening to his music isn't going to hurt him. And then saying, "I dread to think what they may find searching online for him" – what? What will they find? His penis? Private videos of him abusing children? The only thing they'll find is that he's a paedophile, and if they didn't know that already they're intelligent enough to go "Boo, hiss" when they find out.

A lot of people are using the argument that he'll make money from the, ahem, exposure, but only if people buy his music. Are teenagers going to start buying Gary Glitter records? Really? Exactly.

I also find the browser headline interesting: "How can exam bosses ask kids to study Gary Glitter? ¦ The Sun ¦ News" Now come on, guys, that's not news. That's opinion. That's a liberty almost as bad as this related headline: 'PERVERT GLITTER'S £100k TELLY AD' – a fantastically misleading headline which makes it sound as though he's actually getting an advert for his services ("Hey kids! It's Gary Glitter!").

Maybe the song should have been removed after all. But I'm pretty sure The Sun's home brand 'got the bastard' bring-a-pitchfork whine party isn't necessary.

David Norris has been fined by Ipswich Town after seemingly making a gesture in support of ex-teammate Luke McCormick, who was jailed for seven years after causing the death of two boys in a car crash, having been twice the drink-drive legal limit after drinking at Norris' wedding.

I have one issue with this, and that's the club's response. The boys' mother was right to complain, and so reasonably too (call me inconsistent all you like – I think this moral outrage is justified), and I'm glad Ipswich Town looked into it. But they have come out in support of Norris and still fined him. What's the message there?

The club says it has heard Norris' explanation and is satisfied it was all a big misunderstanding, and that his celebration was misinterpreted. OK then. No problem there. But then they fined him an undisclosed fee for doing it. Why? If the gesture was so innocent, it's not his fault it was misinterpreted. Either he's guilty of deliberately making the gesture supporting Luke McCormick, in which case he should be punished, or he's the innocent victim of a giant misunderstanding, in which case he shouldn't be punished.

Mixed messages, methinks.

In an attack on the English Cricket Board's selection policy, Darren Gough criticised the selectors for picking Ravi Bopara only to do nothing with him.

I couldn't agree more. Ravi Bopara is wasted batting at no8. In England's 158-run defeat to India on Friday, he came into a match that was pretty much already lost and hit an unbeaten 38-ball half-century, including five sixes. Significantly, he ran out of partners.

He also didn't bowl, although Collingwood and captain KP did, conceding 31 runs in 3 overs. In total, England were hit for 387 in 50 overs, which is not far away from 8 an over.

So, why is a man picked to bat and bowl batting at 8 and not bowling? Bopara bats at 3 for Essex and does a damn good job of it. He is definitely a better batsman than new boy Samit Patel and Matty Prior, who again disappointed opening the batting. He deserves better than this.

Ravi Bopara is a quality player, and if the selectors don't believe this, then why are they picking him?

It's official: Croatia has cancelled Christmas. OK, so only in the public sector, but still: won't somebody think of the children?

La Peste - Alabama 3 [2000]

Sorry.

The good thing, I suppose, is that in knowing I'll never justify this selection to anyone who takes their music seriously, I can write pretty much whatever I want about it.

But I do want naysayers to know this - it's not a comedy record. I've heard, and detested, enough comedy records to know that. The tongue that was planted so firmly in cheek for their brilliant debut Exile On Coldharbour Lane (at least listen to the first track, Converted, before you judge it) is still there in La Peste, but as the title and cover sleeve suggest, it's a darker and much more serious album, more likely to draw on the absurdism of Albert Camus than take the piss out of the orchestrator of the Jonestown Massacre, as they did in their debut.

It's true that Alabama 3 have since lost sight of their original goal. They've gone MOR; 'sold out' into Midwestern country-pop. Setting aside 2005 release Outlaw, which is really rather good, it's not that bad an idea to pretend they stopped making music after their first two albums.

So, for that reason and the fact it's bloody marvellous, La Peste should be remembered. Whether it's the opus that defines their career or whether that honour belongs to Exile On Coldharbour Lane depends on how much you like your gospel, but even the most pretentious of tryhards should at least give this album a go. You never know. There might be a guilty pleasure within.

La Peste certainly starts brilliantly. Too Sick To Pray is actually, just, wow. Not always have the band succeeded in effortlessly blending their yin and yang of blues and techno - that "sweet country acid house music" - but Too Sick To Pray sees them on fire. The spirit of Hank Williams is more present than the first verse's namedrop, inspiring lyrics of defiant deathbed faith as the music spirals into a perfect mesh of slide guitar and 21st-century (ish) production.

The pace doesn't let up with Mansion On The Hill, one of Alabama 3's shortest and most dance-influenced efforts. There's not a whole lot of religion in a song about housebreaking, but it's hard not to enjoy a shouted refrain of "The meek ain't gon' inherit SHIT."

There's some very nice balladry, too, in Dylan-referencing Sad-Eyed Lady Of The Lowlife and Walking In My Sleep, which, once you get past the oddly off-form rambling of The Very Reverend Dr D Wayne Love (aka Jake Black) at the start, shows itself to be a downbeat little corker. Larry Love/Rob Spragg's hushed vocals have, at this stage of his life, hit the perfect blues pitch, croaky while still intact and filled with both frailty and venom. The first line is enough to send a shiver down your spine.

From there, it's a bizarre but splendid mix of acid raves (Cocaine Killed My Community) and whisky-fuelled country ballads (The Thrills Have Gone), plus a fantastic slice of good old-fashioned Christian rock - never thought I'd ever use those words in a positive light - in the sublime Wade Into The Water. Admittedly, the breakdown house cover of The Eagles' Hotel California may have been ill-advised. Some fans swear by it, but it is pretty bloody awful.

It's the only bad track on a funking great album, though. You couldn't ask for a much better finish than bible-bashing 2129, lyrically depraved techno thumper Strange and Rime Of The Ancient Mariner tribute Sinking... , which ends with a wonderful Beatles-esque horn outro and singalong of "It's gonna be all right." Quality.

I think La Peste is a great, great album.

Sorry.

Spotify link

One feature of all these 'Albums of the Decade' lists is that everything on there has to be important.

I can understand this. When reviewing 10 years of music, it's arguably necessary to include the records that actually mattered (provided they're any good, obviously) rather than simply good collections of songs.

But not everything. "Oh, it's so vital," they cry. "It's brimming with vitality. It's vital you listen to this album." This obsession with importance is probably why many of the these lists are so self-important themselves.

Although I can see its purpose, and I've probably used it myself to describe Bob Dylan in the '60s, I hate the word 'important' being used, overused, to describe music. You'll probably notice quite a few 'important' artists and albums absent from this list, including both of The Guardian's top two - because as 'vital' as they are, the songs contained within are on one album hit and miss and on the other insufferable (by the way, as uninformed as this list is, I'm just glad it's not as predictable as The Guardian's top eight).

Basically, important is overrated. Here, then, is one the least important albums released this decade.

------

Jarvis - Jarvis Cocker [2006]

Jarvis Cocker, the then 43-year-old ex-frontman of Pulp, made this record out of sheer boredom. The malaise of living in France doing little with his time had had its effect. He even tired of touring, playing increasingly obscure covers every night just to maintain his own interest.

