Frank Ocean, Blonde: Track By Track Review (PART 1)

I have spent an unhealthy amount of time since 2012 complaining about Frank Ocean not releasing a follow up to the Grammy award winning ‘channel orange’. However this week the LA based singer released ‘Blonde’ as an Apple Music exclusive, much to the surprise and excitement of everyone in the world. As this album has been so exciting and epic (lasting just over an hour) I feel that the only fair review would be a pain-staking track by track review… Hold on tight.

Nikes

As the track begins I immediately thought “this is going to be the album of the year”, a deep ethereal bass line and distortion (which ultimately links this album together) caught me immediately. A pitched up Ocean sings about the trappings of greed and excess, referencing OD’d rappers such as A$AP Yams and Pimp C. The songs tone is rather miserable, Frank is tired of fakers, clingers on and all this money. It seems like on ‘Blonde’, he is searching for a bit of purity and joy- how fitting that this song makes me feel the same.

Ivy

The first of ‘Blonde’s many love songs. Ocean’s dreamy voice begins to shine on this track mores than it’s predecessor. The simplicity of this track makes ‘Ivy’ feel very idealistic and rose tinted, supported by lyrics of a childhood love completely lost (perhaps the same guy that Ocean yearned for on channel orange?). Although slightly edgeless, the truth of ‘Ivy’ is very enjoyable- something quite accessible to everyone that listens. 

Pink+White

At this point, Frank Ocean decides to flex his musical muscles with a playful and creative summer jam without the cheese. The gentle sound effects of tweeting birds launches you into the LA sunshine, and more specifically the beautiful imagination of Frank Ocean. This is the song that I wanted in June so I could spend my summer holiday smiling wild with headphones in. The song seems to branch further than the often simplistic R&B tropes of ‘channel orange’ with slightly less scale than songs like ‘Pyramids’ and ‘Lost. This is the sound of summer.

Be Yourself

A voice message from Frank’s mum telling him not to do drugs, judging by the subject matter of ‘Blonde’ he did not listen very well.

Solo

A far more swaggering and confident song, with a melodic gospel edge. No one really knows where Frank Ocean has been for the past four years, but I think this song gives a few clues. Judging by ‘Solo’; he has been driving cars, smoking weed and having sex. This chilled out ode to the green is perfect for long evenings doing nothing, it is almost Frank letting us know that it is all good in the end. It’s hell on earth, the city’s on fire/ Inhale, in hell there’s heaven.

Skyline To

Perhaps the two most significant things about this song, no one will realise. The first is this that the hazy guitar plucking and alien-esque whine production is by Tyler, the Creator (something that came as a huge surprise as the Odd Future rapper is known for his bombastic and cartoon take on music). The simplistic shouts of smoke! which complete this beautifully mellow Californian love letter is none other than Kendrick Lamar, the biggest rapper of this generation. Further proof that Frank Ocean can do whatever the hell he wants.

Self Control

Everyone I ask about ‘Blonde’, they tell me instantaneously that ‘Self Control’ is their favourite. It is effortlessly acoustic and romantic. The vocals by Austin Feinstein of Sleepy Hollows are a haunting accompaniment. The final moments are heart breaking, an outro to be reckoned with. However, for me, I do not see the appeal of the song. Maybe it is too wet, maybe it is too acoustic, maybe I just have no taste.

Good Guy

A lot has changed in four years. Something I find quite notable about the quick interlude ‘Good Guy’ is that Ocean can easily sing about a meaningless meet up with a dude and have no one make a deal out of it. Frank Ocean’s legacy will not just be a musician but as one of the first openly queer black male artists, a generation definer.

Blossoms, Blossoms Album Review

Blossoms’ self titled first album is frustrating, especially when trying to review. There seems to be nothing of any merit or value to begin to write about. Within the 41 minute LP of twelve songs there is actually nothing really worth discussing in depth. Like a discarded cigarette butt on your local high street, it does not warrant you to look any closer.

