(P)Review: Mt. Wolf

‘Dreamfolk’. This is how London-based quartet Mt. Wolf has decided to be labelled. Pretentious? Perhaps. Meaningless? Almost definitely. One thing’s for sure though, it beats ‘Gritpop’, the self-proclaimed genre of nobody’s favourite indie pretenders, Viva Brother (R.I.P).

REVIEW: Mumford & Sons - Babel

Forget what Marcus Mumford and his (non-biological) sons said about Babel: the three-year wait was not in pursuit of perfection. Quite simply suffering from a bad case of Second Album Syndrome, the London-based quartet toured relentlessly on the wave of success that followed 2009’s debut, Sigh No More. With their distinctive folk-tinged campfire-pop sound on the iPods of millions worldwide, the prospect of crafting a worthy follow-up was always ominously daunting.  How do you progress from such an unexpectedly triumphant LP? Here, Mumford & Sons have chosen not to progress at all.

REVIEW: The Killers - Battle Born

After a brief hiatus following 2008’s much-discussed Day & Age, The Killers have returned with something to prove to fans and critics alike. Battle Born, inevitably, is a theatrical 12-track explosion of new material, harvested to epic and emotive proportions by a multitude of top producers. But behind all the bombast, and behind front-man Brandon Flowers’ vulnerable yet vivacious vocals, lies an LP by a quartet struggling to recover the form of old.

REVIEW: Pet Shop Boys - Elysium

Fresh from their, shall we say, ‘aesthetically eccentric’ appearance at the Olympics closing ceremony, British synth-pop staple the Pet Shop Boys return with their eleventh studio offering, Elysium. As is clear from the title, referring to a Greek vision of the afterlife, Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe tackle the big issues of life, love, death and everything after, with consistent success, though without breaking any new ground.

REVIEW: Dry the River - Shallow Bed

At a time when the new music scene is dominated by an increasingly tiresome abundance of Mumford-esque folk-rock and semi-acoustic troubadour soloists, you might be forgiven for dismissing Dry the River as yet another band of rustically adorned twenty-somethings towing a second hand tractor over already trodden land.

You’d be wrong, though.