With so much time on his hands, it's odd the eventual release of a solo album, four years after Pulp's split, was arguably quite lazy - very little promotion and even the title is neither here nor there, with different sections of the packaging calling it The Jarvis Cocker Record, Jarvis Cocker or just Jarvis (actually, Just Jarvis would be a much better title).

Its contents, though, are superb. The musical juxtaposition (ugh, I really, really tried to avoid using that horrible word) of brash and understated is bang on, and there isn't a bad track to be heard. Lyrically it's sublime - equal parts weary and complacent, all the while sharply sardonic in the typical groove of Jarvis' wit.

One song charts the singer's death, beaten to a bloody pulp (sorry) by angry youths who "wobble menacingly" in the street light. He dies - "the police force was elsewhere, putting bullets in some guy's head for no particular reason" - but he comes back to haunt them: his spirit "walks the streets of Tottenham".

Now that's just aggressive whimsy (something also seen on the joyously seething secret track Running The World) and nothing on the fragile beauty of I Will Kill Again, but it still beats the competition into a Cockered (sorry) hat. Around 95% of Pulp's lyrical output consisted of Jarvis asking, "Why are you with him when you could be with me?" and while there are still elements of that on this record - Don't Let Him Waste Your Time provides a fantastic chunk of spurned-lover pop - he's moved on to perhaps better climes.

Musically, too, Jarvis is exactly as it should be: full of toned down piano-led boutiques interspersed with anthemic pop tunes led by massive guitar riffs. The decision to strip I Will Kill Again to its bones is not just intelligent but genius, adding wistful pathos to the nonsensical flair of the song title.

Oh, the song titles. Fat Children, From Auschwitz To Ipswich, Disney Time... each one is more than just amusing; it's a careful microcosm of the song, introducing the majesty in a word or two, like a Hitchcock thriller.

The hits keep coming. Big Julie is a wonderful tribute that soars as it continues and Quantum Theory is about as tender as it gets - a beautiful, beautiful song.

So - Jarvis Cocker's pseudo-self-titled debut solo album. A very good record. It doesn't define anything or any time, it didn't change the world of music, but it's a damn fine listen that gets even better every time and it's just good enough to make this list.

So, farewell then, the 2000s. It's been a good decade, if you ignore all the shit stuff.

Before #1 - this.

I won't go into all the albums that nearly made this list, but a couple of absentees have grabbed my attention. So please let's charge our glasses to Absent Friends. No, not the album at #7; the albums that didn't make it. Apologies to:

- Re-releases etc. I know fully enhanced mixes of older recordings are being put out like fires in a flame factory, but I refuse to count them as new albums. Except, of course, the Love reworkings of Beatles tracks, but that's not in there just because I don't love it. Kudos to the people who made it, though. KUDOS.

- Classical music. I won't pretend to know who's new on the scene, but I do really like Katherine Jenkins' Living A Dream. You can all throw things at me now.

- Hip-hop/rap/grime/etc. Oh, I don't fucking know, OK? Honourable mentions (I know these artists are very different; I'm just lumping them all together): Boy In Da Corner by Dizzee Rascal; The Red Light District by Ludacris; Original Pirate Material by The Streets.

- Messiah J & The Expert. See above; an artist in and around the above genres that I very nearly included. I'm a big fan of their album Now This I Have To Hear, and not just for its album cover, but they were squeezed out when I, uh, released I'd picked 31 albums instead of 30. Damn you, Cat Power! Lingering in the back of my mind and not on my spreadsheet...

- The year 2002. Looking through my selection, there's a lot from the start of the decade (11 of the 30 were released in 2000 or 2001), yet nothing at all from 2002. I feel a good year is being a bit hard done by, so off the top of my head, in no particular order, here are ten very good albums released in that year: Original Pirate Material by The Streets; Sea Change by Beck; American IV by Johnny Cash; Melody AM by Röyksopp; Souljacker by Eels; Come With Us by The Chemical Brothers; Life On Other Planets by Supergrass; Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots by The Flaming Lips; Come Away With Me by Norah Jones; and Highly Evolved by The Vines. 2002, I salute you.

If I could have written the list again, yes, I would have done it to bring music and joy to people's ears, no, I wouldn't have done it because it took more time out of my life than I expected, and no, I wouldn't have included Lemon Jelly either.

And so for number 1 - the Album of the Decade. Call me predictable; I call it perfect.

---------

Rings Around The World - Super Furry Animals [2001]

Perfect. Completely perfect. It's annoying, actually, because I know I can't write a review to do it justice.

I know I'm not the most creative, but I can't think of a way in which this album could be improved. Even the opening and weakest track Alternate Route To Vulcan Street has grown on me that much. It's a slice of serenity interspersed with explosions. Only the Furries could make that work.

Ostensibly an album about technology and progress, Rings Around The World - a mesmerising and damn cool concept in its own right - muses about a Revelations-style armageddon, brought on by humanity's desperate desire to move quickly, no matter in what direction.

But it has time to diverge into religious fundamentalism (the brilliant epic Run! Christian, Run!: "Bang on the hour of 12, to a forest clearing we'll delve, with guns to our heads for we know that Heaven awaits us"), rising house prices (the sublime Juxtaposed With U, originally intended as a duet between Brian Harvey and Bobby Brown) and, brilliantly, the Bill Clinton-Monica Lewinsky affair (Presidential Suite: "Honestly, do we need to know if he really came inside her mouth?"). It's a diverse album, to say the least.

Not least in its sound. After the unsubtle and goshdarnit fun Britrock of their first two LPs, experimentation with Guerrilla and Welsh-language jazz in Mwng, Rings sees the Furries delve into their more natural home of laid-back orchestral pop for the first time.

In doing this, many bands could have slipped into a musical coma, but SFA are wiser to it, largely because they get bored quite easily. So, Sidewalk Serfer Girl is a juddering slammer of a song, juxtaposing (sorry) gentle folkish guitar with thumping guitar chords on its way to a strangely heartwarming chorus - heartwarming in its tenderness; strange in that it comes in a song about comas, famine and bungee jumping.

The title track is simple, no-nonsense stuff, but then it's also the song that first got me into SFA and as such, a personal favourite. In fact, it's one of my favourite songs ever. Sounding the whole way through like a warm-up into a bigger song, it also hits its stride from the off and finds a refrain to stay in your head until you die. Nice video, too.

Fan favourite and live masterpiece Receptacle For The Respectable is almost as fantastic, skipping between genres like they're on a hopscotch pattern. From pop to swing to metal, it sweeps you up and away before throwing you nosedeep into one of the best miniature techno instrumentals you'll hear, [A] Touch Sensitive (another great song title).

Oh, I could go on. The brilliance of folk ballad-turned-industrial rave No Sympathy. The video to It's Not The End Of The World?. The beautiful build-up of Shoot Doris Day, which transformed in my mind from average to extraordinary in a couple of listens (it's a microcosm of the whole album in that it's a grower; if you don't like it straight off, you'll love it later). Even Paul McCartney turning up on Receptacle For The Respectable chewing celery down the phone in an homage to the Beach Boys (well, why not?)

