Music 2009 - Exception 2

Ok, so my memory isn't as good as it should be.

When The Darkness exploded in a shower of drugs, drink and sitar solos in 2006, few would have expected frontman Justin Hawkins to burst back onto the scene, louder than ever a mere 2 years later. Singles surfaced in 2008 and in 2009 the comeback was complete with 'Red Light Fever', the debut effort from Hot Leg featuring the not inconsiderable rock talents of singer/songwriter/guitarist Hawkins, well-known circuit lead guitarist Pete 'Liquid Guitar Hands' Rinaldi and the impressive rhythm section of bassist Samuel SJ Stokes and renowned jazz and session drummer Darby Todd. It was nothing short of a supergroup and since hearing Trojan Guitar (the first single) way back in 2008 I had high hopes for legging-clad, big hair Man Rock. These hopes proved to be well founded when I've Met Jesus, released in December 2008 claimed the coveted title of Christmas number 1 in the Man Rock charts. So Red Light Fever had much to live up to. Could it handle the shirtless, hairsprayed pressure?

The album opens at full pelt with Chickens. Todd thrashes the drum opening and the distorted guitar slams straight in, before moving to a choppier rhythm in the verses. Vocally fans of The Darkness will know what to expect from Hawkins and here his patented 'truth larynx' ascends to dizzying new heights - anyone whose ever listened to the output of Dutch prog rock band Focus will find something of the Thijs van Leer shriek in this one. As one would expect the solos are still here and exquisite harmonies are the order of the day, albeit all too briefly. The end features a synth breakdown, before we get to hear some classic Rinaldi shredding, which is a key feature of the album.

You Can't Hurt Me Any More opens with big powerchords and the steady rhythm that were present on so many Darkness tunes, but that isn't a bad thing. The foot-tapping drums and guitar are here to stay and I missed them during those 2 years in the wilderness. The lyrics are classic Hawkins - touches of dark humour and a memorable chorus. We're treated to another harmony solo and some Hawkins legato before a final chorus and guitar ending.

Ashamed is a magnificent, catchy character assassination of reality TV, featuring the guest vocals of Hawkins' Eurovision partner, Beverlei Brown, who entwines her soaring vocals with Hawkins', who manages to abstain from the blistering falsetto for much of the song. Brown's soulful second verse breakdown adds a layer of funk to the track, while the ascending guitar pre-chorus drives the song onwards towards the chorus, which you will be singing to yourself for many days to come.

I've Met Jesus, the triumphant Man Rock Christmas number 1, is another clever piece of writing by Hawkins with a witty pay-off. Musically it's a mix of classic rock powerchords and chicken-picking with a frantic solo by Rinaldi in which he showcases his impeccable technique and ability to blend tasteful melody with super-quick tapping and shred skills.

Trojan Guitar, the single which first piqued my interest all those years ago now, is a remarkable blend of medieval balladry, fantasy and rock. Lyrically it is very much fantasy nonsense, but Hawkins has turned this into an artisan skill of late. It features a genius pre-chorus harmony riff and rousing chorus, before a solo trade-off between Hawkins and Rinaldi , which weaves between harmony and individual showmanship. Todd then hammers the drums, crashing towards an upbeat bridge, only for the levels to drop for an emotional, fingerpicked folk ballad to arrive, before that riff kicks in again like a trebuchet hurling rocks at a wall of sound. There's still plenty of time for another, more restrained solo before we end with a final blast of the riff. Weighing in at a hefty 5.25 it's the epic song of the album, but it certainly has enough variety to hold the listener's interest.

Cocktails is another classic Hawkins track lyrically. Though the man himself may be more likely to plump for a cup of green tea and a workout in the gym these days, the track is about the decadence of the cocktail (as well as being a handy excuse to shout 'cock' in the chorus). It opens with a blast of synthesisers in E, reminiscent of the experimentation on The Darkness' final album before shifting to a heavy chorus in F#. La Roux and Little Boots can take notice of this - this is 80s revival. Rinaldi again gets to exercise his considerable chops during the solos and the whole tihing is neatly tied up in under 4 minutes. As one might guess, this was a single from the album.

