My introduction to Slow Club occurred on what promised to be another glum night in Crewe back in 2009. It's fair to say I've spent a fair few similarly dull nights there over the past decade or so, but rarely have I been quite so surprised. A remarkably glamourous, young looking duo took the stage against the drab backdrop of a Crewe pub, delivering a short but spirited set of songs which couldn't decide if they were pop or folk despite the flyer trying to pass them off as some sort of dreadfully serious anti-folk act. It didn't really matter - I was immediately intrigued. So, almost two years, an album which I listened to almost obsessively for months and a triumphant Homegame set later I find myself in the tricky position of writing about new music by a band I've enthused almost stupidly about everywhere. I'm sometimes accused of sycophancy here, but the mission is to write about things I like, not to act as some sort of arch, journalistic reviewer. Even so, sometimes it's far from easy to stay even slightly objective in the face of music you know is going to become very important to you as it grows more familiar. Yes readers, it's going to be another of those unfocused and incoherent pieces for which this blog is gaining a reputation...

If Slow Club's fine debut album 'Yeah, So' was an uplifting cry of defiance, then 'Paradise' is a somewhat darker and more complex beast. There is a brooding atmosphere from the outset, with almost the entire record drenched in reverb, and with the generally uncomplicated instrumentation echoing around a sparse, empty room. There's also a pervading sense of loss, regret, even bitterness perhaps here. But the songs still manage to fill the vast space with warm, human emotion - and Charles and Rebecca can't entirely avoid the involuntary outbursts of pure, unashamed enthusiasm which made their first record such an instant success for me. Familiar from a recent single release which was coupled to an understated and classy video, 'Two Cousins' is a drum heavy, swaggering and soulful stomp. Strange washes of orchestration punctuate proceedings, and a piano-driven chorus provides one of those definitive Slow Club moments when you're grabbed and lifted up on the giddy spirals of vocals. A word is appropriate here on the metamorphosis of Rebecca Taylor. Universally portrayed in the music press as some sort of disinterested indie ice-queen since the first record, her personality shines through the vocals on this record - childlike glee in it's highs, growling anger at the world's injustice and a soulful ache of regret elsewhere. The clarity of her voice is unchanged, but its range and character have grown immeasurably into something truly amazing.

There is a lightness and simplicity about the plaintive 'Never Look Back' which has become an early album highlight for me. It starts by tackling an incredibly challenging, emotive event in a remarkably honest way. Charles Watson leads the song in with a somewhat incongruous swinging, jazzy intro until huge drums and surprisingly thunderous guitars enter for a soaring chorus where Rebecca's voice reaches for the stratosphere. This is a genuinely affecting, heart-stoppingly frank song which will leave even the most seasoned musical campaigner moist-eyed. A blast of relief from the tension arrives with the opening war-cry of 'Where I'm Waking'. A sultry, swaggering come-on punctuated by epic tumbles of echoing guitar and Motown drumbeats. Parts of this wouldn't be out of place in a seventies soul classic, while other sections belong in a twanging Johnny Cash-era country song. This ability to adopt and adapt pop history but still remain as fresh and modern as a Hoxton haircut seems a theme throughout 'Paradise'. A stroll in East London over last weekend sets 'Hackney Marsh' in some personal context and, like the place it's named for, this is an open, spacious quiet place punctuated by surprises and incongruities. Leading in with the simple observation that 'currency can ruin friendships/a mattress can do it too', this builds to a soaring howl of a chorus, which gives way to a perfectly placed saxophone solo. It's another of those moments - vintage Slow Club in many ways, but the focus on bittersweet reflection suits the theme. As the marshes disappear under shopping centres and the Olympic Legacy, this song captures the quiet ache of the bruised landscape and dust-covered spaces remarkably well.