The band look like Temples, the band look like Horrors, the band look like Catfish and the Bottlemen. Blossoms follow in a long line of British indie bands that look like some teenagers with long hair. It feels that much of their songs have been lifted from bands that have been and gone. ‘At Most A Kiss’ is frighteningly similar to ‘Personal Jesus’ by Depeche Mode and closing track follows the jaunty hip-hop rhythm of ‘AM’. The Stockport band have no originality. Within the 12 tracks there includes one slow song (‘Onto Her Bed’), one acoustic song (‘My Favourite Room’) and one hit (‘Charlamange’). The latter of these is a bona fide ear worm, but does not make up for every other song being forgotten after even the fifth listen.

This album is not bad, but it certainly is in no way good. It is mundane, inoffensive, pedestrian. If Blossoms was a Haribo, it would be a milk bottle. 

Who's Who In Reading Festival

There are also some really good places in the UK, such as Thorpe Park. But there are also some really crap places in the UK, such as Aldershot. Reading Festival, the most important Bank Holiday for teenagers, is neither good nor bad. It’s diverse line up (this year stretching from Big Narstie to Asking Alexandria) the actual punters are a total cross section of British youth. But there are certainly a few people you will meet as you drag your old DofE rucksack through miles of piss soaked fields. Here are the drugs they’re taking, what they have on, and of course what they will be listening to…

Coachella Bae

These went to your secondary school and then somehow followed you to college. They have extremely long snapchat stories and seem to have gone out every single weekend since about year nine. The male version of the ‘Coachella Bae’ bring duffel bags to class and will never have a pen. At Reading Festival expect them to be ill-prepared in terms of footwear, covered in rushed henna and inviting people to sit on their laps around the campsite. 

What Drugs Are They Taking?

Cannabis, MDMA, Nos

What Are They Wearing?

Bumbags, Flower Crowns, Glitter, Cut Denim, Glitter, Braids, Glitter, Anything that could be perceived as culturally appropriative 

Who Are They Listening To?

A$AP Rocky, Imagine Dragons, Sigma, The 1975

Roadman

The fastest growing sub-culture in the UK. Usually can be found around your local McDonald or in a VW Golf. Each of them has a small man bag with crackers and a pack of balloons in. They desperately want to have a fight with you and spend their weeknights on The Basement. At Reading they will probably try to mosh to every song going, wear a waterproof in the blazing sunshine and inexplicably will spit at everything. Long live the Grime takeover. 

What Drugs Are They Taking?

MDMA, Pills, Ketamine, Frosted Jacks

What Are They Wearing?

The North Face, Nike, Adidas, Supreme, Palace, Stone Island, Anything your Dad used to wear when he was a hooligan

Who Are They Listening To?

My Nu Leng, DJ EZ, Section Boyz, Hannah Wants, Boy Better Know

Indie Kid

They have been counting down for this day since they left Truck Festival. Indie Kids get on with it at Festivals as they’re used to stupidly big crowds and overhype. Usually can be complaining or lusting over the aesthetics of ‘Submarine’ and independent retailers. On Instagram they all have impeccable themes and seem to listen exclusively to vinyl. At the festival expect them to be sat around the campfire mocking those who want to sing Wonderwall and trying to stay warm in their new ‘drug rugs’ from the stupid amount of Charity Shops around the campsite.

What Drugs Are They Taking?

Cannabis, Strongbow

What Are They Wearing?

Hareem Pants, Their Dad’s shirts, Doc Martens, Fishnets, Glitter, Temporary tattoos for children

Who Are They Listening To?

Foals, Slaves, Cage The Elephant, Hinds, The Temper Trap

Private School By Day, Class A By Night

Due to Reading Festival’s proximity to huge amounts of private schools and some pretty good sixth forms, there is an inundation of ‘quite posh’ people. These teenagers can be seen in the VIP booth at your local shitty club, or maybe in Winchester driving their Fiat 500. The thing with these teenagers is that they have spare cash, and 9/10 that ends up in their nostrils. If it is mentioned in the Misuse Of Drugs Act 1971, they will do it- just to pass the time. At Reading Festival expect them to be begging you for gum, perhaps saying ‘Rah’ and looking shifty in the queue. 

