Blokey yet chummy house from Hot Chip’s Joe Goddard and Raf Rundell, a personably geezer-ish mix of Damon Albarn, Ashley Slater and Jona Lewie. The combination expertly stirs Balearic heart and soul on the title track and ‘Work’, provides working-class poetry (‘Heart Of The Congos’) and offers paws-fur-thought on the novelty-or-not ‘Bear Hug’. Sounding like club music for grown-ups wanting a decadent summer of love return without wanting their troublesome kids tagging along, ‘Be Strong’ inevitably drifts back into very Hot Chip ease backs with ‘Warm & Easy’, while ‘Time In Mind’ goes down well by the riverside like Ralph McTell. Likely to be a hit in the woods and beyond.

8/10

Words by MATT OLIVER

Area 52 is a revisiting and reimagining of the duo’s previous output, with new arrangements undertaken with the help of C.U.B.A, an ensemble of hand picked Cuban instrumentalists. With clean production and virtuoisitic precision, imagine a Latin, metal, jazz inspired mellow mele, on acoustic instruments. The title acknowledging C.U.B.A’s “alien” approach to their own, perhaps an indicator of what to expect for those already familiar with the pair. An unrelenting tirade with few moments to pause and catch ones breath, the arsenal of musicians, instruments and riffs enough to keep Mom and Dad on their toes and feet tapping.

6/10

BENJAMIN RHODES

“We’re very happy to have our first sold out show tonight,” says a flattered Liam O'Donnell, needing time to settle before dispatching ‘Neon Truth’ in an uncoordinated introduction. It’s easy to see that Various Cruelties are lacking professional standards tonight. The indie quartet is disrupted by equipment failure from the off, but their upbeat and jangly opening continues into second song ‘Great Unknown’, its beat driven and emotive chorus demanding our attention.

Various Cruelties are pleasingly in conflict with English guitar bands. When they slow it down on soulful ballad ‘She Is The One’ - O'Donnell pretend romancing with bassist Beanie Bhebhe - the bare and plain song is equivalent to a fork in the road. Their choices can take them down a trodden track (Arctic Monkeys) or surfaced track (Amy Winehouse), but if these decisions acquire songs like ‘Chemicals’ – a poetic song about trying to find something or someone to live for - they may be able to fill more than The 100 Club.

“London, we’ll see you again in April,” reads one of O’Donnell’s tweets. Let’s hope Various Cruelties are prepared for their biggest UK tour to date.

Words by Jake Young

Hanging onto the Joy Division shirt tails, this Dutch band were part of the scene that took punk into new wave. Possibly the unfortunate band name (taken from a drum machine) played a part in their lack of international success back then. Disbanding in 1985, they are now reforming to play some live sets and so it seems fitting to release a live CD from back then. It is well produced and captures a startling performance, suggesting their role in swaying rock towards electronic should have been more prominent. In these days of hackneyed Eighties revivalists, one recommends a serious listen to some forgotten pioneers!

8/10

Words by TC

Sometimes there are just gigs that stand out, raise themselves amongst the rest, and leave you in deep thought for days afterwards. You play over the moments in your head - the captive little snatches of bass that kept melting your brain, the breath of excursion as each track ends. Those feelings come from a deep dark place, an emotional place, and they’re powerful. They never leave you. A Winged Victory for The Sullen were all of those things at Cecil Sharp House.

Playing to a captive audience at their first ever London show, the duo are immersed; just as drawn away from reality as the crowd are. They turn moments to minutes of pure bliss, leaving chills with the ambient soundscapes they seem to develop from the simplest of setups. There are only strings, a guitar and a piano at work here, yet they make the sound of the heavens, drawing us all somehow closer to a surreal state of unconsciousness.

As each throb of riveting bass collides with the walls of Cecil Sharp House they intertwine themselves amongst a pattern of different sounds. Just as each touch of ivory resonates a different emotion in the listener. The strings section confines themselves to a circle, seemingly bouncing off each other to create playful harmonies that bound beautifully under each deep wave of velocity. There’s something so perfect and at peace about the gig, something that lets its audience sit idly back and stare deep into a ceiling of different patterns without the fear of looking like an idiot or missing a moment. Something that makes this scene feel a little bit perfect.

Each flick and layer of sound makes the audience tickle with intense vibrations. Yet this ball of sound, this mass of energy still doesn’t take away from the chill of the hall, the epiphany of it’s grandeur becoming a beacon of shivering bodies.