It strikes me around the middle of the album how the duo's confidence in their art has grown since the first album. There is a sense, looking back that some of that record relied on happy accidents and an innocent belief that there was really nothing they couldn't pull off if they tried - and it worked almost flawlessly too. But here on 'Paradise' there is an assurance and a more concious understanding of the process. Charles' guitar veers deftly from chunky riffing to a sweet sixties-infused twang mid-song without a second thought, a wider range of instrumentation is deployed and Rebecca switches characters on a whim, playing Dusty on 'Beginners' switching effortlessly to Janis on 'Half Drunk' with it's Twin Peaks Theme bassline. 'You, Ash & Earth' is a dreamlike swoon of dark smoky vocals and an echoing piano. It sounds like an AM radio era pop song picked up decades later on a distorted radio, while a faint electronic pulse locates it in the present. A deliriously fine, shuffling chorus with gorgeous layers of vocals follows, before a soaring and spine-tingling climb where Rebecca's voice reaches impossible new heights. Charles manages his own vocal highlights too, as at the end of 'Horses Jumping' where an orchestral sweep and an aching piano melody supports his emotional, broken stretch for the sadness tinged notes. Another highlight - another moment banked to be revisited again and again. Finally, 'Palms' arrives to close proceedings. Brimming over with enthusiasm and joy, redeemed from the darkness with jagged rockabilly guitars and dizzily infectious vocals, the spirit of generations of girl groups is invoked from the 1950s right down to the present day - pure, almost annoyingly catchy pop to bookend the record.

This is a sprawling album, maybe even a bit confusing at times because it's so utterly packed with ideas, perfect pop snippets and surprisingly toughened-up tunes. It's the sound of a band confident and happy to be doing it their own way and not playing to a crowd who would probably have been content with a carbon copy of 'Yeah, So'. This is brave, dark and earthy but also beautifully brittle music which sometimes confounds and never quite plays to expectations. If you're looking for an easy listen, Slow Club aren't offering it on 'Paradise' - but if you don't mind digging in and living with a record there is a wonderfully reward awaiting you here.

You can purchase "Paradise" in a Deluxe Edition including videos and extra tracks at iTunes, at Amazon or your local independent record store.

Slow Club - Never Look Back

Loosely continuing the theme, I was off to see some more controversial development today. Not the deletion and absence of Margate, or the sinister shift from private to public in Liverpool this time. No, today I was going to see changes which were real, were happening - but were costing a huge amount of money. This firstly entailed the early train to London. A lack of coffee saw me leaving the house feeling quite literally sick and tired. It had been a strange week - a mix of busy interesting times, and wastefully long commutes. I'd not slept a lot, and the routine of shopping and getting things done at home had been turned on it's head. So it was good to sink into my seat at Weston and just watch the world go by as the sun rose. No breakfast available on board, but that was a minor issue today. Once in the capital, I made a quick dash around the Circle Line to Kings Cross. Grabbed a much needed coffee and noted I could get to Cambridge earlier. This didn't help with my plans when I arrived, but it meant less of a rush - so I boarded the 09:15 Cambridge Express and had a very swift journey in surprisingly decent weather given the forecast. Arrived to find the station chaotically busy as ever. Lots of people milling around the single platform trying to understand the layout, many of them students who are new to the town - and a large number from overseas too. Noted the work to construct a new island platform was pretty advanced. It really is needed here.

But my objective here had little to do with trains. Leaving the station and picking my way along the stretch of roadworks, I found the temporary stop for the Guided Busway. My interest in this stems from it's use of the trackbed of the former St.Ives's branch line. The project opened in August - around £50 million overbudget and several years late due to complications with contracts and some flooding issues. There's still work to be done too - the area outside the railway station is to be a multi-stand 'station' for the various routes, but is currently a single cone-lined traffic-light controlled track between unfinished stops. A small crowd waited for the 10:40 "Go Whippet" service to St.Ives and beyond, which turned up on time and reversed clumsily to reach the stop. The new buses were purchased for the proposed 2009 opening by Whippet and Stagecoach who at one point switched their prospective message "I'll be on the busway soon, will you?" to a new slogan of "Will I be on the busway soon?" as the delays mounted. Both operators buses are a little more comfortable than usual urban vehicles, with Stagecoach offering leather seats - a train-like feel perhaps? The journey set off just like other bus journeys - wedged in city traffic. Buses in Cambridge suffer from sharing priority with cyclists who outnumber them hugely. Several areas are gated and restricted, which speeds things up a little, but time is also lost at the rather odd little bus station - a tiny, provisional affair which is congested and confusing. From here, it's back on to the busy Milton Road which is the main route out of the city towards the A14 trunk route. Progress was slow, but eventually at a rather inauspicious looking left turn bedecked with No Entry signs and dire warnings to motorists and cyclists, we turned onto what is currently the longest guided busway in the world.