But I won't. I sense the job's not done, but that's because I'm writing about an album that must be listened to. So listen to it. Now. Lush in sound, intelligent in words, fun in spirit and imbued with a fragile happiness, it's probably the best thing made this decade.

Spotify link.

Thanks for reading, if you did. If you didn't... well, you're not reading this.

Come back tomorrow, next year as I begin my daily countdown of the 365 Best Songs Ever Written.

The Understanding - Röyksopp [2005]

Given Röyksopp's 2000 debut Melody AM was the best chill-out album since Moon Safari, it was a bit of a risk for Torbjørn Brundtland and Svein Berge to take this step into a new territory of club-friendly dance music - even if it did take them five years.

But how well it worked. Excellent single Only This Moment deserved to be massive on its release, and Beautiful Day Without You is a great song to shimmy too as well. The album is funkier without losing its predecessor's chilled charm - so the brilliant What Else Is There? is all the better for the wintry Scandinavian vibe that was lacking in the Thin White Duke floorfiller remix that conquered clubs for a while.

Alpha Male, meanwhile, sets its sights high on Melody AM's epic tune Röyksopp's Night Out and surpasses it in both length and quality.

Yet as successful as the new direction is, Röyksopp are still at their best when laying the sort of slow, melancholy rhythms that sees them so closely associated with fellow Norwegians Kings Of Convenience. Someone Like You is really quite touching, and Dead To The World is a sublime wedge of cool that should be listened to by anyone in need of five minutes' relaxation. It trumps the fuck out of whale music.

There's something else, though, that sets this album apart from its competitors. Röyksopp have always had a hidden package, and that's their lyrics. For a duo that specialise in instrumentals and don't speak English as a first language, they're not bad wordsmiths:

Brave men tell the truth
A wise man's tools are analogies and puzzles
A woman holds her tongue
Knowing silence will speak for her

This record is a top quality fusion of chill-out and modern dance. You should own it.

Spotify link.

Shootenanny! - Eels [2003]

This list is fast becoming an explanation of the learning process in music; how so many albums grew on me after I'd initially dismissed them. After narrowly choosing Gorillaz over Demon Days and learning to love I Am A Bird Now, we once again have an album that only found its way onto my list in recent weeks.

I've always sworn against the critics, friends and Eels fans who said Shootenanny! is a sly masterpiece, and sided with its highly underrated predecessor, Souljacker. There was no grand reason behind it; I just thought Souljacker, with its ace slogan 'YOU LITTLE PUNKS THINK YOU OWN THIS TOWN' on the cover, was a better collection of songs, thanks to such superb efforts as Bus Stop Boxer, Dog-Faced Boy and Jungle Telegraph.

But in giving both albums another listen when compiling this list (see, I do research and stuff!), I realised - once again - that I was wrong. Again. I'm always wrong, it seems, but at least in this case I have company. Fans and critics alike may love Shootenanny! but they don't appear to have listened to it properly.

Shootenanny! is described, from Amazon to the mouths of groupies, as E's 'happy' album, 'celebrating the joys of life' (no, really). I recall one review even said Eels had completely 'dropped the misery' that so defines them for one album.

This is bollocks. If these phrases were describing 2005's more optimisic follow-up Blinking Lights And Other Revelations they could almost work, but Shootenanny! is far from joyful - and that, by the way, is why it's so good.

With song titles including Agony, Rock Hard Times and Restraining Order Blues it's never going to be an easy ride emotionally, but that's what you get with Eels. Agony, in particular, is a heartbreaking piece of, well, agony that perfectly befits its jagged guitars and stabbing drums.

Most tracks are more obviously pleasant musically, but it's still tough stuff: Love Of The Loveless, an aching alternative anthem so subtly cynical E can only wearily murmur the chorus, is probably the most famous song thanks to The O.C. and it gives a good idea of the record's hurt.

What these happy-clappy easygoing critics probably mean to say is that, musically, E took a more middle-of-the-road approach to Shootenanny!. I'm still not sure I agree - every Eels album, even misery-fest Electro-Shock Blues, has had its mainstream singles - but there are, admittedly, more radio-friendly songs on this album.

Again, though, this is providing you don't delve deeper into the lyrics when twiddling those dials. Fashion Awards comes across as a light and lovely ballad until you hit, "We'll blow off our heads in despair" in the chorus (yes, it's ironic, but still). Rock Hard Times is pure bubblegum pop, except it features the words, "It's hard to laugh as you choke / Hope you like the rotten stench of doom." The music may be more upbeat at times but the words sure as hell aren't. You could list examples of the album's depressing lyrics until the cows come home and Anthrax themselves (one for the Izzard fans), but it still wouldn't convey the overwhelming misery of the record.

And it's fantastic. From the opening trio of quality tunes (All In A Day's Work, Saturday Morning, The Good Old Days - all excellent) to the semi-optimistic pay-off Somebody Loves You, via should-be indie classics such as Lone Wolf (wonderful song), Shootenanny! is a winner. I was wrong - again.

But, y'know, Souljacker's good too...

No Spotify link today, I’m afraid, nor tomorrow. Circumstances are beyond my control. Spotify links to #21 and #20 will come with #20 on Saturday.

Over the next month Huw Davies' Week Spot will become Huw Davies' Decade Spot, as I count down the Best 30 Albums Of The Decade.

Naturally, the immediate question is - what are my qualifications to make such a decision? This will impact hugely on the world of music. Bands whose latest effort doesn't make the cut might give up entirely and split, causing no end of pain among their fans. Such is the power of... well, me. It's OK, I'm humble about it.

Of course, this list isn't going to be definitive. I've not heard every album in the world released over the past 10 years (sorry, I'm just not that committed to the cause). And I've not even heard all the important ones: real music journalists like this fella will roll their eyes and berate the lack of Grizzly Bear and such, but hey, I've just not heard the albums, all right? Get off my back. Bastards.

And the list will be subjective. Obviously. There's no point in my trying to be 'cool' - I like some awfully trendy bands, but I don't like a whole world of others.

What I will say is this list is likely to be on the commercial side of hip (can't believe I just wrote that), by which I mean the average non-muso will recognise most of the bands mentioned.

So basically, I suppose what I'm saying is you have no reason to read this list at all. And it's going to be written over a month - one per day, starting December 1st, ending December 31st (excluding Christmas Day, OBVS) - so if you're not interested, you're going to find this place a bit of a hole for a while.

Oh well.

So, yes - starting Tuesday, I will be counting down the Top 30 Albums Released This Decade What I've Heard And Like But Obviously It's Not Definitive And Not Even That Objective But Hey It Might Be Interesting.

Be here or be curious.

I was gutted to hear yesterday that erstwhile Britpop survivors (until now) Supergrass have decided to call it a day after 17 years. Busy as I was, it almost consumed my day - I listened to I Should Coco on the walk home from work and remembered how good a debut it was, and would have written this blog last night except I was PLUG a bit PLUG busy writing PLUG this one first.

There's not really much for me to say, either, except that their departure from the scene is a great shame. It's true their star faded a while back - most people I've spoken to thought they'd split years ago - but they kept making good music that was, above all, great fun. Even their deliberately downbeat Road To Rouen had a wonderful sense of mischief about it. Indeed, though they released a considerably happier album a few years later, Road To Rouen was really their finale. It even ended with a song called Fin.