What Drugs Are They Taking?

Whatever they can get their hands on

What Are They Wearing?

Hunter Wellingtons, Leavers hoodie, Sunglasses, Neon face paint, Rubgy shirt

Who Are They Listening To?

Red Hot Chili Peppers, Courteeners, Two Door Cinema Club, David Rodigan

“This festival used to be all about the music man”

These are grown up humans going to a music festival in which last year I saw someone snort their own vomit for a fiver. I can only assume that these people cannot be trusted at all ever. If you ever end up in a conversation with them, be prepared to have to explain what Pokemon Go is and why teens nowadays don’t really appreciate the music. Avoid these grown up humans who go just because they have been for the last 20 years. Also avoid their children that will collect empty plastic cups for their parents to get money off the next Carlsberg, they may bite.

What Drugs Are They Taking?

Carlsberg, Luke warm Carlsberg, May be Carlsberg but could be piss

What Are They Wearing?

Leather jackets, Too many piercings, Ripped fishnets, Metallica merchandise

Who Are They Listening To?

Biffy Clyro, Eagles Of Death Metal, Bill Bailey, Frank Turner

Look After Yourself

It is summer and possibly today was the first, of what I imagine will be many, in which I felt genuinely bored. I have had a free house for a few days and various people have passed through the door, it has been nice. But today was a day in which I felt like not seeing people. I don’t know if this is a feeling that many people have. It is a feeling that human contact would make you retch. The complexity of navigating your way through a conversation is too draining for a day like today. So I decided to swim.

I used to swim to a very high standard, competing every weekend and dedicating well over 10 hours to the sport each week. It was a challenge to remain motivated, waking up at stupid o’clock and sustaining shoulder injuries regularly. I gave up swimming at college, the strain of A-Levels was far too much and something had to go. College does that to people, makes them give up on things they love. I wish I realised before it all finished that what I needed to do was look after myself and not just my grades. 

The swim reminded me of the beauty of concentration. My mind was focused on the stroke, how my hand was entering the water, my breathing pattern and the pace of each turn I completed. The swimming coaches I had encountered in my life seemed to still be glaring at me from poolside, expecting my technique to be spot on and ultimately going to berate me. My body was free from the confinements of dry land, there was no external pressure on me, just myself and the water. As I focused on the stroke, I realised this was another form of looking after myself. Not just body, but my mind.

There are hundreds of ways to ‘look after yourself’ and not all are going to work for you. I’ve recently been using the ‘Headspace’ app, a simple and well designed meditation tool for anyone. It isn’t too bad, friendly graphics and calming voices. However my mind struggles to slow down enough to have a blank mind, something pretty key to meditation. I can’t count my breathes when my imagination runs amuck. 

Something else, that I can recommend is talking- especially for men. For centuries the male emotional spectrum has been discouraged and limited. I know that I am three times more likely to kill myself than my girlfriend is, purely down to my gender. So to avoid becoming part of that sobering statistic, I talk. I talk all the time about what I am feeling, whether that be happy or sad. When I talk, my problems seem far smaller than what they are in the theatre of my mind. Sometimes it isn’t easy to find that one person who will listen and respect your privacy, but there is someone out there who will listen without judgement and will care.

So if you are bored this summer, look after yourself. Your body and mind are the only things you were born with and the only things you’ll die with.

99.9%, Kaytranada Review

Although 99.9% being Canadian born Kaytranda’s (real name Louis Kevin Celestin) first full length endeavour. He is in no way a newcomer to the Dance/R&B scene. He started posting on Soundcloud in the early 10s, gaining notoriety especially with his reworking of Janet Jackson’s ‘If’. In 2016, he is one of the most desirable producers around, with credits on Chance’s and Azealia Bank’s most recent efforts. On 99.9% Kaytranda pushes the groove and cool to the max for possibly the best album for this Summer. 

