Alkaline Trio have a hugely loyal fanbase, every song was shouted back at the band word-perfect by nearly every person standing in front of them, regardless of their age. Having had their biggest success in the UK with Stupid Kid in 2001, a large proportion of the crowd will have been enjoying young adulthood and teenage life when the band were at the peak of their popularity here.

Alkaline Trio aren’t your average punk rock band – moments of bliss shine through

This isn’t your average punk rock band, filling sets with near identical two minute bursts of manic guitar and bouncing around a lot. Sure, those elements were there tonight in the form of the punchy In Vein and Snake Oil Tankard, little explosions strategically placed throughout the set to revitalise the crowds energy. But moments of bliss shine through – Radio from 2000′s Maybe I’ll Catch Fire was beautifully anthemic, with cries of: “I’ve got a big fat f**king bone to pick with you my darling” resonating through the venue’s main hall. Tears and stupidly big grins could be seen in some reminiscing factions of the crowd, with the same smiles also planted across the faces of the band – a sign that the lack of crowd interaction was probably down to their shyness and modesty rather than the arrogance exuded by bands at many similar gigs.

This Addiction, the band’s latest release, has clearly been studied by most of the crowd before tonight’s show. Its incredible title track was one of the biggest hits of the night. But the moment that united the room could only have been when Matt Skiba stepped up to the mic and announced “This is called Stupid Kid”. It was teenage heartbreak all over again, and not one person was regretting it, fists flying, voices cracking and bodies rebounding. And as if that didn’t take people back far enough into their past, ’97 ended the show, seeing the band walking off to cries of “Trio! Trio! Trio!

Alkaline Trio leave the stage to a hail of appreciation from the crowd

Who couldn’t resist coming back to this crowd and giving them more? A cover of Attitude by punk legends Misfits satisfied the crowd’s final hunger, the full array of ages at tonight’s gig enjoying the hit from 1995. Thanking the crowd profusely, Alkaline Trio left the stage to a hail of appreciation from an audience who could not have been happier spending the night re-living their youth.

Review: Steve McCaul

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By now you’ll know that MGMT’s Congratulations is the complete antithesis to everything their debut album Oracular Spectacular was. There’s an almost extreme rejection of anything remotely commercial, which is perhaps best epitomised by the sprawling twelve-minute epic Siberian Breaks. I’ve nothing against 12, 20, even 40 minute tracks if they work. Sadly, I’m not so sure this does. It’s pleasant enough to listen to as it can’t be denied that VanWyngarden and Goldwasser (the best surnames in rock, surely?) are both masters of melody and composition. But there’s little that’s groundbreaking here.

There are definite moments of achievement on Congratulations. The whole album has echoes of the superbly smooth, classically French production values expounded by Air on their critically acclaimed album 10,000 HZ Legend, giving us clear reassurance that if MGMT are off their rocker, they haven’t lost their wits completely.

Opening track It’s Working storms into play with crashing drums and rhetorical questions aplenty – “How will I know if it’s working right?” coos a tripped-out VanWyngarden while synths schizophrenically meander and bounce all around him. Song For Dan Treacy continues along this vibe, while Brian Eno, even with it’s daft lyrics, is admittedly catchy.

In some ways, you have to admire them for wholeheartedly living up to the rock-star hype-machine myth by being the tinkers they’re ruthlessly deconstructing. But some moments, like the ludicrously self-indulgent caterwauling on Lady Dada’s Nightmare, just leave you confused. Am I meant to like this? Or should I be smiling wryly at MGMT’s comical tinkering with leftfield music genres?

Congratulations will definitely test the loyalty of their fanbase to the extreme but to be fair, MGMT have always worn their psychedelic rock influences firmly on their bell-bottomed sleeves so a hippy-trippy excursion such as this should really come as no surprise. It will be a huge shock to anyone expecting power-pop melodies and cracking electro hooks though. I wonder what their record label Columbia honestly think of it. And whose decision it was not to release any singles. How’s that for a wry dig?