In essence, the guideway is a run of concrete beams, held a fixed distance apart by concrete 'sleepers'. The guided buses have additional small horizontal wheels which run against these kerbs, meaning the driver doesn't need to steer. At the entrance to each guided section, for example after a junction with a non-guided road, metal guide rails taper into the concrete track to 'nudge' the bus into position. Between the tracks, nature is returning with a green swathe developing along the length. Of course the ubiquitous cycleway runs along most of the length of the line too, but this is also unfinished in places. My first impression was pretty positive - we certainly achieved speeds which I've never experienced on an urban bus before! This had its issues however, as a strange swaying began at speed. The alarming shudder as we entered sections was equally unsettling, but it did seem to do what it was supposed to. The drivers have a party piece - instead of the time-honoured single raised hand of recognition as they pass each other, they go for a more flamboyant 'jazz hands' gesture made possible by the guideway - much to the delight of passengers. The 'stations' along the route are rudimentary 'tram stop' affairs, but often sit close by the original railway buildings, with a fair number of platforms remaining. The railway past here is evident in the almost dead-straight formation for most of the journey, and the raised solum through the fens.

Near Oakington we noticed an odd vehicle approaching on the opposite track - a recovery truck which had been removing a stricken Stagecoach service. "Fifth time this week they've failed" the Whippet driver loudly exclaimed - partly disgusted, partly triumphant perhaps? Soon after we reached the Park and Ride site near St.Ives. Here the roadway broadens into a mixture of station and depot, with buses ready to form the next services ranked along the road. Noted how busy the stop for services back to Cambridge was, especially given the failure earlier. Here, our bus returned to the roads and very soon entered St.Ives tiny bus station. Thanked the really pleasant, professional driver who clearly loved the attention the Busway was bringing, and wandered around the market square for a while before heading back. The journey back was very, very busy. There are supposed to be around seven buses per hour on the route, but they're just not enough. There is no signalling as such, with the majority of the route operated on 'line of sight' so capacity isn't perhaps as restricted as it might be - but I just couldn't help thinking how three or four coach trains would be so much more effective than single buses.

Back at the station I pondered the busway. It works in some ways - it provides a quick, traffic-free run on the inter-urban section which would otherwise be at the mercy of busy roads in the peaks. However, at the very point where things get messy - in the city - it returns to the congested ancient streets of Cambridge. Capacity is an issue, and if the failure rate is as it seems, things are far from well-operated. As I set-off on a southbound service towards Stansted Airport, I noted the southern section of guideway which takes the route towards Addenbrooks Hospital - it will be interesting to see how the network expands, and what further former railway infrastructure is used on the old Varsity Line too. But ultimately, I remain unconvinced that light or heavy rail wouldn't have moved more people, more speedily. I hope it works out because, given none of the developer contributions have been paid, the public will be funding this for many years to come.

I seem to find myself at Stansted fairly often, despite never actually flying from here and generally finding it an oddly chaotic airport. Didn't hang around today though, as my sole purpose was to get a ride on one of Bombardier's new Class 379 units. A pair were ready to leave on the 14:00 Stansted Express to Liverpool Street, so I hopped on. They're tidy, spacious and comfortable inside with all the usual features expected of airport transit - good luggage space, wi-fi onboard etc. Didn't spot any catering, which is a step back as they had a pretty good trolley service previously - but perhaps Saturday afternoon isn't the best time to experience the service? Noted a majority of services we passed seem to be Class 379 operated now, with a couple on duty in Cambridge for Liverpool Street services too. So, a pleasant ride down to London managing a bit more snoozing on route too! Once at Liverpool Street, I decided not to hang around drinking coffee which had been my original plan. Instead, I headed directly back out to Stratford on a comparatively shabby Class 321. The hulk of Westfield, due to open next week, is nearly complete on the fringe of the still fairly disconnected Olympic Park. The station has seen some changes too, and seemed a little tidier than my last few visits - although the confusing platform numbering was clearly still troubling unfamiliar passengers. My goal though, was the freshly opened DLR extension on part of the abandoned North London Line. This line's duty has been slowly replaced by the DLR around here, with the branch to Woolwich Arsenal taking over the role of the abandoned stretch through Silvertown. This part uses the former low-level platforms which bisect the concourse at Stratford, tracing the route of the Jubilee line as far as Canning Town where a new set of DLR plaforms sit alongside the current double-deck station. A complex junction here connects the extension with the rest of the network, with services currently running either on to Beckton or Woolwich. Covered the junction and hopped off at Royal Victoria. Crossed the line by way of the huge footbridge, and noted I was now on ExCeL's property, via a poster asserting their right to close the area.