Kaytranada has managed to transfer the energy of the club and his live shows directly onto record with 99.9%. Songs such as ‘TRACK UNO’ and ‘ONE TOO MANY’ are explosive and meaty in production, the latter having more layers than a feud between Taylor Swift and the Kardashains. ‘VIVID DREAMS’, ‘DRIVE ME CRAZY’ and ‘LEAVE ME ALONE’ rely in part on their heavy bass- reminiscent of some Celestin’s earlier work such as ‘Holy Hole Inna Donut’, these tracks excite and are perfect for any late night drive. 99.9% isn’t necessarily a party or BBQ album as the exquisite detail of his samples and drum fills make it difficult background music. However, songs such as ‘BUS RIDE’ and ‘LITE SPOTS’ are fantastic for solitary listening in the sweltering heat. Kaytranada’s off kilter style is pleasing and undoubtably enjoyable in the sunshine.

A major crime of this album is its amount of filler. Admittedly each song has its own merit, yet many are too stagnated. ‘DESPITE THE WEATHER’ is pretty uninteresting until the final vocal sample of Sway talking about Kaytranada, a swaggering moment for the often low key producer. The strongest moment of 99.9% is ‘GLOWED UP’ featuring the impressive Anderson .Paak, his mix of interesting bars and a glowing chorus stands out right in the middle of the album. Apart from a far too glossy feature by Craig David, Kaytranada has chosen some of the coolest artists to be on his LP. Most notably, The Internet’s Syd on ‘YOU’RE THE ONE’ further proving she is one of the strongest voices in modern Neo-Soul.

It is fitting that Kaytranada has named his album 99.9%. An undoubtably brilliant body of work with some exceptional production, yet missing something that would make the music world call it one of the top LPs of the year. 9.9/10.

Massive Attack, British Summer Time

In a post-Brexit UK, people are angry. Especially in the capital in which a vast majority voted to remain in the European Union. Upon seeing Massive Attack in February I knew their live sets were politically charged to the max. Whether it be the refugee crisis or the vapidity of celebrity gossip, the Bristol trip-hoppers have a political voice that cannot be quenched. 

The music at British Summer Time was fantastic during the day. Support sets by Ghostpoet, Shura and Warpaint stood out as haunting and professional- aware that people didn’t pay for them so stuck to the blindingly good hits. Patti Smith disappointed with bland calls to arms for “fuck the system and big corporations”, the irony of there being a huge Barclaycard logo behind was lost to the punk veteran. Although impossible to escape big brand marketing and £8 pulled pork burgers, the festival is certainly all about the music and especially the headliners Massive Attack.

Opening with a chilling reproduction of ‘United Snakes’ I was silenced. The visible band (I’m certain many more were behind the scenes) were so professional and sombre, it was like watching an orchestra. To an extent, the entire show was formal. With such a wild stage design with a huge LED panel with complex and shocking imagery it is difficult to stray from what is rehearsed. Some moments lacked emotion, with songs such as ‘Inertia Creeps’ leaving me wanting to curl up and cry at the prospect of Article 50. My Brexit anxiety hit its peak at ‘Eurochild’, last performed in 1998, Robert Del Naja begged us not to give into “the bigots and the racism” before flooding the stage with an EU blue.

Massive Attack are known for their collaborators, this being one of their biggest shows of the year, the band pulled out all the stops. Young Fathers (whom Massive Attack called “future headliners”) launched onto stage to perform four songs; ‘Voodoo Blood’, ‘Old Rock n Roll’ ‘Shame’ and ‘He Needs Me’. Their passionate performance style injected life into Massive Attack’s storming set but helped upkeep the fear and anxiety. A surprise for many was the guest spot of contemporary Tricky as the band had shared a mutual disharmony with him for many years. In comparison to the professionalism of 3D and Del Naja, Tricky was a bull in a china shop and difficult to love or get into due to his low pulled cap. A single song and then off, the beef is yet to be quashed. The standout guest was the inimitable Horace Andy (leg broken from a motorcycle accident) who sang Angel as the stage shone a bright white, the crowds were silent and arms just raised. 