Tonight’s performance is “7 pieces of music about broken hearts and dead people,” or seven haunting tales of intense power and strange optimism - the fairytale story of the engineer and the composer collaborating. And it makes for the most wonderful of gigs.

There’s a story to my crusades with A Winged Victory For The Sullen, something that’s drawn me away from ever being able to properly appreciate them, but that changed tonight. I’d never been able to get through their record without being sent to the calming world of dreams and lullabies. But that’s A Winged Victory, in one word - a lullaby, the surreal dream-like pleasure.

Words by Robbie Wojciechowski

Colin MacIntyre, fresh record deal in pocket, rekindles his allegiance with his old pseudonym, which is good news all round. It would be easy to place the man in one of the spurious folk sub-genres but one always feels there’s a pop song trying to break through. Never quite crossing the line into that ephemeral arena, the album captures a reflective mood but with enough commercialism to sucker you in!

7/10

Words by TC

Sumach Ecks looks like a man with a story to tell. Bearded, bedraggled, staring intently from behind haphazard dreads, his drug struggles and yoga salvation play a prominent role in the downbeat soul and reanimated hip-hop of his music. Maligned and meandering, ‘MU.ZZ.LE’ shares all of the hazy musical spirituality of his debut album,‘A Sufi And A Killer’, shifting in and out of focus with gramophone crackles and haunting introspection.

Notably shorter than its predecessor, ‘MU.ZZ.LE’ is just as rich and arresting, cataloguing Sumach’s echoes, mumbles and stumbles through an album of lethargic trip hop and uneasy paranoia. The Mojave Desert isolation is tangible, setting the dusty, starlit backdrop for Gonjasufi’s mystical power on the electrified ‘Feedin’ Birds’ - a duet played out and howled at the moon, charged like a primal scream into the darkness. Sitting alongside the lozenge-smooth beats of ‘Rubberband’ and the guttural, syncopated deadspace of ‘Venom’, the contrast between considered production and Ecks’ languid delivery are teasingly apparent.

But there’s a lot of joy to be found in the inconsistencies; where ‘The Blame’ gorgeously seeps through the way NERD’s ‘Provider’ once did, its wailing precursor ‘Skin’ hits like an Ol’ Dirty Bastard monologue. Wracked by disparate voices on a sombre endless loop, it’s bleak and unresolved, fading out to the infinite. It feels like a parallel Ecks is desperate to avoid, stitching himself into the fabric of his music no matter how bleak. He promised a dark journey. We got one.

8/10

Words by REEF YOUNIS

We’ll just let the title go, yeah? After almost twenty years of pop-rock riffery, New Yorkers Nada Surf have hit form again. Excellent third album, 2002’s ‘Let Go’ - containing career-highlight ‘Hi-Speed Soul’ which you’ll be wanting to hear - was their last to really soar. A change to the way they work, trying to capture the urgency of live performance or the first rehearsal, has reinvigorated the band. Matthew Caws has one of those gorgeous indie voices - think Death Cab’s Ben Gibbard - which stretches but doesn’t quite break. Coupled to joyous tunes like ‘Looking Through’, recorded in one take, it’s hard to resist.

7/10

Words by GARETH JAMES

The first DJ Food album in eleven years (actually a compilation of EP tracks from a few years back) is a baffling thing. Guest-heavy, sci-fi tinged and crammed with endless movie voice-over samples, it feels like nothing less than a remake of UNKLE’s ‘Psyence Fiction’.

The title feels appropriate. The cut ‘n’ paste albums of the Nineties were made before the Internet had achieved omniscience. Their loops, samples and library cues felt fresh and mysterious. In 2012, everyone reading this can access any record in any genre at any time. You’d imagine that this would be encouragement to make an album as wild and adventurous as 2000’s ‘Kaleidoscope’. But aside from JG Thirwell sounding briefly like a Dalek, it’s all a bit drab and unmemorable. It’s not quite as po-faced as UNKLE’s efforts, but for what is (nominally) a hip-hop album, it’s curiously lacking in groove and sex - a situation not helped by the guest vocalists all being dudes (Exterminator Thirwell, but also Matt Johnson of The The, Natural Self and 2econd Class Citizen).

That’s not to say that it’s without merit. When Strictly Kev cuts loose and lets his samples do the talking, it’s fun. ‘Giant’ ends with an extended tribal jam that’s hypnotic and head-noddy. The longest track, ‘Magpie Music’, is also the best, dancing through genres playfully. But the over-riding impression is that this is a tired, conservative and weirdly insular album.

