Warning: if you’ve ever thought about topping yourself, give Philadelphia’s Greg Weeks a wide berth. And don’t be fooled by the jauntily titled ‘Funhouse’, which is about as much fun as a convention for manic depressives.
The apparent unfounded tangential foray into the arena of modern and avant-folk has resulted in a whispered gem.
This album isn’t just a piece of music to listen to casually – it’s a real experience that both demands and deserves to have time devoted to savouring every note. Proof, as if we ever needed it, that after all these years, Tony Christie has still got it in spades – and not a “sha-la-la” in sight.
TD Lind certainly has his appeal, a soft charm and low-key wit, but like many others of his kin it is clear that this will be far from universal.
Back to his best, Jones commands the respect very few have attained.
Unhinged, unpolished and highly experimental white noise wears thin but is enjoyable in its induction.
They’re the best of an over-saturated market, although to be fair they’ve saturated it themselves.
Ricky Wilson still has work to do to show us his band aren’t just making up the numbers - as this is less than convincing.
‘A Hundred Million Suns’ does not quite get the big stadium-rock finale it so rightfully deserves but there is considerable quality throughout.
A lot of the record sounds like McFly at their very best.
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