Gay in the 80s is somewhat of a curio and is synthesiser-led for much of the track. As for content, I needn't explain much here, the title pretty much sums it up. It's another track with a smattering of humour and campness that Hawkins does so well and there's another blistering solo. Again: see 80s revival...

Prima Donna is an excellent track with a nifty hammer on and pull off opening riff and witty lyrics (perhaps not unconnected to Hawkins experiences in a certain other band already alluded to elsewhere). It has a sweet acoustic bridge towards the end which divides the stinging guitar solos and is another solid album track.

Whichever Way You Wanna Give It is another up-tempo track with a funky chorus riff and driving percussion. Todd is just one of those drummers that has you thrashing at your desk with you bare hands, trying to keep up with the cymbal crashes. It has a wonderful sense of fun about it and is another one that will inexplicably pop into your head and stay there, whether you like it or not.

Kissing in the Wind is for my money the highlight of the album. It begins with a melancholy piano introduction before Todd's drums kick in. The verse features Stokes' bassline exposed for much of the time and gives a rare opportunity to hear the rhythm section working perfectly together, without being drowned out by heavy distortion. The build-up to the chorus is full of Queen-like multi-tracked vocals and preposterous (in the best way possible) vaudevillian backings and the chorus itself is classic ballad fayre, familiar to anyone who heard Love Is Only A Feeling, Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time and the other Darkness ballads. On the second verse there's a cheeky mandolin run and it occurs to me that this was the one track where creativity was entirely uninhibited and 'anything goes'. This is confirmed by the bridge which features a falsetto chorus and reintroduction of the piano opening before breaking into a... harpsichord solo. I would venture that this is the only contemporary rock record released last year to feature a harpsichord solo and the world of music is poorer for that fact. It's astounding, the blend of baroque and Man Rock (Barock, if you will) knocked me off my feet and is only fleeting before the guitar solos kicks in, but for a few beautiful seconds I was gifted a view of a world in which Rameau and Thin Lizzy existed in perfect harmony. More please.

Red Light Fever only clocks in at a little over 35 minutes, but it doesn't let up once for the entire duration. It's pounding, melodic Man Rock of the highest quality. Even the b-sides to the singles were tremendous. Cupboard Love - a bittersweet tale of relationship featuring the most astonishing piece of double-tapping you will ever hear in your life from Liquid Guitar Hands himself - and Automatic - yep, that's right, a cover of the Pointer Sisters song, but you owe it to yourself to hear this version - being the highlights.

Sadly all seems to have gone quiet on the Leg front with Hawkins spending much of last autumn and winter in America, laying down tracks for artists including Meatloaf and Adam Lambert. But put on your leggings and your headband and hope that Hot Leg return triumphmant later this year for a new release.

What Was 2009 For...

Now we enter 2010 and the immortal question posed by the marvellous Tim Minchin 'what was (insert previous year here) for?' must be asked once again.

Well, I'm not entirely sure what 2009 was for. In terms of pop culture, it was yet another disappointing, vacuous, contemptible year, full of equally disappointing, vacuous and contempible celebrities. That is why I feel no shame or regret at all for failing to keep up with things. For example, I had no idea who pint-sized, Ellen Page-faced, Paul Phoenix-haired tosspots Jedward were, until it was explained to me by my mum, who has never watched X Factor either. That said, when I did suffer the misfortune of seeing a clip of them, I wanted to tear out my own eyes and use them as earplugs.

Now I've never watched X Factor, but neither have I ever had the faintest urge to watch it. It is a circus sideshow for the modern age - idiots being baited by overpaid wankstains. Cowell sits, trousers hitched, blindingly incandescent teeth on show, while some poor tone-deaf mancub howls at the moon like a bewildered King Charles Spaniel. That said, there are those (like John and Edward) who have mastered the art of being amusingly shit enough to make it to TV, but not so bad that they instantly become hate figures (although the two twins did a fairly poor job of the latter). In BBC's X-Factor ratings rival, Strictly Come Dancing, BBC Breakfast sports presenter, Chris Hollins struck a blow for the ordinary man against muscular driving offender, poor loser and actor, Ricky Whittle.