But it was good to know they were still around. And now they're not. All we can do is listen to their lasting classic, In It For The Money - surely the best name for a follow-up album ever, not to mention its opening song and chorus - and remember the good times.

I was going to put a Spotify playlist on here for anyone unacquainted with Gaz, Mick and Danny's (what names) particular brand of joyful guitar pop, but my friend's theory that a greatest hits collection is the best introduction works better for Supergrass than it does most bands. Supergrass Is 10 is an ace party album, if nothing else (and even if it does only have tracks from the first four of their six albums).

Supergrass Is 10: The Best of 94-04

Give it a go. And if you've heard it all before, psht - stick it on shuffle and remember the good times. If you don't like it, well, fine. But fewer bands created such a sense of fun as Supergrass, and for me, that's something music needs on occasion.

Anyway, times change and with a fond, lingering memory, we - fine, I - should move on. Ironically, perhaps, Supergrass put it best themselves way back in 1995, when they closed their debut album with these words:

Thanks to everyone for everything you've done
But now it's time to go
You know it's hard
We've had some fun
But now the moment's come
It's time to go

Who could ask for more?
Who could ask for more?

Absent Friends - The Divine Comedy [2004]

Beautiful; intelligent; haunting.

After his decision to 'go straight' with Regeneration, it was with open arms that I welcomed the real Neil Hannon back to the stage. He's complained before that Regeneration is an underrated album, but it's completely the other way round. Fans love it. Critics love it. And it's fucking awful.

I agree the overblown scores and comedy sound effects of Fin de Siècle et al undermine Hannon's brilliant, clever, gently comic lyrics, but Regeneration made the music boring and the lyrics worse. There's a song in which he lists things he's lost. The whole album's neither funny nor deep. It's horrific.

The superb Absent Friends, then, made me breathe such a sigh of relief I blew away a small child.

But the thing to remember about Neil Hannon as a lyricist is that he's actually bloody miserable. Tell anyone you're a Divine Comedy fan and they sing National Express at you (it's really annoying); they don't know he's made nine albums, each more depressing than the last.

And in Absent Friends, he found the music to fit the words. To fully express every minutiae of sadness in its core, a full orchestra with string-led melodies are used to perfection, although Hannon still lacked the confidence to really pull off his massive orchestral gigs at the Royal Albert Hall and the Palladium (though the second half and encore of the latter is excellent).

But in Absent Friends, it's a perfect fit - chamber pop at its very best. Case in point: Sticks And Stones, with its stabbing cello and sweeping violins. The song absolutely soars. It's also hard to dislike a song that begins, "You and I go together like the molar and the drill." The title track is another cracker, uplifting and melancholy at the same time.

Hannon knows when to show restraint with his instruments, though: My Imaginary Friend is a quiet, friendly, banjo-led ditty very much in the middle of the road, but it's so utterly lovely you'd be a bastard to hate it.

The same goes for album closer Charmed Life, which, being a sugary sweet tribute to his young daughter, should by all rights be awful. But it's not. So there.

Let's not go around thinking this is happy happy fun times though. Leaving Today, about leaving his family behind, is a heartbreaker of pure misery. Musically, it's no less than haunting. Lyrically: "So suddenly awake," it begins. "No light through yonder window breaks. No crowing cock; just my old clock... "

Our Mutual Friend - definite emphasis on friends in this album - is the true standout, however. Listen to it. From the opening confession, "No matter how I try I just can't get her out of my mind" to its shattering conclusion (via the lovely throwaway line, "I woke up the next day all alone but for a headache), it involves you completely, and every individual line is perfect. The scene is so beautifully set, it's impossible not to feel for the speaker when it closes.

Sad, observant and wryly comic, Absent Friends is the album to give Divine Comedy fans hope. Can't wait for the new album.

Sorry, that was a terrible review of a wonderful record. Please listen to at least a bit of it. Merry Christmas! I'll be back with #6 on Boxing Day. Until then, here's a present, made around the release of this album:

Spotify link.

Wolfmother - Wolfmother [2005]

We enter the Top 20 with one of the greatest, most inventive albums of all time.

On the surface, of course, Wolfmother's Wolfmother (ah, what a title - so succinct, so brilliant) is a subdued affair weighted with intelligence, but beneath the shy exterior there's a roaring beast. Song after song redefines music itself, while the raw tenderness at the album's heart is so powerful it makes me cry.

Woman could be the song The Beatles never wrote: a wistful, longing ode to a love gone by. "Woman," croons Andrew Stockdale. "Woman. She's a woman. Do you know what I mean? You'd better listen - listen to me. Woman." Poetry.

The sound of Wolfmother (there's that wonderful evocative title again!) is heavily and cleverly layered, unsurprising given the involvement of producer Dave Sardy. The mercurial genius has weaved his magic on many a band, always challenging them to do more and re-invent themselves with every release. It's a commitment that has seen him produce classic albums with such ever-innovative bands as Slayer, Oasis and Jet.

From start to finish, Wolfmother is complex and challenging. A subtly beautiful album deserving of its status as a modern classic.

... what? If you're not going to take this inclusion seriously, I'm not going to take the review seriously.

All I'll say in seriousness about Wolfmother's self-titled debut is that it's a great collection of simple loud rock songs. There's no pricking about - just ace tunes with huge guitar solos that should be played at full volume. The greatest compliment I can give is that it reminds me of Led Zeppelin; I must have listened to White Unicorn about 85 times.

So fuck cool - I like it. Although apparently Thom Yorke's a fan. Does that make it cool?

Lemonjelly.ky - Lemon Jelly [2000]

Bit of a cheat, this. Didn't take long, did it?

I'm a bit uneasy about including (the wondrously superb) Lemonjelly.ky in this list because, well, it's not really an album. A collection of their three EPs leading up to its release (two of which were, ahem, made before this decade), Lemonjelly.ky isn't as much of a masterpiece made in a moment of time as a damn good record made over a number of those moments. Does that make sense? Yes? Good, I'm glad you're with me on that.

You might remonstrate: why is it here ahead of Lost Horizons or '64-'95? They're both 'real' albums, and brilliant to boot. Plus '64-'95 has William Shatner on it! Why isn't that on this list instead of a miniature Best Of?

Because Lemonjelly.ky gives a good idea of how its creators were able to make those follow-up albums - and also because it's better (sorry).

In The Bath is a chunky beast that somehow manages to soothe and intimidate at the same time. His Majesty King Raam is lighter than angel tread and can transport a person from a packed London tube to a Philadelphia advert. The Staunton Lick is... well, it's just brilliant, is what it is.

The highlight, though, has to be ident-friendly Homage To Patagonia, a violent two-act epic complete with ponderous keyboard prods, Spanish guitar and heavy breathing that comes together into a seamless montage of aceness (slightly altered version below).

Lemon Jelly have never been afraid to innovate: see their note on '64-'95's cover sleeve for proof of that ("This is our new album. It's not like our old album."), or their replacement of support acts with audience participation overseen by a giant figure of Death (Bingo, anyone?).

