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Julian Casablancas, Santigold, Pharrell Williams, My Drive Thru, single, cover, Three Artists One Song In 2008, Converse – the perennial American shoemaker most famous for its Chuck Taylor All-Stars (which have been around since the early 1920s) – launched a musical advertising campaign to celebrate its centennial.

The "Three Artists, One Song" initiative was set to team up unlikely trios of artists, and incorporate their sonic worlds into one. It saw famous rock and pop stars coming together for such unexpected three-headed collaborations as DoYaThing (Gorillaz, LCD Soundsystem's James Murphy, and André 3000 from Outkast), Desire (Blur's Graham Coxon, Paloma Faith, and The Coral co-founder Bill Ryder-Jones), Hero (the two surviving members of The Class – Mick Jones and Paul Simonon –, with Frank Ocean and Diplo), Didn’t Know What Love Was (New Order's Bernard Sumner, Hot Chip, and Hot City), etc.

To kick things off the ground, though, Converse marketing wizards aided by the Cornerstone agency made The Neptunes/N*E*R*D's frontman/producer Pharrell Williams' dream come true by booking him time in a studio with The Strokes' Julian Casablancas (the Happy songster had really wanted to produce the band's fourth album) and then-rising star Santigold. Unfortunately, as is often the case nowadays, the latter two didn't get to record their sections together, which left it up to Williams to orchestrate the whole thing by patching up each artist's verses into one song.

Through these disparate sessions across the United States, he conjured up a one-off tune, My Drive Thru (which isn't a euphemism for what you're thinking. You really need to get your mind out of the gutter...). The one-shot collab' was released for free on Converse's official website in June 2008 to quite positive reviews, and can still be found here and there on the Web's trove (including after the jump).

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For several years, Muse seemed literally obsessed with channelling their inner Queen and Freddie Mercury histrionics; in 2016, though, they went a little Pink Floyd on us instead. Of course. they didn't drop the theatrics – I doubt whether they even still know how to do that, at this point –, but they took more of a conceptual and character-driven narrative approach to music-making. With the repulsive yet somewhat fascinating human drones as the main theme. In order to focus more on the music than on the overwhelming technical sides of mixing and producing (which they had dabbled with and felt drowned in in the past), they called upon Robert John "Mutt" Lange to give them a hand – a producer famous for his work with soft pop-rockers AC/DC (on Highway to Hell and Back to Black) and Def Leppard, as well as with heavier acts such as Shania Twain and The Corrs. Rich Costey (who had already worked with them on Absolution and Black Holes and Revelations) and Tommaso Colliva also participated in some capacity, providing additional assists for bits and pieces. So, right after their Live at Rome Olympic Stadium in late 2014, they hopped on a plane for Vancouver and began to record their seventh LP. It was time for them to go back to basics: a truer rock sound with less "dominant" electronic tamperings and symphonic meanderings. The reason behind this change of heart may be attributed to a variety of factors, including (but not limited to) the following: - Playing the entirety of their magnum opus Origin of Symmetry live. - Big-mouthed ex-Oasis songster Noel Gallagher smirking in drummer/e-cig' smoker Dominic Howard's face while saying that e-fags were about as rock 'n' roll as Justin Bieber. - Much of their later output being less exciting to perform on stage. Or, in bassist Christopher Wolstenholme's words, they were "somewhat of a bore to play live, and I’m not too certain how much of it worked for our shows... The logical step was to strip away all the outer layers and go back to the way we started. Sometimes, making things simpler makes them more powerful". Less is more.

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As I mentioned in my review of Pseudo Individual/Mazes, the Ryan Jarman and Jen Turner-fronted Exclamation Pony basically came out of nowhere in 2013, with a string of small venue gigs and Rumours, a streaming-only promotional single. The song was immediately picked up by the British press – with NME championing it as part of its "Song of the Week" feature –, and excitement for an eventual full album began to soar ("eventual" being the key word in this sentence, as time has told us).

There isn't that much more information about the well-groomed son of the marriage between The Cribs and Here We Go Magic, so let's stop knocking about and get right down to business.

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"I like you. You like me, right? We're Exclamation Pony, and we're your new favourite band." And so the brainchild of a deep friendship/love affair between Wakefield's enfant terrible, Ryan Jarman (from The Cribs), and American guitar prodigy, Jen Turner (formerly of Here We Go Magic), drifted in and out of the public eye in 2013. The oddly named Exclamation Pony took the stage by storm in what the NME described as "an orgy of shambolic free-spiritedness", they recorded bits and pieces, released a couple of them – the Web-only promotional song Rumours and the subject of this here article, the double A-side Pseudo Individual/Mazes –, then virtually disappeared. Only to be spotted in sporadic social media posts.