Even though SFX kicks the crowd into touch, his primal noises seem a weird way to begin Plan B’s epic, almost orchestral, soul-driven new material. The crowd goes wild when Ben Drew appears though, and yes, he’s suited and shirted too. Kicking off with The Writing’s On The Wall, things don’t seem good. Drew’s falsetto wavers and he’s surprisingly betrayed by a lack of confidence. Following up with The Recluse, he gains ground with the louder sound and spinning arpeggios and his vocals step into gear.

She Said, with its shamelessly fruity soul-pop melodies, is eagerly welcomed by the crowd. I’m chuffed when he deviates from the Strickland drill with the B-Side Money. Lyrically it’s ludicrously misogynistic but musically it’s raw and fluid and shows Drew as a soul man, belting out his harmonies without backing singers.

Things go back to Banks and some punters clearly dislike his new material with errant calls of “Play some old stuff” and stupid heckles of “Play some hip hop” which Drew ignores. Later, he says “I’ve not made a soul record to get a good chart position, it’s because it’s what I wanted to do”, but he shouldn’t have to justify himself when he sounds this amazing. He covers labelmate Paolo Nutini’s Comin’ Up Easy, which is the most outstanding cover I’ve heard all year thanks to it’s funked up beats, whirling organs and cracking vocals both from Drew and his backing singers. It’s pure class and the fact that he can chuck in raps and carry the whole thing off is a testament to his skill and talent.

I don’t think he’ll return to the stage for an encore thanks to the idiocy of some crowd members but he does, flanked by SFX and they do a storming half hour encore that’s rounded off with a double dose (yes, two performances) of Stay Too Long at the finish. SFX adds extra beats to Charmaine and Mama (Loves A Crackhead), they take in samples from classic soul numbers like Ain’t No Sunshine and with the full live band, this makes for brilliant interpretations of his old material. Everyone in the place is hot, sweaty and live. It’s still the same Plan B folks, he’s just doing what he’s always wanted to. Don’t hate him for it.

One listen of album opener Love Goes Down will leave you open mouthed in shock. Since when did Drew metamorphose into Stevie Wonder? He’s a tad more falsetto, but still, the impact his voice has is incredible. Even the cheesy lyrics about undressing his girl don’t put you off. In conclusion: there’s a magical chemistry being weaved on Defamation that’s truly enviable.

Drew’s raps drag the album kicking and screaming back into the 21st century

Writing’s On The Wall shifts the vibe from deep-down-to-the-bowels lovin’ to the bittersweet jangly pop of sixties Motown. Stay Too Long could’ve completely destroyed the flow of Defamation. Its raw punky guitar riff intro and thundering drums risk jarring with Drew’s falsetto, but fortunately whirling vibes emanating from a Hammond organ manage to tie it all together. Just. His rapping also works surprisingly well and ruthlessly drags the whole album kicking and screaming back into the 21st century.

Traded In My Cigarettes is a future single with it’s delectable harmonies forming a stark contrast to heartfelt lyrics about the desperate realities of prison life. When Drew hits the stripped down chorus, everything comes together with such immaculate ease that it’s genuinely moving. Prayin’ sees Drew milking the gospel soul genre for all it’s worth, holding forth about the lord, the devil, hell and angels with surprising authority.

Merges different shades of R’n'B with devilish sophistication and class

Closing track What You Gonna Do is a rabble-rousing number that sees Banks facing his jury. It merges all the different shades of R’n’B on the album with a devilish level of sophistication and class. A brass section collides with grimey in-the-gutter rapping, drums thunder against a slick gospel choir and the whole thing comes together with startling fluidity and effortlessness.

Whereas your mum might have branded his debut Who Needs Actions When You’ve Got Words as gutter trash, she’ll probably end up nicking your copy of Plan B’s The Defamation Of Strickland Banks. And that’s where it’s true success really lies – in the fact that Plan B now has huge mass market appeal. And showing off his voice doesn’t quite mean he’s forgotten where he came from. Defamation is slick all over and when he sounds as good as this who would be mean enough to deny Drew a flirtation with the soul genre? It’s jammed with gorgeous, velvety numbers that are wrapped up in addictive, anthemic and incredibly intelligent R’n’B. This is one album that should be heading up this year’s list of Mercury Music prize nominees for sure.