The encore, pre tempted by an honest display of Syrian refugees- highlighting our own privilege, was certainly the standout of the night. As a string section entered slowly it was clear that Unfinished Symphony would be played. The audience, hearing one of the most iconic 90s songs, was silently joyful. A few hugs and a few smiles at strangers, but nothing more. Perhaps Massive Attack are not curing, but their burgeoning live presence certainly serves as catharsis. 

Drug Store Romeos, Interview

The state of the UK is unwell, a gap of young and old has appeared. Even in the local Morrisons that Drug Store Romeos’ guitarist Charlie Henderson works at part time “the cashiers hate old people, they’ve fucked us over”. It is true that there is a divide both in age and ideology surrounding the UK’s independence within the EU, but the trio from Fleet feel that may be stepping into Indie Rock as a genre too. 

Although in no ways disappointed with the scene and its growing newcomers such as Rat Boy, The Magic Gang and Spring King they all feel a bit let down. Jonny (their drummer) claims that the constantly touring bands don’t have anything to get into and they’re lacking any “story”. This is undeniably true, Spring King are almost straight edge, The Magic Gang aren’t anything to obsess over and “everyone hates Rat Boy”. It’s clear as day to Drug Store Romeos, they are the band that everyone has been waiting for. A mixture of good songs, image and just enough weird to make young Indie kids froth at their mouths.

Originally Jonny and Charlie were seriously into Punk, more specifically 80s Hardcore. The boys loved it so much that they tried to re-enact it well over thirty years later. With others, they recorded a “really bad” album and played a hoard of old school pubs and clubs full of “old bald men”. Although the band were gaining some success, the image of a life of playing to old men was not appealing. At this point a Facebook post was written, and Sarah Downie was pulled in for lead vocals and bass guitar.

It is still unclear as to what Drug Store Romeos are in terms of sound. Citing influences from Echochamp, Joy Division, Sunflower Bean and FIDLAR there seems to be no honest genre that the band want to fit into just yet. One name keeps popping up over and over again however, Foxygen. “Their songs are all conceptual, we wanna have those moments [of creativity]. Like moments when Sarah will sing French interludes”. Another key influence is Kate Bush, especially in Sarah’s delivery and lyricism. The band’s desire to shy away from labels and just make experimental Indie Rock is what Charlie thinks will find them their place in the industry; “a committed band, that are cool, and psychedelic”.

Sarah’s place as frontman has a few annoying moments, usually in the form of two words; Wolf Alice. Townie admits “I really love Wolf Alice, but I don’t want to sound like them at all. If you love someone too much you begin to reproduce them”. Early in the band’s demos, people have already started trying to make comparisons to the London four piece on account of their dreamy female vocal lead. On listening to their songs live in rehearsals, the comparisons end past the instruments they both use. Drug Store Romeos are far more hypnotic and Shoegaze.

The future seems clear for the young Fleet band. They have a few small shows, and a few support slots . The band are also recording two songs to try and gain some radio airplay and attention. Who knows what will happen when they find their feet in the industry.

My Dick, 3OH!3

3OH!3 remind me of being at junior school. In the late noughties they released three solid hits; 'Don't Trust Me', 'My First Kiss' and 'Starstrukk'. Listening back to them today I realise that 1)I was naive in Year Five and 2) 3OH!3 were disgustingly awesome. The band's interpretation of electro pop and frat boy rapping was gross out, knowingly misogynistic and perfectly dance worthy. 'Starstrukk' is maybe their standout single, featuring Katy Perry's autotuned chorus and mentions of "daisy dukes". The music is SO ignorant, bombastic and sexist- it is the theme song of America.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) 3OH!3 never stopped making music. The Colorado natives of Sean Foreman and Nathaniel Motte kept the vibes alive. As I was searching the web for anything to distract me from the horrors of Brexit, I found it. A new song by 3OH!3, but not just a new song- the greatest song of all time. 'My Dick' (taken off their new album Night Sports) is about a man with an uncomfortably large penis gloating about his endowment, there is little to dislike.