Of course there was a whole host of much more edifying television on our screens, but the sad truth is that it doesn't tend to linger as long in the memory as those abhorrations perpetually churned out by the idiotbox (yes, I'm looking at you Channel 4's The Execution of Gary Glitter and ITV 2's Fearne Meets... Peaches). Thankfully there were a number of Doctor Who specials to restore my faith in 'popular' television. They featured the last appearances of David Tennant as the Tenth (and greatest) Doctor. The high quality that had become the trademark of Russell T Davies' tenure was maintained and the finale, well... I can't really talk about it seeing as it happened in 2010, though I read in the paper today that Matt Smith is already in trouble for a patently inocuous 'ginger comment' - perhaps another hallmark of the year, the rise of gingers (they seem to have misunderstood how much oppression one needs to go through before they're allowed to whinge about these sorts of things).

In sport, football continued its descent into becoming some manner of Orwellian Hell, where all teams are equal but some *cough* Man City *cough* are more equal than others. The end of the year also saw the introduction of new regulations, the most important of which being that Manchester United were allowed indefinite injury time until they were able to win or draw the game. The Ashes were reclaimed in sometimes nailbiting, sometimes emphatic, but always entertaining fashion. In Rugby Union, England finally called up man-mountain Matt Banahan to play Wing and the big Jersey boy did Bath proud on the international stage.

In music, there was yet another terrible year of hip-hop, dub-step, grime and various other genres that I don't fully understand. There were a handful of half-listenable 'popular' albums, none of which I can actually remember off the top of my head. There was an 80s revival. Sadly this 'revival' consisted of female singer/songwriters, such as Little Boots and La Roux. Now, critics fell over themselves to heap praise onto these kinds of people, but the songs put forward as much of a case for the eighties as a heady, creative decade as Margaret Thatcher does. Now this leads me to believe that either there's something wrong with me or that there's something wrong with everyone else. Well, I can state categorically that it's definitely the second one. I like 80s music - I love Spandau and OMD and Hair Metal and Synth stuff, but even so these modern artists did nothing for me whatsoever, apart from leave me faintly depressed and annoyed that I can't just lay down and accept this stuff. People got over Amy Winehouse exploding in a massive shower of hairspray, booze, cocaine and court orders by leaning on copycat crutches like Paloma Faith and the mini Winehouse, you know the one, the goddaughter one (none of which are really my cup of tea either). Feel free to comment if you can remember any good music from last year, it was a bit of a blur really. I think I gave up on pop music when R&B stopped meaning The Who and the blues revivalist bands and meant pounding, incessant drum machines and warbling. Seriously, I've been listening to Radio 2 since I was about 14, that's what 'popular' music drove me to.

One triumph seems to be comedy. The year saw We Need Answers and the TV series of Cowards (my pick for TV of the year, despite its cruelly short 3 episode run). Criminally there is to be no more Cowards. But, in a world that allows Horne and Corden oodles of cash and a whole bunch of commissions, I suppose it was to be expected.

Radio comedy too continues to put many of its TV counterparts to shame. There was the hilarious ElvenQuest, a spiritual successor to the Geoffrey Perkins-produced Hordes of the Things and Bleak Expectations returned for a triumphant 3rd series.

So what was 2009 for? Well, it mostly stood for disappointment and edging us all, ever-so-slightly, closer to the void, but there were glimmers of hope. So goodbye to the noughties (thank goodness, it is without doubt the worst epithet for a decade ever) and hello 2010 (to be pronounced twenty ten, methinks, for time saving purposes).

I would give you one of those flashy TV style 'Coming up...' segments about future blogs, but truth be told if one were to examine the workings of my brain, you wouldn't see ideas, simply some random thoughts about bears, that man from the Montgomery Flea Market ads doing his rap and the gentle rattle of tumbleweed scratching across the arid plains of my imagination, so you'll just have to wait and see.