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Despite its undeniable cultural impact and all the love it receives today, F♯ A♯ ∞ was pretty much a non-factor in the music scene at the time, having gone virtually unseen and unheard. This didn't stop the convolutedly named Godspeed You! Black Emperor (GYBE), as they soldiered on with a narrowed down line-up of nine: Mike Moya, David Bryant and Efrim Menuck on guitar; Mauro Pezzente and Thierry Amar on bass; Aidan Girt and Bruce Cawdron on drums and percussions; Norsola Johnson and Sophie Trudeau on strings (cello and violin, respectively) – and with Efrim Menuck and Bruce Cawdron doing overtime as keyboardists too. Along with producer and mixer Dale Morningstar, the nine "regular" members went on to write, perform and record their second opus and first extended play, the much celebrated Slow Riot for New Zero Kanada. A title that is nowhere to be found on the cover artwork (although it appears on the side of the vinyl and CD's spine), as elusive as the band and song names. Instead, they are replaced by classical Hebrew characters ("תֹ֙הוּ֙ וָבֹ֔הוּ", apparently pronounced "Tohu wa bohu") for "formless and empty", "waste and void" or "chaos and desolation" – a Biblical reference to earth in the Book of Genesis, before Yahweh "Let there be light", embarked on a long, 35 hour week of hard labour, and invented the concept of weekends (cheers, mate!).

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The Future Present Past EP came virtually out of nowhere. For a while, most of The Strokes-related news we could hear were about lead guitarist Nick Valensi's stolen/lost (then retrieved, though stringless) Epiphone Riviera, then vocalist Julian Casablancas hit us with Oblivius on the first programme of his new monthly radio show, Culture Void, on Sirius XMU. "We hadn’t anything in a while and you almost want to do something a little light, three songs no big deal, kinda get back some of the mojo before a potential album." And cheers for that! Met with the most upright acclaim they had received in some time, this out of the blue broadcast was the perfect occasion to disclose their joining the stable of Cult Records artists – Casablancas' very own indie label. Emancipated from the grips of their five record deal with industry heavyweight RCA, the New Yorkers were free to fiddle around with ideas and unleash their sonic imagination every which way but mainstream. Crafted with their new go-to producer, Gus Oberg, the three songs take the EP's title rather literally, with Drag Queen (the future), Oblivius (the present), and Threat of Joy (the past) standing as representations of the quintet's different career stages in reverse chronological order. Plus, this short selection is supplemented by a remix concocted by drummer Fabrizio Moretti. Then we learned all the remaining, crucial pieces of information in a rare (and well relaxed fun) interview granted to Cult Records. For instance, we discovered that bassist Nikolai Fraiture feels confident about destroying USA President Obama in a one-on-one basketball game ("I can take him on!"); that the imagery of their compositions could be likened to "riding a horse in the night" (although these are the words of the journalist, as the lads only validated it by a quick "Bingo!"); and that Moretti relishes nothing more than working with his trusted mates.

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50 posts!

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The Strokes' fifth full-length album came (relatively) quick on the hills of their long-gestating fourth effort, Angles. Better yet, they were already planning, preparing and writing new material while Angles was still being mixed. Its release almost two years later was followed by much silence on the group's behalf and a so-called "media blackout", possibly as a way of celebrating the end of their five record contract with RCA Records (i.e.: their new found independence). Indeed, the five piece decided not to grant a single interview, not to grace any paper with their mugshots, and – most unfortunately for fans – not to tour in support of the LP. In other words, they silently shouted "fuck you" (by discretely scratching their eye with their middle finger) to the music industry and its whole marketing practices.

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By 2010, Muse had been banging around for a while. They were five full-length records, two concert albums and one EP strong; plus, they had been lauded as "probably the greatest live act in the world today" by the remaining members of their spiritual parents from Queen, Brian May and Roger Taylor, as they received the O2 Silver Clef Award. Then, after much gigging and – I quote – "selling [their] soul", they came back to their ever-growing horde of fans in 2012 with hints of a sixth LP, the conspiracy theory-indebted The 2nd Law...

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In the baby-booming 1950s, masses of telly sets began to find their way into your grandparents or parents' living rooms; which also happens to be around the same time as Tom Verlaine, Richard Hell, Richard Lloyd, Billy Ficca and Fred Smith were freighted to their respective families by industrious storks (true story, I double-checked my facts on Wikipedia). Anyway, some twenty years later, here they were in New York City, taking a stab at the burgeoning punk movement with an artsy approach that set them apart from their visceral forefathers (The Stooges, Sex Pistols, New York Dolls, etc.) and likened them to such post-punkers as the brooding Mancs in Joy Division – only much more luminous in spirit.

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Nowadays, Elastica often seem to be dismissed as "that band fronted by Damon Albarn's ex", but things used to be very different. Justine Frischmann, Justin Welch, Annie Holland and Donna Matthews used to be forces to be reckoned with during the heyday of Britpop and, when it came down to sheer style and gutsy attitude, they were the country's foremost group. And man did they have some ace tunes!

