review by: Dave McGonigle

Once upon a time there was a band called The Pixies. The Pixies recorded three or four of the most thrillingly elemental guitar albums of all time, argued a bit and then split up, leaving discerning music fans the world over to mourn their passing. (And I do mean the world over. I once met a guy from Tehran who spoke only a little English but knew the lyrics to every song on Doolittle. Waves of mutilation, indeed).

Part of what made the Pixies so special was their righteous grasp of dynamics: early in their career, they sold their souls to the devil in exchange for the “quiet verse-LOUD CHORUS-quiet verse” trick, and gleefully used it on almost everything they wrote. As soul-swapping tricks go, it was pretty good: imagine “Debaser,” Gigantic” et al without the mad rush that comes when the band crash-lands into the chorus (in the process giving a generation of indie kids whiplash as they tried to emulate the trick with their necks).

But on to Mogwai. Mogwai used to have a trick, too, and, superficially, it was a little like the Pixies’. Mogwai’s trick went quiet-LOUD-quiet-LOUD-quiet-LOUD-etc, but, as their songs lasted an average of nine minutes to the Pixies’ three, the trick could get a little old rather quickly. It sustained them through their excellent debut album, Young Team, but from thereon in each successive Mogwai album has shown diminishing returns.

While the band has gradually lessened their reliance on encasing their songs in effects pedal-laden storms, their song writing just didn’t evolve fast enough to ensure that what was left was actually worth caring about.

Which is what makes Happy Songs for Happy People a rebirth to rival Lazarus’. This album must rank as one of the most consistent in the post-rock canon: from the initial cascading guitar lines of “Hunted by a Freak” to the final bizarre cartoon sample at the end of “Stop Coming to My House,” everything’s essential, nothing’s wasted.

There are long tracks with extended guitar workouts (“Ratts of the Capital”), shorter, pensive tracks that shine with gorgeous combinations of guitars and keyboards (“Kids Will be Skeletons”), even a couple of moments that reach the hairs-standing-up-on-the-back-of-the-neck feeling of the best Eno (the opening of “Boring Machines Disturb Sleep” mines the same spacey melodiousness that made “An Ending (Ascent)” so great).

It’s one of those albums were every second matters - there’s none of the meandering tunelessness that cropped up in Come on Die Young and Rock Action.

With this album, Mogwai sound as lean and committed as they did on Young Team, but older, wiser, and just plain better. Unless I receive a large bribe (hint, hint, gentle record companies) or Jimi Hendrix rises from the dead, I predict this will be one of my albums of the year. (10/10)