Summer was shit again, weather-wise at least, and the shortening nights and sight of Christmas confectionary on the store shelves mean that autumn (or the blurrily descriptive entity, "Fall" as our American cousins would have it) is already here. We didn’t have much chance to build up sun-infused memories of lazy barbecues and beer-gardens, but as Bogey memorably said, "We'll always have Paris". Well, we might not have Paris, but we do always have the music that kept us going through those long, dark months – so here are three records that kept spirits up, even when the rain was coming down. 

  

Johnny Foreigner – Waited Up ‘til It Was Light, June 2, 2008, Best Before Records

All summers need a summer romance – a fling, a fancy, a one-off romantic tumble in a hay barn or on a beach (as long as its not in Dubai) that leaves us breathless, sweaty, and panting for more. Summer 2008 was the season of JoFo, the post-punk-pop-yelp-noise-rock bastards who came along and stole hearts and minds and breath with a series of head-spinning live shows and this: the debut album you used to lie awake at night dreaming about (a little contradictory there? Over-the-top-enthusiasm ed.).

Who would have thought that 13 songs could sound so perfectly formed on a first try? Erupting from the musical wastes of the Midlands (The Twang? The Enemy? There was nothing musical about those wastes at all) with a ferocity that was captivating and dividing in equal measures, the three-piece ripped it up and started everything again with this, shaping pop-music in their own form, and guess what, it never sounded better. ‘Sometimes in the Bullring’ had a bratty snarl and melodic yearning that was irresistible, ‘Salt, Pepa and Spinderella’ was nothing but a triumph of popular song, and ‘DJs gets Doubt’ sounds both naive and novelty and gin-streaked and sincere at the same time.

Short, sharp and sweet, it was everything you wanted in a holiday affair – only this is one that you’re definitely going to keep in touch with.

Sigur Rós - Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust, June 23, 2008, XL Recordings

A complicated piece of contract law, affecting all writing pertaining to Sigur Rós due to the machinations of a top Reykjavik-based solicitor, means that all reviews without exception must make reference to the fact that this band sounds, in some senses at least, “glacial”.

However, despite this piece of legal chicanery, this review must, aside from the above concession, actually point in entirely the opposite direction from all things famously slow-moving and cold. In spite of the reputation Sigur Rós have built up over their past four studio albums, Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust is anything but glacial – if we’re looking to geography here for a useful reference point (and quite frankly, we’re looking anywhere), then this album is most definitely hillocky. That’s right, it’s like a hillock. It’s got grass and everything.

It’s true, spring has come to the Icelandic ones at last. Opener ‘Gobbledigook’ is an encapsulation of the new lush scenery opening up for the four-piece; it’s breathless, pacy, full of ebbs and flows and a sense of triumphalism that reflects the relatively exotic locales that Jónsi and his post-rocking henchmen recorded the album in. Like a fist lurching up into the air, or a new bud blooming forth from winter snow, it’s a snippet of pop fecundity that surges with life and suffuses the whole of the disc with it. You only need to look at the cover to see the change: from the sterile artistry of ( ), to the sight of four delirious people, running naked and exalted to the far-off, verdant hills.

It may be autumn now, but Sigur Rós’ journey from winter to spring took us through summer in typically magnificent style.

Conor Oberst – Conor Oberst, August 5, 2008, Merge Records  

I could write about Conor Oberst for a year and a day and still have words left to describe his genius, but for now, let’s limit ourselves to the merits of this particular offering. Stripping down the sound that produced last year’s Cassadaga, and indeed, dropping the Bright Eyes name all together (long-time BE collaborator Mike Mogis sat this one out), Oberst took himself off to Mexico to summon the true sound of the summer, for this particular writer at least.

It wasn’t always an easy and breezy record though – for every claim that “living’s easy on a houseboat”, there was the stark reminder that “even western medicine couldn’t save Danny Callahan”. But it was exactly this lyrical diversity and musical richness that made this album what it was – an evocative and magnanimous waltz through Oberst’s mercurial mindset, currently (apparently at least) in the most stable and lucid incarnation its been in for a while.

And the songs, as ever, were superb. ‘Cape Canaveral’ strolled along with all the smoky effervescence of the migrant smoke that spilled through its lazy choruses. ‘Money Lenders in the Temple’ kept the keening lamentation it was shot through with when first heard on the 400 Club live bootlegs. ‘I Don’t Want to Die (In the Hospital)’ was a rollicking bar-room stomper, whilst closer ‘Milk Thistle’ was indeed as beautiful as everyone said. Indeed, though this may have first seemed like a record for summer, it soon became apparent that this was really one for all seasons.

Summer gave us a lot to be disappointed with, but it didn't let us down here.

Posted In Features, Sep 23 2008. Words - Josh