Back on the next DLR train to head north, and in the front seat coveted by children and big kids alike. I retraced my steps to Stratford, realising that there were three similarly named stations here now - including Stratford High Street and Stratford International. After passing through the mainline station once again, the line dives into the cut and cover tunnel which once linked it back to the North London Line, but which has changed a lot to meet DLR standards. The line takes a new route too, curving close to the lines it once connected with near the Olympic Aquatic Centre, then turning east and diving into a subterranean station at Stratford International. Ascending the lift found me in an isolated, empty spot. To my left were a bunch of service buildings for the shopping centre, to my right the huge glass and concrete International Station with just one tiny coffee stand in it's vast concourse. Silent now, but how much busier when Westfield finally opens? Noted the bus linking to the regional station was still running despite the DLR opening. Headed into the station, and bought a ticket back to London before descending to the rather chilly concrete box below. A short wait for a Class 395 which zipped me back to St.Pancras in about six minutes - still impressive.

Over coffee at one of my favourite spots in the busy St. Pancras International concourse, I contemplated the new developments I'd experienced today. Both the Busway and the DLR worked after their fashion - but both were the result of pre-recession investment in the main. Schemes like this, linked sadly but perhaps inevitably to projects like the Olympics or Westfield are probably the only way our network will develop for a long while. I still think the Busway would have been better had it been more like the DLR in nature, frequency and capacity. But the point is, I can get to St.Ives quickly and easily now - something I still can't do with my own workplace. Strange times indeed.

As I wobbled my unsteady way over the cobbles among the chattering commuters of Bristol, I speculated on how long it was since I'd been to The Louisiana. Too long was my conclusion, but once inside the place was familiar enough. Tonight was the inaugural Hooops night - not so much a club as an experience encompassing art, performance and a dose of unhinged genius directly from the mind of Heinz Junkins - a local luminary and OLO Worms member.

Quite aside from the line-up assembled this evening, it has to be said that Heinz is a talented guy in his own right, with Hooops doubling as the launch night for his art exhibition in the newly opened cellar of The Louisiana. The small, whitewashed oblong room was adorned with his works - on one wall, a series of giddy, brightly coloured and sometimes visceral paintings. Curious creatures with disturbingly human appendages cavorting under strange disconnected slogans. Opposite, a wall of small digital prints - sketches, often as much textual as artistic, little snippets of curious ideas. It was intriguing to watch the audience reaction as we assembled for the first act of the night - surprise, confusion, amusement. Most of all though, genuine pleasure at the playful oddity of Junkins work - something I've not seen often on my very occasional forays into galleries. And as we pondered this visual feast something strange happened... With a blarting harmonica call and the sound of morris-dancer style foot bells, Ichi strode through the audience on musical stilts. The slight, timid Japanese artist tottered to the front of the room where a steel drum, some rather taped-together electronics and a box of accessories sat. Wobbling down from his stilts, these too doubled as instruments, one featuring a two-string banjo which Ichi deployed both as a makeshift cello and a guitar during his performance. It's difficult to describe what followed - sometimes it was quiet, delicate and touching - often it was funny, bizarre even. Whatever it was, Ichi totally engaged the audience, and when he didn't he just threw ping-pong balls at them! Lyrically, it was harder to fathom - often barked in a strange, shrill Japanese - or via a distorting megaphone - the vocals were indistinct. Occasional snippets would surface ("this song is about a kumquat") but it didn't matter a bit. His short performance was dramatic, hilarious and affecting. What more could you ask? As Ichi strode back through the room on stilts at the end of his set, still jangling like a one-man folk festival, it struck me just how much guts it takes to pitch up in front of an audience and do something so alien and unlikely. For my money, the man is a bit of a hero.