But if their two albums hence showed what else they could do, it began here. Who says ambient trip-hop has to always be background music? Who says you can't make nine-minute instrumentals both catchy and inventive? Balls to the lot of you, say Lemon Jelly, before apologising, smiling mischievously and putting on another slice of understated magic.

Lemonjelly.ky might be lacking the happy choruses of Lost Horizons' semi-hit singles Space Walk and Nice Weather For Ducks, but anyone who says it's any less joyful hasn't heard the amazing use of The Staunton Lick to end seminal Channel 4 sitcom Spaced for good.

Something missed by so many tryhards is that instrumentals (come on, they are instrumentals) can put a big stupid smile on your face, and nowhere do Lemon Jelly show that better than on Lemonjelly.ky.

---

Spotify link non-existent because Spotify doesn't have this album because Spotify sucks arse sometimes.

Since I Left You - The Avalanches [2000]

Truly a breakthrough in the world of dance music

- PopMatters

It's downright shocking how fun this is

- The Austin Chronicle

Please, for the love of God, check out Since I Left You

- Drowned in Sound

There's little doubt to Since I Left You's status as one of the most intimate and emotional dance records that isn't vocal-based

- Allmusic

Quite possibly the best sample record ever made

- The Onion AV Club

A masterpiece

- Pitchfork

From the opening chords of Since I Left You to the final refrain, "I tried but I just can't get you, since the day I left you" it's gloriously joyful and about as close to perfection as an improvised record made from 9000-odd samples can be.

Fuck YOU, Lemon Jelly.

Get a drink, have a good time now. Welcome to paradise

'O Brother, Where Art Thou?' The Soundtrack - Various Artists [2000]

The record that launched a thousand careers.

This compilation, soundtrack to what I personally think is the most perfect film ever made (but let's put that aside for now because that's another list no one will agree with), collected the finest crafters of folk and bluegrass the world has to offer, and in return for their rewarding viewers and listeners with unbelievably good music, rewarded these masters of their art with recognition not before known or appreciated.

Sorry, that was a sentence more unnecessarily long than Nelson Mandela's. Heigh-o!

Legends such as Alison Krauss (God, I love her voice), Gillian Welch and even Emmylou Harris do feature, it's true, but it was wonderful to see some appreciation for producer T-Bone Burnett, Dan Tyminski and, yes, Ralph Stanley. On his 75th birthday, he sang O Death - a capella - at the 44th Grammy Awards. I'm sorry, but I just find that unbelievable. In retrospect, it's a miracle Kanye West didn't turn up promising to let them finish but first adding by gum, Bob Dylan was robbed.

Yes, Dylan lost out to the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack for Album of the Year. I imagine he was very happy about it, actually. Fellow losing nominees OutKast and U2 (hah!) were probably less thrilled.

The award, and Stanley's, were just two of five Grammies won by the record - and deservedly, fully deservedly.

Anyone who knows the Coen brothers' films know they care deeply about their soundtracks, and each song fits its moment in the film perfectly, but it works so well in its own right too. To hear modern legends recreate classic bluegrass songs and make them their own is no less than incredible in effect.

Highlights? Ooh, not easy. The Soggy Bottom Boys' acoustic and full band recordings of Man Of Constant Sorrow both go down as classic versions of the song, and rightfully so, thanks to Tyminski's artful arrangement and damn fine singing.

The aforementioned O Death is another fantastic song, crooned with such fragility by Ralph Stanley it's like hearing his soul be ripped apart with his ageing body. But, y'know, more cheerful. Stanley also turns up on album and film closer Angel Band, which is just bloody lovely.

What else? Down To The River To Pray and Didn't Leave Nobody But The Baby are much-admir'd thanks to Alison Krauss' involvement, and they are both beautiful renditions, but credit must also go to Chris Thomas King for his heartbreaking version of Hard Time Killing Floor Blues.

John Hartford is responsible for two gorgeous string-laden instrumentals, there's a brilliant rare 1920s recording in Harry McClintock's Big Rock Candy Mountain (corking song) and actor Tim Blake Nelson has a more than decent stab at In The Jailhouse Now. Give that man a recording contract.

To be honest, there's only one recording on this 19-track album I would call any less than wonderful, and that's because it's excruciating - three pre-teen girls murdering In The Highways. Still, they're young. I'll forgive them.

What an album. What bluegrass. What gospel. What brilliance.

So I suppose the final question is: does this count? I wasn't going to include the album on my list because I wasn't sure if a soundtrack created by various artists should be included on an albums of the decade list. But then I took away the rules and thought about it simply: it's one of the best records of the decade. Simple as that.

How nice. My 100th post on this silly little blog, set up well over a year ago, and I get to celebrate my favourite film as well as one of my favourite albums.

Tomorrow, I'll probably pick the Being John Malkovich soundtrack (does it have one?) just so I can drone on endlessly about the film.

Spotify link.

Only joking.

No, after yesterday's noise and bluster - not from Wolfmother; from people criticising my choices - it's time for something a bit quieter (but probably no less offensive).

Riot On An Empty Street - Kings Of Convenience [2004]

Norwegian nerds Kings Of Convenience are a wonderful oasis of calm in a stressful, shouty world. All gentle acoustic guitar and vocal harmonies, they receive a lot - a LOT - of comparisons to Simon & Garfunkel and with some justification, but with their interest in dance music as well as indie folk (best buds with compatriots Röyksopp, dontchaknow) they have more strings to their... guitar.

Riot On An Empty Street sees Kings Of Convenience at their best, even if their most famous song (and admittedly one of their best) Toxic Girl will be found on their debut release, Quiet Is The New Loud. This, their second album, is understated, lyrically superb and wonderfully melodic - if you don't believe me, try the Spotify link (with the previously missing #20 and #21 also there).

Although plugged-in jumpers Love Is No Big Truth and I'd Rather Dance With You (featuring the winning line, "I'll make you laugh by acting like the guy who sings") do stand out, it's naturally the slower tracks that really impress. Gold In The Air Of Summer is a luscious ballad and so is Surprise Ice, while aptly titled closing track The Build Up, featuring gorgeous vocals from Canadian singer Feist, is just excellent - no less.

String-led Stay Out Of Trouble is another cracker, but the album's highlight for me is Sorry Or Please, a heartfelt tale about prison redemption and the possible end of a relationship. Its nervous see-sawing between being fearful and being hopeful - "Your increasingly long embraces: are they saying sorry or please?" - is wondrous in its emotion, as lush strings add further tension.

There's a very sweet shyness in the album's lyrics (again, evident in Toxic Girl) that adds to the general loveliness of it all:

Even if I could hear what you said
I doubt my reply would be interesting for you to hear

Riot On An Empty Street is intelligent, soulful and tender, as well as being the best album for relaxation you'll ever hear. And having just watched The Thick Of It, I think we need it.

Spotify link: #19. Riot On An Empty Street - Kings Of Convenience

Spotify link: #20. Wolfmother - Wolfmother

Spotify link: #21. Shootenanny! - Eels

Love And Theft - Bob Dylan [2001]

To release your 31st studio album is pretty impressive. To still be touring 300 days of the year aged 60 is quite an achievement too. To use those rare days off to record one of the best albums you've ever made in a 40-year career is just plain extraordinary.