5/10

Words by WILL SALMON

Leila’s fourth album is akin to being trapped inside the mind of someone who’s turning ever so slightly deranged. At times meditative and spiritual (the spectral, hymnal ‘In Consideration’ and the mournful title track), at others dark and lugubrious (the disturbing noise of ‘Interlance’ and the epileptic ‘Colony Collapse Disorder’), ‘U&I’ - a collaboration with Berlin-based DJ Mt. Sims - flits between cognisance and insanity, euphoria and emotional breakdown across forty-five minutes of shape-shifting beats, loops, samples and disembodied vocal stylings. Intense and claustrophobic, it’s a surprisingly revelatory record that captures the highs and lows of human experience and existence.

8/10

Words by MISCHA PEARLMAN

Much has changed in the life of Cheri MacNeil, the South African behind Dear Reader. Having amicably split from her musical partner Darryl Torr, she relocated from Johannesburg to Berlin, but also - and perhaps more significantly - underwent a loss of her religious faith. ‘Idealistic Animals’ is therefore a break-up album with MacNeil choosing to explore her base values by writing each song about an animal concept. If this premise requires its own leap of faith, the songs are rich in honesty and MacNeil’s warm vocal, with the sweeping ‘WHALE (BooHoo) and baroque folk of ‘MOLE (Mole) working best. A quirky and sincere collection.

7/10

Words by JOHN FREEMAN

Blistering, fraught and intense, the second album from these Leeds noiseniks carries on with aplomb from where last year’s self-titled debut left off. Which means that these eleven songs are belligerent and in-your-face explosions of intense noise - angular riffs, polyrthyms, raucous screams all mixed together to create a jagged, jarring, serrated knife of an album. As such, the cuts are deep but messy,and the likes of ‘Give Me A Reason’ and ‘Bromance Ain’t Dead’ are eviscerating tunes that leave you bloody and with a tangle of intestines spilling from your open stomach. A relentless and ridiculous - but occasionally repetitive - record of raucous rowdiness.

7/10

Words by MISCHA PEARLMAN

The Söderberg sister's follow-up to 2010's intimate 'The Big Black And Blue' is their first full-band recording. Recorded in Omaha with Mike Mogis at the helm and their father Benkt on bass, 'The Lion's Roar' is full of rich textures that unfurl around Klara and Johanna's bittersweet harmonies.

A lonely mellotron lights up the gorgeous 'In The Hearts Of Men' while the title track is full-blown country-rock coloured with an intrinsic sadness. While the greats - Gram and Johnny, as well as Ms. Harris - are name-checked on the twinkling 'Emmylou', First Aid Kit have woven their Swedish sangfroid into a bewitching brew of Americana.

8/10

Words by John Freeman

Stroke your beard presents ‘January Songs’ by Darren Hayman, and beards there are aplenty. Benjamin Shaw is representing and his acoustic rambling makes for a perfect opener for Hayman.

There’s an air of excitement around tonight. This isn’t just at a gig, but an event of sorts. Last January, Hayman ambitiously wrote and recorded a song every day which has been released as a double album. Tonight he’s here to play the first 16, though he admits a few of these are rather embarrassing so he has cut it down to around ten. The Hideaway is a quaint little venue, making it an ideal setting for the occasion. Everybody gathers round, sitting politely on the faux grass floor. One punter making himself truly at home donning a pair of large novelty slippers.

Hayman opens with his 1st January song 'It Was Over'. This tale of a relationship gone sour is arguably one of the best and shows Hayman for the great, if not underrated, songwriter that he is. Reading lyrics from his iPad this is the first and last time some of these songs will be performed live. Next up is 2nd January, 'Bad Technology',  one of the album's lo-fi electronic songs, reproduced live tonight on just an acoustic guitar, and it works surprisingly well. 

The first guest of the night is his old bandmate from Hefner, Jack Haytar. He joins in for the eerie sounding 'Let Me Sleep'. Continuing with the guests, the highlight of the set comes when Elizabeth Morris from indie popsters Allo Darlin’ comes on to sing 'I Know I Fucked Up'. This beautiful lament gets one of the best reactions of the night and the standard is kept high with the upbeat 'Britain in Bloom' and 'Esplanade Drive'. Ending with the albums most catchy 'Who Hung The Monkey', this tale of a road trip is one of the closest sounding to his former band Hefner and even gets a sing-along from this politely attentive audience.