Using the possibilities of the venue fully, we made the trip upstairs to a room I was more familiar with to see SJ Esau. Whilst a world away from Ichi, SJ Esau is an equally hard to pin down prospect. Over curious, weirdly suggestive video projections, the one man multi-instrumental music machine manipulated loops and beats which thundered oddly around the room. A gut-churning, glitchy bass and lots of scattergun guitar chimes topped things off musically, while he intoned lyrics often through an array of distorting effects. The vocals were almost as interesting as the mesmerising music here - often a robotic semi-rap, then a warm, humanly folky tone, and finally on the closing "I Threw A Wobbly" an outright punky howl. Almost obscured by the lighting and projections, the man himself was content to slip into the background of the performance. When he chats, he's a humble and funny guy - not nearly as arch and terrifying as his sometimes rather stark soundscapes might suggest. Occasionally the complex, shifting musical background drifts into something more like trance - and I'm aware that not for the first time tonight I'm out of my depth and having my assumptions tested by Hooops. No bad thing. SJ Esau is complex, layered and challenging. I leave the room a convert, with records to track down, which is always a sign of success.

Getting caught in interesting chats and things mean I miss Rachael Dadd who is back in the basement - but I make a mental note to catch up again based on what I've heard elsewhere. However, this puts me in pole position for Rozi Plain's performance back up here in the attic. Drawing a huge crowd, Bristol-based Fence Records artist Rozi is on fine form tonight. Her spacious, delicate guitar playing and beautifully fragile vocals filling a room which is utterly silent despite the crowd. Accompanied by a clarinet and saxophone duo who are keen to assert their "violent monopoly" on that particular instrumental ensemble, Rozi works her way through a handful of delirious, summery folk-pop numbers including recent single "Humans" which elicits a buzz of recognition from the audience. There is something earthy, warming and welcoming about Rozi's voice. It's like receiving a musical hug, and as someone standing beside me whispered to her friend "I could listen to her sing forever". Nothing I clumsily concoct as a review can better that description really.

There is a bit of delay before FOUND take the stage - but it's for good reason. A fair chunk of the audience want to know who won the Mercury Music Prize. I genuinely couldn't give a damn usually - the annual circus of the same dreary old acts, token Jazz efforts and worthy but patronisingly tokenistic ethnic inclusions bores me silly. But this time King Creosote and Jon Hopkins have not only scored a nomination, but seen the odds dramatically narrow via the sheer force of critical acclaim. Whilst none of us 'care' about the Mercury prize officially, we all want Kenny to win. As Ziggy Campbell concisely puts it from the stage "He's....well, he's our KING!". Frustrated by the delay FOUND begin playing with a pensive, slow-burning take on "Mullokian". Somewhere during this, the news lands that sort-of-local girl PJ Harvey has taken the prize. There's a genuine sense of deflation - it all seemed so possible somehow. But FOUND pay tribute with a wonderfully heartfelt take on KC's "For The Last Time Hello" before returning to their own familiar territory. A glitchy, stuttering "Anti Climb Paint" sets them back on track. The audience has thinned a bit, due to that time-honoured and slightly irritating Bristol tendency to support local favourites but shun touring acts. However, the crowd that stayed are witness to an edgy and tense set from FOUND drawn mostly from "Factorycraft". Just before the set's climax Heinz scatters the audience with banknotes printed on tissue paper before a storming "Johnny I Can't Walk The Line" and a final artistic act by posing with a stickman picture.

The party continues downstairs with OLO Worms spinning tunes, but I slink off over the slippery cobbles once again wondering if I'm getting too old for late nights on a Tuesday? The miracle of all this is though, that Hooops has meant there is something actually worth doing tonight - a friendly, funny and bewildering mix of art and music, novelty and variety alongside performances from truly fine musicians who don't get nearly enough exposure locally or nationally. More of an event or a spectacle than almost any other gig I've attended in Bristol, with lots of effort to do something memorable and worthwhile very much evident alongside the music and general insanity. Heinz Junkins deserves congratulations for waking up Bristol from it's hipper-than-thou usual self just a little tonight. I want there to be more Hooops, soon. And it's still a shame about that Mercury....