And it is. It really, really is. With no exaggeration, I would genuinely place Love And Theft in a top five - even top three - list of Bob Dylan albums, with the legendary likes of The Freewheelin' and Bringing It All Back Home.

Dear God, it's a good record. Where to start? Dylan opts for Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum, a song that sets the tone and pace of the album with a rolling, rollicking delta blues rhythm. It's not the strongest song on the album, but it's great fun.

The desperate regret of Mississippi provides a superb follow-up, creating intrigue and empathy in the bars of an easygoing melody. Then Elvis takes over for Summer Days, at least if the opening guitar riff is anything to go by - except Elvis didn't reach 60 in time to sing:

Well, I'm drivin' in the flats in a Cadillac car
The girls all say, "You're a worn-out star"
My pockets are loaded and I'm spending every dime
How can you say you love someone else when you know it's me all the time?

Well, I had to go down and see a guy named Mr. Goldsmith
A nasty, dirty, double-crossin', back-stabbin' phony I didn't want to have to be dealin' with
But I did it for you
And all you gave me was a smile

With a thumping bass drum, tambourine and deathrattle groans for backing vocals, High Water is musically stunning. It transfixes you. Indeed, it's so good the whole of the Richard Gere/Billy The Kid segment of the film I'm Not There appears to have been made just so this song could be included. Then you have Dylan's typically marvellous scene-setting, of course:

They got Charles Darwin trapped out there on Highway 5
Judge says to the High Sheriff, "I want him dead or alive.
"Either one - I don't care."
High water everywhere

As for Dylan's love-it-or-hate-it singing voice, he finally seems to have found the husky old-timer's hushed whisper he's always wanted. Since the age of 21 he's done an impression of an old man with a whisky-sozzled blues croak; now he has it, it sounds damn good.

What with Love And Theft, modern classic Modern Times, the even better Together Through Life (in which his vocals hit their absolute best) and his incomparable Christmas album, this decade has turned out to be pretty fruitful for Dylan fans. Here's to another.

Spotify, you're really not impressing me at the moment - less, even, than YouTube, which has NO videos of songs from this album in their original arrangement (Dylan fucks about with them live).

Tomorrow: the album of the decade, revealed on its last day. Gasp in shock! Choke in horror! Roll your eyes in indifference!

Two Suns - Bat For Lashes [2009]

Two Suns, like Natasha Khan aka Bat For Lashes herself, is one of those irritating creations I can't describe very well for people who haven't heard it.

This is, as I'm sure you appreciate, a pretty poor state of affairs for someone donning the cloak of reviewer, but in a way I'd rather that than reel off a string of words and phrases that make no sense - like 'soundscapes', which I find myself using more than I'd like in describing music such as this.

Musically, Two Suns is awash with beauty (bollocks, failed already). I've heard the genre described as 'dream pop', and while I can't say with any certainty what that is, it sounds about right - listening to Two Suns is like watching psychedelic colours appear before your eyes and dance in no particular pattern (argh).

Synesthaetic balls aside, it provides a perfect backdrop for Khan's amazing vocals.

Her voice is quite simply beautiful, so much so you can easily excuse the slightly presumptuous decision to begin the album with almost unbacked vocals (yeah, Matt Bellamy couldn't get away with that). Opening track Glass is, as it happens, possibly the best song on Two Suns and certainly the best example of her singing. Hell, I'd love her a capella.

Other highlights include choir-backed Peace Of Mind, Good Love and in particular Sleep Alone, one of the few songs to feature a really thumping chorus; most offerings are much more subtle, and better for it. Sleep Alone benefits, though, from the emphatic treatment: it's like remixing Björk into an indie floorfiller.

I can't pretend to understand Two Suns - apparently it's a concept album about her alter ego, Pearl - but fortunately I don't have to pretend to like it. Warmly superb and fully deserving of its Mercury nomination, it's undeniable proof second albums don't have to be difficult.

Not sure about her decision to let Scott Walker warble over the end, though.

Spotify link.

Youth & Young Manhood - Kings Of Leon [2003]

Now HERE'S a band who didn't take an ill-advised step towards the mainstream upon becoming famous!

Kings Of Leon's debut album is still one of the most optimistic sounds of the decade even now, six years and chav anthem Sex On Fire down the line. Its raucous riffs and scathing lyrics brought back a bygone era of blues-rock, but with an added sense of fun.

The Followill family - one cousin and three brothers, one of whom (bassist Jared) is sickeningly young, being 16 when the album was released and having learned the bass in the month before their first release - were famously indoctrinated into the Lawd from an early age, having a travelling Evangelist minister for a father (or in one case, uncle). Complete with raw talent, Southern music values and a rare combination of youthful exuberance and world-weary wisdom - not to mention beards - they offered something different, and considerably better, to an overstocked indie market.

Their first adolescent offering Youth & Young Manhood delivered in exactly the way it needed to. Packed with alternative anthems (Molly's Chambers, Red Morning Light) but in full knowledge of the need for some slow temperance (Trani and the brilliant Dusty), it's well-balanced, uplifting and, beneath the surface, very dirty.

A selection of lyrics from the album:

You always like it undercover
Tucked in between your dirty sheets
But no one's even done nothin' to ya
In between the hollers and the screams

Cheap trick hookers that are hanging out at the bar in the Greyhound station
And the bare-chested boys that are going down on everything that the momma believes

On our knees, we'll feast on the sex show
They all come to the party and there's four to every stall
It gets frustratin', just pissin' on this wall

White, barenaked in the night, just looking for some play
It's OK, I'll give it anyway - just get me out of here
You'll plead, you'll get down on your knees for just another taste

What a voice though. There's a cliché about singers such as he: that they've been 'gargling with razorblades'. Apart from the fact their beards (now gone, sadly) suggest they probably didn't own razorblades at the time, it's more a case of smoking 89 fags a day and drinking whisky-flavoured sewage. Every strangled yelp is a delight, from the end of Trani to the end of Joe's Head. At points his voice just gives out altogether, which somehow makes it even better.

Final song (secret track Talihina Sky excluded) and best on the album (nothing excluded) Holy Roller Novocaine is a real puzzler in this respect: you presume it's about sex because all the other songs are, and it is - but what the hell is he saying in the chorus? "I don't give a damn"? "Love's gonna get us there"? It's "Lord's gonna get us back" apparently, which gives you a good example of the tone of the album's two founding principles: sex and religious determinism.

And what good principles they are.

Great voice, great band (still - just), great first offering.

Spotify link.

I Am A Bird Now - Antony & The Johnsons [2005]

I think it's fair to say Antony & The Johnsons are a band destined to split opinion: like Marmite and Manchester United, you either love them or hate them. And from hearing them for the first time up until fairly recently, I hated them.

Well, hated may be a strong word but I was certainly annoyed at all the hype. This appeared to be a band driving their USP - Antony Hegarty's unbelievably beautiful/unbelievably stupid (the clincher that divides opinion) voice - so firmly you were forced to wonder if they had anything else to recommend them.

Initially, I Am A Bird confirmed this for me. The deliberately sparse instrumentation placed too much emphasis on Hegarty's vocals, like an expensive table being placed in the middle of a scarcely-furnished room with the host standing behind you saying, "Look at this nice table. Isn't it a nice table?" The album relied too much, and too obviously, upon his voice.