The song is composed of multiple pastiched styles of rapping, from a Mockney accent, Sir Mixalot and Future. Every line is a loosely constructed simile discussing penile size, all with laughable hyperbole. (I sometimes question why I want to be a music journalist, moments like this restore my faith). The whole song is jaw droppingly sleazy, it makes me feel ashamed to be alive. However,'My Dick's slicing EDM beat is fantastic and would be at home on any Diplo album.

The chorus restores my belief in songwriting and simplicity;
"Everytime I look at my dick I'm like holy shit that's a big dick! And everytime I look at your dick I'm like holy shit that's a small dick!"
3OH!3 never left puberty, they are still sat at the back of the class belting out non sensical abuse at the nerds. They are the ones who manage to boast about the size of their penis, but inadvertently make it known they look across at you in the urinals. Bless them.

"No Indie, just House mate" Has music died?

About 15 geezers are stood at the end of the garden at a house party and the question is suddenly asked; “alright who’s going on the aux?”. Eyes dart around the circle as people excuse themselves due to stingy data packages, as someone pipes up that they have a “fire soundcloud”. He is coaxed to plug in, and his fate is sealed by the words “No Indie, just House mate”.

It has been a long time since the band were cool in the UK. You search the charts and you hear bland pop stars, faceless Tropical House DJs and Atlanta Trap. The masses believe that guitar music hit its peak in 2007 with Arctic Monkey’s ‘Favourite Worst Nightmare’ and that anything after that really cannot be beaten. Guitars aren’t cool and nor are bands, don’t think of playing anything other than Mr Brightside. For most, indie music should remain on the soundtrack of The Inbetweeners and for teenagers that spend their days in British Heart Foundation and evenings on Tumblr. The modern Brit teenager wants to spend their weekends huffing Nos bought on Amazon, not examining the relationship between Peter Doherty and Carl Barat.

Dance music is cool. Dance music is really cool. Although always a subcultural stronghold in the UK, within the past five years we have witnessed a shift in musical mindset. The default used to be guitars, now everyone wants to be shuffling. This Summer, festival goers will not be able to avoid any genre of dance, whether it be House, DnB, Garage or anything in-between- it is everywhere. The size of this year’s Culture Clash held at the O2 just goes to prove that there is a huge market for dance music. The uniform has been set; Nike TNs, shotting bags and something from Basement- and people are following it. E is on the rise, and so are the amount of Brittish kids skanking.

Indie isn’t dead. People may not want them at their parties, but that isn’t stopping them from popping up everywhere. From the all out synth//guitar mess of Yak, the melodic bop of The Magic Gang and the Reading based swoon of Sundara Karma- there is something special just waiting to go supersonic. It isn’t just the small bands that are paving the way for an indie resurgence, the torchbearers may come from the most unlikely of Manchester bands. 18 months ago I would have scoffed at anyone who claimed that The 1975 were anything but crap. But when you listen to their new album, watch their live shows and weigh up Matt Healy as a true indie hero. Maybe, just maybe they have the clout to knock dance music of their sweaty, streetwear podium. 

An Ode To Tonic

Or The Existentialism Surrounding The Great British Night Out
 

It is no longer Friday night but Saturday morning and technically my night still hasn’t begun. Our plan was to go to ‘Fever & Boutique’, a new club based off the successful ‘Moo Moos’ chain- the nearest one being a £4 train journey away in Fleet. The Facebook description was soberly post-ironic, promising retro chic and chart hits. I hate retro chic and chart hits, so obviously I wanted to go.

Due to the predictability of the human race, every non-married person in Basingstoke also wanted to get in. We all queued desperately for entry that would cost us £3.  It was like being at Thorpe Park. But at the end of it I would not get to ride on Europe’s fastest rollercoaster, I would be at ‘Fever & Boutique’. I begin to loathe myself more so than I already do, I complain to my friends who in return complain to me. We all begin to feel fulfilled through our complaining, this is the Great British Night Out.

A fork is put in the road and an ultimatum is made by someone probably too drunk to remember why he or she said it “ten more minutes, if we aren’t in then we’ll go Tonic”. We wait three and a half minutes and leave the stationary queue of every non-married person in Basingstoke to walk around 100 metres to ‘Tonic’. We are cold and losing our buzz from the pre-drink at Spoons, anything indoors is looking like a positive.