Darren Hayman has shown that quantity needn't compromise on the quality of these songs and he is up there with the great songwriters of this country, the crowd want more but he's done. Next week Hayman continues on from this show performing the second half of ‘January Songs’, and I for one would love to be here.

Words by Paul Melbourne
Photos by Rachel Lipsitz

Cinema’s take on Shakespeare has been mixed; either movies so timid in interpretation that we're left with a filmed recital, or ‘new takes’ so misguided that they evade the Bard’s magic entirely. Arguably a ‘lesser’ Shakespeare, this Coriolanus is a masterpiece, as tragic as any RSC production, more nuanced than any contemporary movie.

Acting is poetry in this grim, imaginary, quasi-Eastern Bloc Rome, where the successful savage general Coriolanus defeats every foe save peace and populism. Fiennes excels, that we pity this battle-scarred brute when he roars like a bear with toothache is testament to his extraordinary ability. Gerard Butler astonishes, drawing on previously hidden reserves of frailty as Tullus Aufidius. But it’s Vanessa Redgrave who shines brightest as Coriolanus’ controlling mother, in her this five-hundred-year-old language soars while still rooted in timeless emotions: pride, love, consuming zeal.

The direction, however, is the star. Is it war on trial here, these battles that shock and awe us? Or is it democracy, the heartless, fickle mob whom Coriolanus openly disdains? Fiennes allows us to loathe each. By the finale it is the world itself we despise, a hideous lair where words become monsters, and the only sick honour is in death.

9/10

Words by COLM FIELD

CORIOLANUS
DIRECTOR RALPH FIENNES
RELEASED JANUARY 20th
CERT 12 LIONSGATE

Twinkling in blue skies, mingling in surf's seafoam, lapping beach hiss. Idealised situations, backing tracks to life's TV show: soaring hearts, crashing melancholy, high drama crescendos. These songs are just waiting for you to give context to them: road trips, late night gallivanting, drunken memories, first love, heartbreak. From minimal composition to maximal, shades of the day and the human condition. Imagine Tyrannosaurus Rex era Marc Bolan fronting a chillwave band: delicate, polite and unabashed. Most certainly a bedroom record affair and perhaps suffering for this fact but the overall sentiment captured make up for whatever shortcomings may be presented.

7/10

Words by Benjamin Rhodes

Last week Clash's fashion team were invited to attend Firenze 4 Ever, the bi-annual style event curated by luxury online retailer Luisa Via Roma, held at their flagship store in Florence, a stone's throw away from the Duomo no less.

Now in its fourth season, this year's Firenze 4 Ever outstretched the invite to music bloggers, having previously centred solely on fashion blogs. Partnering up with the likes of Shini Park (the South Korean born, London based by way of Poland fashionista behind Park & Cube) and the notorious Bryan Boy, (he of Marc Jacobs BFF fame), were established music bloggers such as Discobelle and Polaroid (two Swedes and an Italian, respectively). This new addition saw four 'sittings' of fashion's favourite girls and guys style up to three looks-using the brand spanking new season stock piled up high in the three storey space-which was later awarded a playlist selected by the music heads; Clash was lucky enough to try its hand at both.

A second addition to the mix for 2012 was the 'Pugs For Happy Kids' initiative, in which 20 designers dressed up a toy dog (for lack of better words) in association with plush toy brand Steiff. The exclusive dogs were then displayed around the store, and each blogger asked to 'adopt' their favourite pup; Clash went for the bedazzling Manish Arora pug. Photographed in-store with their owner, bigged up on the blog, the dogs will later be auctioned off with all the proceeds going to the charity Unicef. Flown out on Thursday morning ready for the evening's aperitivo in-store (with a few hours in-between to sample the first pizza of the trip and set our sites on the Arno, of course), we were later ushered into a bright shop space complete with Legally-Blonde-pink carpet (in preparation for Saturday's party). Drinks were politely sipped surrounded by flashing cameras and faces we'd spied online the night before tottered past in the highest of heels.

Friday was the first day of the so-called 'Style Lab' and saw the first two groups of designer waving punters eagerly eye up the rails of clothes before them, pulling at those pieces that took their fancy. With a wide range of designers available and a floor each given to womenswear, menswear and street wear, there was an overwhelming opportunity to be inventive; Clash took a liking to some Rick Owens, Jil Sander, Givenchy and a pair Underground creepers, fyi.