For the full unedited review, visit Michelle Dhillon’s blog.

Plan B’s The Defamation Of Strickland Banks is released on all formats on 12 April 2010

Five guys wearing eery white dummy masks walk onto the tiny stage picking their way through a huge assortment of synthesisers, control boxes, guitars and drums, bathed in shafts of blue light and accompanied by an intro of soft electronic bleeps. It forms the build up to Cult Logic, one of the standout tracks on Miike Snow’s self-titled debut album.

Lo-fi melodic pop, underscored with a fearsome, throbbing edge

A masked Andrew Wyatt coos his pitch-perfect vocal into the mic while playing a synth that’s been rather wonderfully fashioned into a piano as Christian Karlsson and Pontus Winnberg add layers of alternating but dominant synths, one guy twiddles knobs and another beats a drumpad. Its lo-fi melodic pop, underscored with a fearsome, throbbing edge.

The deep throb never fades away and takes us firmly into Black & Blue, which sees the quintet proceed to fire their musical arsenal at the jam-packed crowd. The track builds ever upwards into a cavalcade of fierce power pop, laced with blissful electronic and vocal harmonies. You can see the influence of Animal Collective clearly, but there’s a raw urgency to this lot that has shades of heavy metal, as well as pop and electro.

Think Animal Collective mixed with stylised, electronic wizardry of Kraftwerk

Far from being pretentious posers, Miike Snow are extremely talented musicians with a keen ear for the intricate minutae of sound. They finally all rip their masks off to a deafening applause from the packed out crowd. Think Animal Collective mixed with the stylised, electronic wizardry of Kraftwerk and you’ll be close to what Miike Snow are like live. It’s hard to believe that I’m witnessing this stellar performance in the Rescue Rooms. Awesome!

And it just gets better. A Horse Is Not A Home (good advice) rears up with Sylvia, and the subdued beauty of Wyatt’s vocals contrast with the chunky, robotic artifice of the synths. This develops yet again with Plastic Jungle, which sees shredded guitar noise being thrown over a sleazy electronic thumping. Just when things can’t feasibly get any better, We’re treated to the squelchy beats and blissful vocal chants of Animal.

Wyatt announces that he smells like he’s from biblical times. Nice.

Wyatt goes off on one with his guitar at the climax of the track, but he’s not doing anything with it except whirling it over people’s heads, then his own, then looking like he wants to hurl it somewhere but not doing so. Hmm, that old Swedish reserve from his bandmates is clearly rubbing off on the American! After this bizarre fit, he announces that he smells like he’s from biblical times. Nice.

We’re seen off (quite literally, it appears that this lot have no idea about what an encore is) with the immense pulsating vibes of In Search Of, which build up into a colossal wall of sound for about eight minutes. They walk off the stage one by one as each of their samples ends, leaving me gazing in awe at what I’ve just witnessed. Outside, small flakes of white snow fall from the sky. Spectacular.

Review: Michelle Dhillon

The brightest British lyricist of our generation

“Who?!” I hear you gawk. This might come as a huge shock to most of you, but the brightest British lyricist of our generation isn’t Peter flaming Doherty or Amy ‘pass the Margherita’ Winehouse. And this is what’s so wrong about rock and pop culture’s incredibly sleazy obsession with car-crash cadavers; the god-awful fact that someone as awesome as Frank Turner might totally pass you by because he seems to be a perfectly clean bill of health.

Exploding onto the stage with Live Fast, Die Old, he incites the entire venue to sing along with every single lyric for almost 90 minutes and it’s a sight to behold. Comparable only to the legendary Billy Bragg and yes, even Joe Strummer, Turner bulldozes his way through an array of songs that show his glittering genius like my personal favourites The Road, Substitute and The Real Damage.