Now, let's wind back to 1989, at University College London, when Justine Frischmann first met, started dating and formed a very Ziggy Stardust-esque act with Brett Anderson, Suede. Well aware of not being lead guitarist material, they posted an ad to find a skilled axeman and a young six string wizard, Bernard Butler, popped up. From then on, they gigged when they could while striving to shape their own sonic personality, until they realised the limitations of having nothing but a drum machine on the sticksman's seat. Enter Justin Welch who, after six weeks of standing in for a beat-making robot, deserted for indie garage rockers Spitfire. But the connection with Frischmann was cemented, and Elastica was underway...

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London. Broad daylight. Not a living soul. The city is deserted, but for one man who has awoken from a prolonged coma just moments ago. As he explores the empty capital, the oppressing silence is broken by the sound of guitars, resonating and ominous, following his every step to bewilderment. Something seems wrong, the music stops, then starts growing louder upon discovery of a cadavre-infested church, and suddenly erupting out when the brain-hungry, infected priest lashes out after Jim at Mach 10... Like many others, I presume, Danny Boyle's pitch-black gem of a horror flick – a nightmarish reinvention of the zombie genre where apocalypse always seems to be lurking around the corner – was my introduction to the hauntingly beautiful and insanely raw post-rock sonorities of Godspeed You! Black Emperor (GYBE). It added tension to the director's unflinching visual genius on 28 Days Later and perfectly meshed with John Murphy's astounding score.

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It all started with a ceremony – Blur drummer Dave Rowntree's marriage –, when his bassist bandmate/infamous socialite (and, nowadays, cheesemaker) Alex James met pre-fame Duran Duran singer, Stephen Duffy. Hitting it off instantly ("He had written some good songs, mainly about girls. I met him at the wedding and we talked for a long time, mainly about girls", James recalls), they decided to try their hand at writing songs together, mainly about girls.

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"I'm putting your patience to the test", vocalist Julian Casablancas snarls on the opening track Machu Picchu, and indeed they did. After releasing and touring in support of the much maligned (but utterly brilliant) First Impressions of Earth, The Strokes embarked on their longest recording break, leaving their fans pining for new tunes and worried about the possible definitivity of this hiatus.

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The situation looked dire for England's lone lycanthrope and manic heroin user: after the overwhelming success of For Lovers, his collaboration with half of The Libertines, his first solo outing barely made a scratch at the UK top 50 singles charts. Plus, adding perjury to injury, legal troubles weren't doing much to help his public image (although, based on the embedded promotional video, he seemed to revel in all that bad boy "romanticism").

Anyway, in the wake of this poor turn of events, he honed his comeback single for six months, and brought an Ice Cream Guerrilla to the "masses" in May 2005, entering in extremis at the sixtieth spot despite Pete Doherty's "fighting" cameo spot on the B-side...

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Parklife brought Blur an unprecedented level of fame in their young career: UK journos and paparazzi were everywhere, documenting every single aspect of their lives. Apart from drummer Dave Rowntree – who was laying low and essentially keeping to himself, busy piloting a plane he had just purchased –, they all indulged in the hedonism of superstardom. Frontman Damon Albarn was experimenting with hallucinogens and drugs with his longtime then-girlfriend, Justine Frischmann; while guitarist Graham Coxon and bassist Alex James were getting plastered off their rockers on a regular basis.

In fact, according to James' riotous autobiography, he was making "a point of drinking two bottles of champagne a day for 18 months. England only imports something like 100,000 bottles a year, so I reckon I drank 1% of England's total champagne import". Coxon's drinking, on the other hand, was less joyous and proved more of an escapist route away from the indiscretions of sudden success.

Still, there was more to it than miming on Top of the Pops and over-zealous consumption: expectations for a follow-up were high and Albarn was already hard at work, striving to capture the zeitgeist of the mid-1990s with his pen. Yet the subject matter had grown more sombre, cynical and melancholy.

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The American music market can be a tough nut to crack. Unlike most Europeans countries that have both their own national and regional radio channels, there is no US station that covers all fifty states and territories. So, whether you're a local band or one from across the pond, your best shot at getting your music out in the States is trying to pimp yourself out on MTV or in the film industry. In other words, selling your soul to the Devil?

That's what Muse's bassist Christopher Wolstenholme seems to believe anyway. Except here, the Antichrist didn't takes its Goethian shape: their Mephistopheles wasn't a bearded Caucasian adorning crimson red tights and a spiky hat like Faust's; their Beelzebub wasn't a Southern demon at a Clarksdale crossroads like Robert Johnson's. No, their Angel of Darkness was a pale and glittery Englishman posing as a gothico-depressive blood-sucker in a supernatural romantic franchise.