The 'Music Lab' saw the bespectacled boys play DJ, on their laptops at least, as they chose the music best to represent each look. A three course meal in a nearby church followed, with a dreamy spread that saw a thousand candles across three large tables. This being a bloggers do an' all, iPhones, Blackberry's and the odd DSLR were all brought out to capture the (possibly) Baz Luhrmann inspired moment (head over to Twitter if you missed it, where @clash_fashion played their part in the crowd and caught it on camera).

Day two saw more of the same, with the last two groups given their model and photographer, choose their pieces and get their hair and make-up done by Aveda and MAC, who were on hand throughout proceedings to cater to our every beauty need. Night fall saw the event's highlight with the arrival of the Pink Carpet Party, a theme which Clash and our cohorts forgot, turning up in head to toe black. Joined by new faces, many of whom had stuck to the theme in wigs and pink frocks, the heaving store served up pink champagne in pink glasses while model's lined the entrance in especially made pink dresses.

With the bar upstairs, the ground level became a gig space as Joan As Police Woman and her band took to the floor. Treated to a half hour set by the Connecticut musician, Joan Wasser played a helping of tracks from last year's 'Deep Field' LP, such as the smooth but dark 'Chemmie'. The evening's official finale came in the form of Mr. James Lavelle doing his thing on the decks, before many a partygoer headed out in a bid to continue the party. A Sunday morning brunch at The Savoy made sure that sore heads got looked after and gave everyone the chance to say goodbye before flying back to their various blogging caves. For Clash, half eleven became two o'clock and finally we left our smoked salmon and scrambled eggs for one last photo of the Duomo.

To see the photos, watch the videos and listen to the playlists, head over to www.luisaviaroma.com.

Words by Zoe Whitfield

Radio presenter Jon Hillcock heads to ATP: Nightmare Before Christmas

Having spluttered and cursed our way up the A39 for an impatient hour, inches from a bumbling silver Punto, we arrive in Minehead for ATPs Nightmare Before Christmas later than planned. But we remain buoyant, even when presented with our chalet: a dim showerless box reminiscent of an American motel room of the type frequented exclusively by serial killers and adulterers in 1970s road movies.

When we finally make it to Reds we witness Baltimore’s OXES deliver a handful of ‘respectful mosh-pitters’, a wilfully ironic cover of ‘Wild Thing’ and a “new one” that falls apart in amusing fashion when even the band themselves are unable to master its obtuse time signature. No Age follow and, with faithful ferocity, suck yours truly into an intensely satisfying mosh pit, the joy of which is only partly tarnished when a fresh faced young chap informs me that my exhausted, sweating face makes him feel old. I’m not quite sure how to take it. No Age also throw open an invite to the crowd for vocal assistance on a cover of Black Flag’s ‘Wasted’. “I need to change my shirt,” he complained when I drunkenly accosted him later on. “People keep recognising me and coming over to chat.” Fame, eh?

Other highlights of the day: Hot Snakes blasting through a brilliantly paced, frenetic set, and an indescribably spectacular, emotional and ecstatic show to close the night from Les Savy Fav.

Day two starts with a swim (and more importantly a shower soundtracked by Death Grips’ ‘Klink’. Where else but ATP?) and a tempting teaser of an early opening set from the day’s curators: Battles. Walls and Washed Out follow and are decent enough but it quickly becomes apparent that, from here on in, this ATP is to be defined by percussion. It’s unsurprising of course, John Stanier of Battles - perhaps one of the most celebrated percussionists alive - having a hand in saying who plays today.

Closing the night, Battles deliver an absorbing, tightly controlled, far more disciplined set than earlier in the day. Highlights include killer renditions of ‘Leyendecker’ and ‘Ice Cream’, plus extended, warped versions of old favourites such as ‘Atlas’, now brilliantly reworked with a children’s choir singing the refrain at its core.

Finally, we return to Centre Stage for the expanded eleven-piece Caribou Vibration Ensemble, replete with mad scientist (James Holden hopping around a modular synthesiser hooked up to one of the drum kits), a skronking, honking four-man horn section including legendary Sun Ra octogenarian Marshall Allen (playing at one point what looks like a sci-fi duck whistle), Keiran Hebden (Four Tet) to contribute electronics, and two drummers, facing each other at the centre of the throng. There are far too many highlights to mention, but it feels perfectly apt that the final set of this ATP features a complex network of percussive experts weaving each of their unique beats, rhythms, synths, programs, samples and sounds together as one, and that this mind-blowing Nightmare Before Christmas should end with a glowing, blinding burst of ‘Sun’.