This anti-Folk punkster has everyone in the palm of his hand

In fact, it’s a minor miracle that any ex-public schoolboy (Eton, don’tcha know) can pack out a venue with nearly 3,000 adoring fans who sing along to every single line of every single song. A man of the people? Absolutely. Turner is clearly blessed with the ability to connect with the crowd, via his music and his sunny personality. This anti-Folk punkster has everyone in the palm of his hand and it’s awesome to see.

Turner makes it clear he’s dumbstruck at the heaving crowd that have turned up to see him and he pronounces tonight’s show to be his biggest to date. Cue one of many deafening cheers. But he’s not forgotten that he was once told to “f**k off & never come back” by one enraged Notts gig-goer at the close of a support slot a few years ago. It’s a long way from Junktion 7 to Nottingham Rock City, but as Ian Brown said on some stage in some place in Cheshire in 1991, ‘the time is now’ – and Frank Turner’s time has most definitely arrived.

Review: Michelle Dhillon

Frightened Rabbit finally clamber onto the stage and an awed hush falls over the crowd. It’s perhaps worth mentioning that tonight’s throng of devotees are almost exclusively male and serious. music. fans. I get filthy looks from those around me for daring to admit I know almost nothing about FR. A music journalist trying to find out if a band are any cop by seeing them live?! For shame!

FR’s vocalist Scott Hutchison sounds the spit of Dave Matthews

What we get from FR though, is a sound that’s so carefully crafted I can’t pin it down. With his alternately guttural and melodious style, FR’s vocalist Scott Hutchison sounds the spit of Dave Matthews. And with a sound that’s densely layered with two guitars, keyboards, bass, drums and three harmonies (performed faultlessly), you might be able to forgive the crowd for turning slightly shoegazey and nodding heads and tapping feet in time to the rhythm.

Perhaps more than anyone else, FR’s folk-influenced take on traditional rock songs recalls US greats The Arcade Fire and Modest Mouse. The superbly structured Good Arms Vs Bad Arms and Fast Blood go down a treat tonight. Ok, they may not have fiddles and violins in their ensemble, but they do have an accordion! And the techniques and the level of musical accomplishment are strikingly similar. The Twist is another brilliant example of this: opening with a single piano refrain, there follows a beautiful and gradual layering of harmonies with minimalistic guitar input from Andy Hutchison and Billy Kennedy until the drums kick in and we feel the full force of the track.

Drummer Grant Hutchison psychotically drums himself into oblivion

In fact, drummer and brother of Scott, Grant Hutchison loses it completely towards the close of the set as he’s left on stage to drum himself into oblivion. There’s nothing but pure rage in his primal yell and crystal clear, psychopathic stare. Anger! If anything, this one bizarre moment sums up FR perfectly. Most of their songs are too long, and their musical attitude fiercely uncompromising, to be ‘radio friendly’. But like the terrifying Bigwig in Watership Down, these rabbits aren’t frightened of anyone. And it’s this fearsome edginess that truly sets them apart.

Review: Michelle Dhillon

Mr Hudson in 29-year-old age revelation shocker!

Not as amazed as I was after I googled Mr Hudson and found out his real age though: 29! That’s as old as I am! Although I look a lot better for it than he does. Even though his short set ends on a high note with the recent hit Supernova, the rest of it is pretty lacklustre. Kanye West’s bezzy mate? Well, Mr West probably needs all the friends he can get after his embarrassing public outbursts. But none of this terrible stuff matters because we’re here to see Scottish uber producer Calvin Harris! I’m a bit nervous for Calvin and unsure of what to expect after hearing the disappointing follow-up to his storming debut album a few months ago. I’m hoping he’ll give most of us what we really want and play lots of old-skool tunes tonight.