There's no real theme to this small selection of singles today, except that it's been one of those utterly wasteful, pointless days which grind you to a halt and offer nothing but a stinging slap in return for your best efforts to face them down. It's times like these when the contents of my iPod take on an inordinate, perhaps unhealthy importance as I shuffle through the tracks looking for a musical crutch to get me around the next unexpected bend in the road. So, this pair of recent releases have popped to the top of my listening list at just the right moment to rescue an otherwise written-off day - and long may this continue to happen.

Amber Wilson - Raise The Alarm/An Affirmation

I've remarked elsewhere about the number of 'guy and guitar' acts around just now, and it's probably only fair to say that equally there are a lot of female singer-songwriters doing the rounds too. There is something simple and complementary about a female vocal and an acoustic guitar which is hard to explain, and given the amount of this stuff which finds its way to my collection, I'm not about to knock it. However, it's even better when something comes along which surprises and defies expectations like Amber Wilson's recently released single.

"Raise The Alarm" begins with just a nagging guitar melody and the tense echo of Amber's voice. She is joined by enough mournful cello to keep the brooding mood in place, but just when you're resigned to the song ending much as it began things build to a perfect storm of a guitar-fuelled ending which also propels Amber to new vocal heights. None of this surprise shift of register of course, drowns the remarkable, gymnastic voice which manages to survive this curious mutation from acoustic ballad to out-and-out rock classic completely intact. The arrangement of "An Affirmation" is perhaps a little simpler and more straightforward, but it still allows plenty of space for Amber's gorgeous vocal to play, hitting clear-as-a-bell highs and whispered pensive lows. Again, the accompaniment is simple, uncluttered and manages to deftly enhance the thought-provokingly assuring lyrics rather than going for overblown and cloying, which is apparently all too easy it seems these days.

Beautifully written, sensitively delivered and lyrical pop music sung by someone with a near indecent amount of talent. There's not a lot to argue with here and it's available for a ridiculously tiny sum. I've heard only good things about Amber Wilson for some time now, and it's great to have finally caught up with this release.

Amber Wilson - Raise The Alarm

"Raise The Alarm" is available from iTunes, Amazon and virtually every other online store you can possibly think of.

The Moth & The Mirror - Germany

As soon as the genre-busting, convention-disrespecting patrons of Olive Grove Records announced they'd be working with this band, it was bound to prove interesting. Perhaps most notable initially for a lineage which claims links with Admiral Fallow, Reindeer Section and Frightened Rabbit among others, on the evidence of the recent slow-burning, epic taster "Lights In The Sky" the last thing you'd likely expect from The Moth & The Mirror is an out-and-out floor filling disco hit. However, buried in this heady, addictive mix that's exactly what "Germany" appears to be at it's core. Wonderfully big, clattering beats introduce things, with choppy slices of eighties-sytle Postcard-era guitar slashing through. Meanwhile Stacey Sievwright's sometimes ethereal, sometimes insistent vocals shift mood with every twist and turn of the track. There are so many facets to this song that it's almost embarassing to list its high points - a moody, shoegazey middle section tumbles into an almost choral a cappella interlude, before finally everything shifts up a gear. I defy anyone not to end up dancing around stupidly while Stacey raps out the refrain of "shake me up and shake you out" over a proper old-fashioned soul stomp of a beat, and accompanied by perhaps the best soaring, heart-swelling guitar solo I've heard all year.

I find it difficult to convey just how utterly engaging this song is, and how once you've heard it you'll be convinced you can't remember a time when you didn't know it. For your single pound you also get a remix by Strike The Colours which makes no bones about the track's dance credentials, morphing the whole thing into a fantastically bleepy, pulsing anthem. This is what pop music should always be like, pure and simple.

The Moth & The Mirror - Germany

"Germany" is available digitally via iTunes or Bandcamp. Also available at Bandcamp is a strictly limited CD release, packaged with Olive Grove Records usual flamboyance. The Moth & The Mirror's debut album "Honestly, This World" will be released on 10th October.