Words by Jon Hillcock
Photos by Duncan Elliott

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Montréal is a strange place. On a tour of the city put on by the conference we are shown 80's blue chip skyscrapers, bloated concrete constructions and dusty glass. These ghostly corporate shells live adjacent to run down thrift stores, empty retail sites and outdated technology shops. It's as if the town planners shocked the city into a late 20th Century industrial town, then, having seen what monstrosities they created retreated, only to find the confidence to build again in recent years. Anecdotally, the 1970 Olympic stadium was only paid off in full in 2006 (C$264 million) a white elephant too expensive to raze to the ground (C$700 million). These buildings are light on corporate logos; signs for logistics firms, banks, and hotels are lean. It was in this time that M…Pour Montréal established itself with questions such as, "What does Montréal do?"

The conference is in many ways a beautiful farce. Whether it is a colleague from another publication dropping acid on his birthday then attending networking events, or the cultural worker who shows me an inaudible video of a staged band rehearsal seeking my approval. I nod, I leave. Whether it's the 'party room' in the hotel for delegates to enjoy beer and nibbles, or to pick up cocaine; or whether it's the fact that the demise of HMV in Canada has brought the local music industry to its knees (somewhat prophetic for the UK delegates who have travelled out) - with jet lag a catalyst, Montréal is a different reality.

When I wasn't being harangued by agents or managers in the hotel lobby, blind enthusiasm combined with culturally deaf musicians, the conference hosted an impressive selection of artists: from the 90's Hip-Pop of Bran Van 3000 (yes, I know. Expect to hear more of him this year, insider tip) to the Noise of Doldrums, ironic hipsters Uncle Bad Touch, or the swooning folk of Thus:Owl.

The relatively lean bill of artists allowed for plenty of sonic tourism. Due to strict licensing regulation in the city, and a vacuum in venues, there's a loft party gigging scene. Professional suburban space The Silver Door entertained a handful of mediocre bands followed by some even more mediocre dubstep. Nothing worth mentioning. However small city centre space W()MB played host to Cop Car Bonfire, Labios, Escapists and Bataille Solaire. All associated with the Hobo Cults collective based in the city, the groups are mostly collaborations between individuals from other better known projects. The event was beautifully cutting edge, and in a candle lit room made for the highlight of the trip.

Well established artist collective, Constellations, known for Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Colin Stetson, and Tindersticks, amongst others have expanded with a cafe, Casa Del Popolo, and have bought the then failing Spanish Institute opposite. Both venues are used by the festival. Here, drinking Saint Amboise Outmeal Stout (the only good meal you'll find in this city outside of Patati Patata) it becomes apparent where these Avant Garde collectives, or faux-subversive parties, find their inspiration.

The barren, centre-less industry of Montréal has created a strange democracy with the city's go-to record store Cheap Thrills situated near austere University and commercial buildings. Sandwiched between grey concrete and black glass towers this two-storey faux bohemian house pedals Black Metal, John Zorn, an impressive second hand book section and essential records and tapes. Look beyond the failed commercialisation of Montréal and you'll find a hidden utopia. M…Pour Montréal, is very much haunted by the city. From this fallout the city is rebuilding itself structurally and industrially with a carte blanche mentality, of which the festival exists at the vanguard.

Words and photo by Samuel Breen

After debuting with Hunger, an oppressive study of extreme human behaviour based around the true story of IRA hunger striker Bobby Sands, Steve McQueen lives up to expectations with the brilliant and equally challenging Shame.

Set in a perma-nocturnal New York, Brandon (Michael Fassbender) is a corporate figurehead more defined by his addiction to sex than his job. He flickerson the side of functional addict until his younger sister - the free-spirited, compulsive Sissy (Carey Mulligan) - arrives in town to stay in his flat, sparking a dual downward spiral between the two siblings.

Bolstered by intensely self-destructive performances by his two leads, McQueen is again unafraid to challenge conventions. Two extended scenes - Brandon’s late night jog and Sissy’s sensual vocal performance - add a layer of depth that mere dialogue couldn’t establish.

Shame’s biggest success is finding humorous moments in the earlier depictions of Brandon’s addiction, for the hell that follows is as grimy and disturbing as film comes. Captivating adult cinema that reiterates McQueen’s status as a director of consummate skill and judgement.

9/10

Words by BEN HOPKINS

SHAME
DIRECTOR STEVE MCQUEEN
RELEASED JANUARY 13th
CERT 18
MOMENTUM