‘Tonic’ used to be the only nightclub in Basingstoke. Therefore there was no actual need for ‘Tonic’ to do anything more than just exist. It has two levels, the ground floor is mainly just a bar with some soft seating and upstairs is the dance floor with another two bars. Rene Descartes believed that “I think therefore I am”, the philosophy lives on as “I sell Jagerbombs for £3 therefore I am”. The design has no flaws; it works almost as a Socialist testament to functionality. The group I am with begin to grow anxious and some threaten to go to Reading to experiment with something more salubrious. They stay.

Like the cathartic trend of ‘indieamnesty’, ‘Tonic’ stinks of the early 2000s. A projection screen hangs at one end of the dance floor with drinks offers produced on Powerpoint with a penchant for garish word art. The DJ I can only assume was the father of someone I went to junior school with. Dance music is an ever evolving genre and as EDM falls into a neatly dug grave, teenagers are reverting back to Garage, House and Drum and Bass. On the playlist tonight was what I can hear Gregg James play at midday on Radio One. ‘Tonic’ is not a good place for listening or dancing to music.

“I don’t know why I’m even complaining, I love Tonic” come out of someone’s mouth I was standing next to. I didn’t love ‘Tonic’, nor did I love it in the way that I love Frozen as an 18-year-old male. There was no ironic passion, but how could I complain either? I had made a series of ugly decisions that got me to this point of dancing to Sean Paul. Was this me being masochistic? Did I actually want to have a bad time? Or was this ‘Tonic’s plan? Make everyone have a bad time, to make everyon realise what really matters is the people who surround you daily.

Perhaps that euphoric feeling that The Great British Night Out aims to capture doesn’t come from your friend from Media’s trip to ‘Sketch’, or the Snaphat story of a wide eyed girl at a wavy garms rave. Maybe The Great British Night Out is standing on the dance floor listening to Sean Paul and wanting to die.

Searching For Frank

The art of the long awaited ‘next album’

It has been a long time since Frank Ocean released his seminal ‘Channel orange’, an album that rocketed the R&B singer to fame, bagging him two Grammys and a loyal fan base desperate for new material. A few tracks have been released over the four years in which the singer has gone AWOL with little more than a raised eyebrow. With news from Ocean’s producer that the album could arrive within just a few weeks, I try to work out whether people still care when you’ve been gone for what seems like a lifetime.

 Jamie T fell off the face of the earth by 2010. The promising young indie/rap outfit seemed to be only getting better and better. Jamie T provided a voice to a new generation of teenagers that had grown up with The Libertines and Eminem, a British voice. The promise floated away with radio silence, people waited hesitantly for a third album then shrugged their shoulders and began to look for something new. Jamie returned in 2014 with ‘Carry On The Grudge’ with an NME cover, a few festival appearances and 12 pretty good songs. His last post was at his last public appearance at Reading Festival. By that point most of his fans had already shrugged and wandered away to find something new.

Although King Krule wasn’t gone for long, the lack of public appearances post ‘6 Feet Beneath The Moon’ completed his ‘coolest kid on the earth’ image. Perhaps it was his Peckham roots or the ginger’s love for rap but out of seemingly nowhere a generation of street culture kids began to listen to Krule, mixing the bluesy maximalist beats with skateboarding and streetwear. The album became a classic for those within the cities and the indie kids from the suburbs. For the indie kids, Mac DeMarco filled the hole that King Krule left with Canadian goof. The street culture that grew with King Krule either left to powder their noses or waited for the song maker to release something new. The album came in 2015, but not under the guise of King Krule- instead the Peckham local stuck with his birth name Archy Marshall for ‘A New Place 2 Drown’ and put down the guitar and picked up the sampler. The album was a low key beauty lost in the hype of Christmas and 2016. Marshall is performing mainly under the name ‘Edgar The Breathtaker’ with contemporaries such as Jamie Isaacs. Perhaps his silence is a hatred of publicity- or a desire to remain truly in the peripheral.