But in time I've realised I was wrong, as I so often am. In fact, Hegarty only has sole dominion over the vocals in half of the tracks, thanks to contributions from Rufus Wainwright (the short and sweet What Can I Do?), Boy George (the wonderful You Are My Sister) and even Lou Reed (Fistful Of Love, another excellent track). He's happy to share the wealth to create an album of riches.

[Song from 0:12 to 2:40]

Furthermore, the album's minimalist sound isn't to brazenly show off his vocals, but to accompany them in the most appropriate way. They wouldn't work as well, or even at all, over anything loud, complicated or even fast (although this is a decent effort). The music compliments as well as complements Hegarty's voice.

Also, it's, y'know, good. Judging the backing only by how it presents the obvious is to do it a massive disservice. Although I'm personally not a fan of the rising crescendo of opening offering Hope There's Someone, which appeared in every 'Single of the Year' list, I do love the similar effect created in For Today I Am A Boy with a passion similar to that bestowed in each and every song.

Strings, too, which can make or destroy a record, are used to astonishingly good effect, turning nice into beautiful again and again (brilliant closing number Bird Guhl providing a good example). Fistful Of Love, meanwhile, concludes with a brass invasion that is no less than hugely uplifting.

I Am A Bird Now is, I have realised, superb from start to finish. Even extended sample Free At Last is there on merit, instead of merely delaying the end. And lyrically, it's just lovely: when a song with the chorus, "You are my sister and I love you - may all of your dreams come true" avoids being saccharine, you know he can write.

An album, and artist, I'm happy to have been wrong about.

Spotify link.

Changes in life, however small, can make you think quite deeply. New purchases can help us to take on fresh challenges, do new things and achieve our dreams. They can draw a line in the sand between the old and the new; the past and the present; the present and the future. They can represent a new you, or help you to develop the old one.

And I can write this on my new laptop in half the time it usually takes because Microsoft Word isn't crashing every few sentences.

An Impolite Police (Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love To Rant)
Bye Bye Beijing - Time for a Whole Lotta London
Here Comes the Science
Tories and YouTubers in 'Sense of Humour Failure' Shocker
Picture Puzzle: Another Prick In The Wall

Forgive me while I go a bit Daily Express "It's a bloody outrage" on you, but I find myself increasingly disturbed upon hearing about policemen and women abusing their authority. I'm not talking about inside men on bank heists or anything – this isn't The Bill – but minor violations of the law committed for no reason. They show there are a lot of officers who feel that because they wear a police badge they can do whatever the hell they want.

This week I read that a man was arrested for taking a photo of a policeman who had driven through a 'no entry' sign (well, not literally, but you know what I mean). Andrew Carter generously pointed out the officer's mistake, to which PC Aqil Farooq responded, "F*ck off, this is police business." Carter took a photo of the van and its driver, and Farooq, suddenly abandoning whatever business he had in the Bristol chip shop that was so important he could ignore road signs, ran out and knocked the camera from his hand. He then arrested Carter for being drunk and disorderly, resisting arrest and assaulting an officer of the law (none of which happened). Carter was handcuffed, had his fingerprints taken, was forced to give a DNA sample and spent five hours in gaol before being released on bail.

Somewhat defeating the object of opinion-writing journalism, I don't have much to say about this story, except that it makes me very angry. Yes, I know that most police officers aren’t like Farooq and that it's just an isolated incident blown up by a self-righteous alarmist press etc. etc., but I'm firmly of the opinion that anyone in a responsible public position – be they a politician or a lowly policeman – should have to pay the consequences for any deliberate misdeeds made on duty. Everyone makes mistakes, sure, but this wasn't a mistake. It was deliberate false arrest and wrongful imprisonment. Farooq showed that he was making a mockery of his job and, quite simply, should have been sacked.

Instead, he was made to apologise in person to Andrew Carter. Well, that’s all right then. Let bygones be bygones, let water pass under the bridge and let Farooq do it again to some other poor unsuspecting sod. Because he hasn't learnt his lesson. Why would he have done?

I've never liked the idea of having to apologise to someone being a punishment. When you're a child, maybe. But when you're an adult committing a professional crime, it's not quite enough, somehow. Farooq's boss also said, "he acknowledged what he did was wrong", which is taken straight out of the mouth of a chiding parent.

Pathetic. Sorry, is that not tabloid enough? It sickens me to the very core. That's better.

It's not often I agree with an idea suggested in a letter to The Daily Telegraph. I do enjoy reading them, usually for the terrified paranoia that Britain is going to be invaded by immigrant criminals at the behest of port-swilling Brussels bureaucrats (or the glum acceptance that it's already happened), but rarely do I agree with anything they're saying.

But one reader proposed that, if the British Government is so desperate for London 2012 Olympics money (and it is), it should make use of the fervour currently sweeping the nation and ask for voluntary donations to the fund. Good idea.

The public will have to put up some money anyway, and possibly for a long time afterward: Montreal hosted the Olympics in 1976, and Quebecian taxpayers were still paying for the main stadium, 'The Big O(we)', in December 2006 – more than 30 years later. Since no one likes taxes, raising them nearer the time to pay for the Olympics will make whomsoever is running the country by then very unpopular. It makes sense to ask for some of that money now, rather than demand it later. You may mock, but people have got carried away in the excitement of it all, especially since this British success has come as such a surprise (doesn't it always?). Ask the public to put its money where its mouth is and while it's still agape with shock, cash should come flowing out. Well, some will anyway; I'm not expecting millions to miraculously materialise overnight. But you never know.

The Beijing Olympics have, after all, provided an incredible spectacle. It takes some effort to sweep human rights abuses and some of the highest levels of air pollution in the developed world under the red carpet but by gum, they managed it (Chinese efficiency, you see). The opening ceremony stunned everyone into silence – even nine-year-old Lin Miaoke, who was meant to be singing – and the athletes did their bit too. I can even forgive Usain Bolt for being only two months older than me, because he's my kind of athlete. It's been a literally marvellous showcase of sport and athletics performed by competitors at the peak of their powers – exactly how the Olympics should be.

And most importantly for Britain in these crucial Games, we've done pretty well. 47 medals including 19 golds, placing Team GB 4th in the medals table, has shown that we'll be ready even if our stadiums won't. Cycling, sailing, rowing: it just goes to show that if we plucky Brits put our mind to it, we can be worldbeaters... as long as we're allowed to sit down.

And the British people want a great London Olympics. They're feeling inspired, but in all likelihood, most of them are too lazy to go down the gym or get the bike out of the garage; why not exploit their nationalistic euphoria by relieving them of their money and make them feel like they're contributing?

(Since you ask: no, I won't be paying anything.)

I did find it interesting, though, to hear that Led Zeppelin had to change the lyrics to Whole Lotta Love, which was performed at the handover ceremony on Sunday. Apparently "I'm gonna give you every inch of my love" is a bit risqué. It makes sense, perhaps, to change the line to "every bit of my love" – especially since Leona Lewis was singing it and, well, being a woman she doesn't have any inches to speak of – but it did remind me a bit of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' appearance on The Simpsons:

"The network has a problem with some of your lyrics. Do you mind changing them for the show?"