I see my first ever stage invasion at Nottingham Rock City tonight

Opening as predicted with the killer opening track from Ready For The Weekend, The Rain, he makes the place erupt with chaos when he finally appears on stage. Sadly, the terrible sound system at Rock City conspires to challenge the live band and Harris throughout their 90-minute set, which really is a bugger as what we’re meant to be hearing is some of the most banging music that’s been produced in recent times. What we end up with is a bit of a dirge – and if I didn’t know these tunes backwards I wouldn’t be able to make much out at all. Shame on you, Rock City. But Colours and Merrymaking At My House, complete with their biting acidic electro disco basslines, patch things up nicely and by the time we get onto The Girls, everyone in the packed-out venue is utterly nuts. Legions of crowdsurfers, glowsticks being hurled through the airspace and everybody’s hands raised in unison – it really is pure insanity. I even see my first ever stage invasion at Rock City – but whoever put the flight cases right next to the bloody stage was asking for it to happen! Big props to the boy with the balls to scale them and jump onto the stage though; even if he was hurled off by a roadie within seconds of achieving this amazing feat.

Calvin Harris is the undisputed electro baadass of the year

In between the madness and his major anthems, Harris hurls out tracks from the new album and you know what, they don’t sound bad at all. Stars Come Out, even with its camp and cringeworthy bleeps underscoring the chorus, is more than passable and Lucy even tells me that his new single Flashback is a tuuuuuuune! But even if I may disagree, any doubts are dispelled with the inspired climax of I Created Disco, which sees an onslaught of crowdsurfers engulf Rock City’s normally listless bouncers and the entire venue go mental once again. It’s like an Ibiza foam party minus the foam but with a million additional tonnes of sweat. Niiiice. No – it really is! He may throw irrational tantrums about not being allowed onto GMTV, but tonight has proved one thing – that Calvin Harris is the undisputed electro baadass of the year.

Review: Michelle Dhillon

Gone now is the excessively large and – some might have said – mental hair, but any attempt to sum up how far The Horrors have advanced musically in these two years is totally beyond my ability. I’d always maintained that there were shards of glittering genius in their debut album and that they were technically very gifted. But seeing The Horrors tonight is what it must have been like to witness a monumental set from seminal post-punksters Joy Division in 1979. Yes. It really was that good!

After five minutes of distortion clogging the speakers, The Horrors finally stride onto the stage, opening with Mirror’s Image. Their awesomeness strikes you immediately – they look flawless and sound immense. Searing guitars puncture the airwaves, alternating with Faris Badwan’s claustrophobic, brooding Ian Curtis-esque vocal. Spider (Rhys) Webb has swapped synths for Tomethy Furse’s bass duties and the results are sublime. It’s loud, brilliant & shrouded in a magical finesse. This is the type of sound that can fill stadiums, but it’s been packed into a medium sized venue. I’m spellbound.

All of their set is composed of choice cuts from their second album Primary Colours, but I’m nowhere near as disappointed as I’d expected to be at the apparent neglect of their debut. I Can’t Control Myself, with its industrial rhythmic intricacy, brings to mind the acerbic punk rock of Nine Inch Nails. The colossal Sea Within A Sea is the standout number tonight, with its prolonged rise-and-fall structure crashing over the crowd like a huge tidal wave. The synths are ghostly and minimal, very Cure-like, and build up to a densely packed, thunderous storm of sound.

They receive rapturous applause when they embark on an encore that consists of the perfect punk-goth-pop of Count In Fives, Sheena Is A Parasite and, my personal favourite, Gloves. I can see why they confined their debut material to the encore as it wouldn’t have sat well with the level of sophistication displayed in the rest of their set. It seemed like a slightly odd but intriguing decision to work with video director Chris Cunningham and Portishead’s Geoff Barrow as producers on Primary Colours, but the experiment has paid dividends.

Unlike many of their worthless contemporaries (I will personally firebomb any idiot who dares to mention White Lies) The Horrors have succeeded in transporting us all the way back to the late seventies and are bringing to bear a jaw-dropping, phenomenal dosage of post-punk. The Horrors have proved beyond all doubt that musical perfection is not unattainable and its not often that I see a band that truly blows my mind. God bless The Horrors for saving 2009.