Last known image of Ocean, if found please return to the recording studio

Perhaps Dr Dre is the living, breathing proof that everyone stops caring when you delay an album for too long. Detox was the album that never became, a few previews such as the Eminem featuring ‘I Need A Doctor’ were released but the infamous finale to the G-Funk trilogy never came. Dre concentrated on the business affairs of music, making the headphone a sought after commodity. Dre released his first full length LP to coincide with his 2016 biopic ‘Straight Outta Compton’. The excitement existed until the think pieces came rolling in, unsurprisingly slating Dre for his sexist lyrics. An apology was released, people shrugged and got back to work. Dr Dre is a rap dinosaur, a reminder of the good old days, but also an unsightly reminder of what the old days were like for women.

The world doesn’t look promising for Frank Ocean, every act that has resurfaced from the wilderness in the past few years have been wrought with problems and lack of success. The only beacon of hope comes from an artist who left on top of the world, only to return an even bigger star. Adele’s comeback has been meteoric, ‘25’ has sold more than any artist in history and her 150 date world tour is completely sold out. There isn’t a singer bigger than Adele, she vanished and came back just like Frank Ocean could. However, Adele didn’t play with our expectations. We knew that she was off spending cash and having children in her downtime. Every other month we are told that ‘Channel orange’ 2.0 could be hitting shelves, yet search ‘frank ocean’ on twitter and you’ll see heartbroken teens waiting impatiently. Frank Ocean may excellent, but his constant game playing and stalling is making people bored.

The 1975, I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it, Review

There was a time when The 1975 were horrifically uncool, their debut album was a successful indie crossover with a faux edge and little credibility. After multiple cryptic messages left on social media many thought the band had burnt itself out. Instead this was a rebirth, and this album Healy and the boys are in splendid Technicolor.

The first single divided opinion like most of The 1975’s work, ‘Love Me’ is an infectious coked up attack on pop culture. It was impressive and danceable, a turn in a completely new direction. ‘UGH!’ and ‘The Sound’ followed, each cheesier than the next, the latter sounding perfectly placed if released by PC Music. The new album, laboriously called 'I like it when you sleep, for you are so beautiful yet so unaware of it’ could have easily been binned as an overly ambitious vanity project by a band sitting on the wrong side of pretentious. However, despite the naysayers, The 1975 have managed to create a stunner of a second album.

‘I like it when you sleep…’ sits somewhere between millennial kitsch and soulful atmospheric indie. It is something of a heavy load at points, you’ll need well over an hour to listen front to back but for the most part that is time well spent. In terms of sound ‘I like it when you sleep…’ changes almost every track, a feat in itself for the Manchester band.

The two lead singles ‘Love Me’ and ‘UGH!’ slap you in the face with feel good pop, demanding you to listen, playing with gender roles and distortion. ‘A Change Of Heart’ is a sweet seemingly autobiographical slow jam, with Matt Healy asking whether he is too old to be smoking weed and talking about a partner popping a pic of her quinoa on instagram. A lot of the songs on ‘I like it when you sleep…’ are silly, yet the way that Healy plays with lyrics and imagery tricks you into thinking that you are actually listening to something rather clever.

Instrumentals such as ‘Please Be Naked’, ‘Lostmyhead’ and the title track pull the album together. Each with a distinct emotion they feel well composed and stand out within such a massive album. ‘Loving Someone’ sits in the middle of the album, with huge similarities to The 1975’s first album but it experiments with modern electro-pop with great success. The closing few songs of the album drag in comparison to the energy of the first half, however I cannot think of any band ambitious enough to provide seventeen songs on a second album.

The 1975 are the product of when conceptual meets pop. Like any great artist they are constantly evolving both sonically and visually. The dreamy pink and white aesthetic throughout all their videos and artwork is like candy for their Tumblr and Instagram obsessed fans. Their resurrection could have gone two ways and maybe it is genuine skill or blind luck from The 1975, but this bet has paid off.