"Our lyrics are like our children, man – no way."

"OK, but here where it says, 'What I got you gotta get and put it in ya', how about just, 'What I'd like is I'd like to hug and kiss ya'?"

"Wow, that's much better. Everyone can enjoy that."

Personally, I find it ironic that in a celebration of Britain's emerging young talent, the music was provided by aged rockers reforming after nearly 30 years. Still, at least they're brilliant. It could so easily have been Take That.

One of my bête noirs – the one that isn't pretentious use of French – is scientists coming up with utterly useless discoveries.

Sometimes they're already obvious, sometimes they're just completely inapplicable to anything and sometimes they're both, but they happen all the time. If it's not a geneticist declaring that black parents have black children, it's a behavioural analyst claiming that people who had a happy childhood are more socially able than those who spent their formative years crying in a box. One case that irritated me last year was a study erroneously and irresponsibly claiming that pupils born later in the school year do "significantly worse" than those born up to a year earlier. My vitriol on that report has already been spent here.

Now Dr Will Brown has 'discovered' that men find "shorter, slimmer females with long slender legs, a curvy figure and larger breasts" most physically attractive. Well... obviously.

What is the point in dedicating time and money to this study? Even if the report has a scientific revelation somewhere (and I'm not sure it does), surely there is little merit in its results because everybody already knew them. It's so stupid. You get the feeling, too, that he would have found this out a lot quicker just by observing life had he not spent his in the lab.

The study also found that people prefer symmetry in a face, defusing the argument that "Everyone loves a face with character" (a character with a face, that's what you want). Again, we know this. And what exactly can you do as a result of these findings anyway? Get a face transplant? New body dimensions? Why would a scientist bother wasting his intelligence on investigating such a pointless issue?

It's not easy to make this argument as someone who wants to write for a living. After all, what am I doing to change the world? Would it be fair for me to say that anyone who commits themselves to a life of research should make sure it's cancer-related? No. But their research could at least be useful. And I personally don't believe that, when he was studying, Dr Will Brown dreamt he could one day blow apart the myth that most men are physically attracted to tall women with broad shoulders and no breasts. All we can do is hope that these people look inside themselves and use their experience more responsibly.

But I'm not hopeful. "In his next study, Dr Brown plans to prove how attractively tall men with short legs are able to dance."

WHY?

You can, of course, take the 'time and money' argument too far, as the Conservative Party did this week. I don't know if it was them personally or the Official Opposition line that has to be taken on things like this, but it did not endear me to Cameron & Co. in the slightest.

The Government recently released a short video response to the online petition asking for Jeremy Clarkson to become Prime Minister. Watch it here. It's less than a minute long and seems to have been made with a handheld video camera and Microsoft PowerPoint. No10 themselves admitted, "A member of staff put it together in a spare half-hour."

And what's the Tories' response? "While the British public is having to tighten its belt the Government is spending taxpayers' money on a completely frivolous project. This shows how detached the Labour Party has become from the concerns of the British people."

They're not alone. Some of the many angry YouTube comments include "waste of tax money" and "why are they using my money to make youtube videos?"

Surely this is some sort of joke? How much money can that video have cost? And isn't it good that the Government should try to cheer up a despondent public in the middle of a recession? Even if you'd rather politicians stuck to business, it would be insane to claim this is betraying the taxpayer. But that's what the Conservative Party is doing.

Grow up and get a sense of humour.

A fantastic action photo from England's 2-2 draw with the Czech Republic prompted me to think about its deeper meaning. Look closely at the England players in a wall and see what you can learn from their reactions to the free kick being taken. You may see more than you think.

(With thanks to Action Images, WNSL and The Daily Telegraph)

From right to left:

Beckham - distant from the rest, he looks on with barely feigned interest from his safe spot in America/at the far end of the wall. Also stupid enough not to know where his balls are.

Barry - trying hard but looks uneasy not in the middle and has Lampard and Gerrard standing in the way of a link-up with Rooney.

Lampard - wrestling for space with Gerrard and Barry. Higher than the rest but for how long?

Gerrard - holding his breath. So are we, Stevie.

Rooney - ugly bastard.

Ashley Cole - not the face. Or the balls - I need those for, uh, Cheryl. Jump? What do you mean, jump?

Icky Thump - The White Stripes [2007]

By ’ick, we’re into the Top Ten.

Most of these end-of-decade lists have had a White Stripes record or two numbered in their ranks – clearly they’re an ‘important’ band (hmm) – and in that respect mine is no different.

However, unlike the others I’ve not chosen the admittedly impressive Elephant (2003), the deeply flawed but intermittently excellent White Blood Cells (2001), or even fan favourite De Stijl (2000). Nope, I’m plumping for this baby, Meg and Jack’s sixth outing and in my view, their most accomplished to date.

There are so many good songs on Icky Thump it’s hard to know where to begin. The quite phenomenally good acoustic closing number Effect And Cause? The exhilarating country-rock merriment of You Don’t Know What Love Is? The bottleneck blues mix of Dylan and Led Zeppelin on 300mph Torrential Outpour Blues? There’s not a bad track in sight.

It seems the Detroit duo still haven’t come home to roost: after embracing English culture and recording studios with their two previous records, Icky Thump, despite the bastardisation of Mrs. Jack White’s Lancastrian exclamation ‘Hecky thump’ in the title, has more of a Celtic lilt to it. Look no further than Jim Drury’s bagpipes mid-record, which fit far better than they have any right to.

It’s not the only inspiration from leftfield: I’m Slowly Turning Into You was born from a music video. Michel Gondry directed a video with no backing, then Jack wrote the song to it. How, then, it came to be one of the best songs on the album I have no idea.

Lyrically, Icky Thump shows The White Stripes to be a touch more mature than in previous efforts. Reminiscing about school and adolescence is gone in favour of political pokery (“Americans – what, nothing better to do? Why don’t you kick yourself out? You’re an immigrant too”) and, in the superb blues song Effect And Cause, wry observations on blame-casting in a break-up:

I ain’t sayin’ I’m innocent – in fact, the reverse
But if you’re headed to the grave you don’t blame the hearse
You’re like a little girl yelling at her brother ’cos you lost his ball

After the piano pop disappointment of Get Behind Me Satan, it’s also heartening to hear a return for Jack’s incredible electric guitar skills. There are solos aplenty, but it’s not self-indulgent; indeed, on I’m Slowly Turning Into You Jack hides a virtuoso solo behind a vocal outro.

Catch Hell Blues is the closest you’ll get to guitar-wank, with White basically having a good time on a slide guitar for four minutes. Naturally he’s very good, but the whole effect isn’t as bluesy as you feel he would like. Still a good song though.

It’s an album of instant hits (even shy ballad A Martyr For My Love For You is ripped up into an uplifting rocker), which is why I find it odd they released Conquest as a single, the mariachi-punk cover of Patti Page’s classic. It’s hardly the White Stripes at their best, even if it is great fun.

Quibbles all. Icky Thump is a fantastic record – surely The White Stripes’ best in my opinion, even if no one shares that view – and it would be nice, really, if Jack White stopped fucking around and got on with making the follow-up.

Spotify link