Daveportivo's Cultural Evaluation Facility

Okay so as you may or may not have noticed in the last four months I've turned pro and as a result I've not been able to update my blog very often, and for this I apologise.

Now I want to keep producing content on my blog, partly because I appreciate your readership but also because I'm not given the opportunity to talk about so much of the music that truly I love . So to solve this problem I've created a musical diary. I can't promise that entries will be on a certain day of the week or with consistent regularity, but I will endeavor to catch up on everything that I've missed in the intervening days, okay?

So here we go:

It's been a long time since I last posted and there are some key releases that I really want to discuss starting with:

Given the incredible level of hype that greeted James Blake's self titled debut; backlash was inevitable. It's one thing for NME to label an indy band the saviours of rock, that moniker can be nonchalantly dismissed, but the second the world's critical brain trust labels a young man, a who makes eerie and awkward music, a genius; you can rest assured an unparalleled level of relentlessly scrutiny awaits.

His every decision will be second guessed, his background will be ridiculed and his entire back catalog of EPs will and has already been reconsidered. Perfection will be expected and frailty and confusion will be derided.

James Blake is therefore an interesting case. His debut has been read, and mis-read already; he's dub-step for people who don't like dub-step, he's the next generation, he's bridging the gap between telegraph readers and London clubbers, etc. In reality this is all ludicrous. Blake hasn't tried to be an sort of statesman with this record. His self titled debut follows on from the hauntingly sparse Klaiverwerke leading Blake into singer/songwriter territory.

His palette is electronic, it creeps, buzzes and churns; and yes, Dub Step's deep burbling bass and snare clicks are present, but they are not dominant. Instead one man's emotional fragility takes centre stage. Simple lyrical themes are distorted,stretched, re-ordered and repeated drawing every last drop of emotional resonance from the words.

On "I Never Learnt To Share" Blake's repeated cry of "My Brother And My Sister, Don't Speak To Me, But I Don't Blame Them" eventually snaps into wirey crushing beat. However, James Blake is defined not from it's booming beats but by its pitiful solitude. The muted bleats of "Unluck", the eeriely spaciousness of "Wilhelm Scream" and the "Lindisfarne" suite showcases a producer and a song-writer mastering lonesome melancholy in an intricate and wholly modern manner.

Blake is no Dylan of course, his lyricism is underdeveloped; we are often presented with fragments of heartache, which prove fleetingly beautiful, but often fail to satisfy or resonate over the course of three or four minutes.

He is young of course; expression and emotional intelligence are by-products of age and expansive thematic complexity should come with time. What we have before us today is an immeasurably intriguing talent struggling to convey raw misery. At times his earnest fearlessness approaches a tiresome drone. Despite this it's hard to be anything but bowled over by the expansive intricacy of his arrangements on "To Care Like You"/"Why Don't You Call Me".

The future is still bright for Blake, his debut may be puzzling and frustrating, but he and his compositions remains fascinating and affecting if not entirely enthralling.

Sometimes a playful sense of humour can be just what the doctor ordered. Although oddly, in the years since Brian Eno began his electronic and ambient experimentation it feels as though the genre has lost it's sense of humour. Even Kraftwerk, for their part, were no prudes and positively embraced whimsy, but trying to crack smile from one the 21st Century's electronic pioneers can prove a thankless task. Nicholas Jaar and Space Is Only Noise, however, are a refreshing throw back.

The record is no barrel of laughs of course, it's airy and beautiful with a real spectral quality, but it is genuinely sexy. It leaks and clicks at a seductive pace, too slow to dance, but too quick to mope. This middling tempo plays to Jaar's strengths perfectly allowing his best work to thrill and linger, sooth and excite, to be straight faced and yet comical. There is a sense of adventure to the record and that is where its true beauty is found.

Space Is Only Noise isn't a obviously quirky as a Hot Chip record, although the title track wouldn't look out of place on Coming On Strong, but it doesn't take itself as seriously James Blake either. It should be a conundrum, but it's not; it's too enjoyable and too lovable to over-intellectualize. In short Space Is Only Noise is my favourite album of the year so far.

Tim Hecker's latest offering is the classic example of an album that is more interesting in concept than execution. His idea of art in decay, which he expresses through Ravedeath's bustling contrasting arpegiated tones, is fascinating and makes for some uncomfortable snarling soundscapes.

The "In The Fog" suite captures the torturous death of music at its most jagged and brutal, while the album's later tracks, "Operation Paralysis, 1978" and "Stuido Suicide, 1980", present beauty in decay with a combination of gorgeous chimes and shimmers.

Sadly, while Ravedeath, 1972 functions superbly as a conceptual movement building to a sublime diminuendo, it fails to really innovate sonically and struggles to match both the immediacy and brilliance of Four Tet's There Is Love For You. As a conception, a topic for coffee table debate, Ravedeath... proves both irresistible and challenging; as a record it underwhelms, good undoubtedly, exceptional rarely.

Cults were overtaken by fame so quickly that you almost feel sorry for them. Originally formed as a private joke between friends Cults endearing and ethereal blend of minimal sixties pop has taken the band from university dorms in the US to sold out dates in the UK.

Their trademark single "Outside" is not only mounting an assault on the charts but is already predominantly featured on a major advertising campaign in the UK. On top of that they've been snapped up by Lily Allen's new record label. The latter may actually prove more beneficially than one might expect. Allen is both earnest in her passion for young artistry and a magnet for publicity. She should form a natural deflector shield, defusing and distracting the press hiding Cults from a media blitzkrieg.

Tonight's capacity crowd at the Lexington however is here to see the next big thing; they've heard the hype even if they haven't heard the singles and Cults simply aren't the finish article. They're rough around the edges and desperately short on the material (tonights set clocked in at just over 20 minutes), and while scenesters expecting a trendy tour de force may be disappointed those looking for some endearing and engaging pop will be thrilled.

Cults have the key cultural touch stones covered, there's a dash of chill-wave's eeriness and a dose of the surf rock revival's swing, but these contemporary dalliances serve only to modernise their classic pop tones. The end product has both the light and breezy feel of the sixties and the stark atomsphere of 21st Century indie.

Cults are a shy, uncomfortable but ultimately approachable proposition. A band still in their formative stages, still uncertain, seeking direction, but making some of the most interesting and endearing pop music around; and for a £5 admission that's more than value for money.