I was told I'd really like The Chap by a good friend of mine. He went on to tell me he was drawn to them for two reasons; their name, and the fact they had a song called Woop Woop. Luckily my friend isn’t four, he has a BA (!), so I took his word for it and waited in anticipation for what I hoped would be a pop feast.

I didn’t like Morviscous straight off the bat cause they all looked like sixth formers and I had a prejudice against their brass instrument collection. It didn’t help that the barman wouldn’t adhere to the advertised deal on red wine. But I grew to embrace their grim appearance over the thirty minute instrumental set and began to indulge in the progressive bass workout, the guitarist’s Django noodling and yeah, even the brass guy’s freeform squawk was good. I was a 21st Century Schizoid Man by 10 o’clock.

Zombie-Zombie let loose next and raised the bar completely. It doesn’t take a genius to pick out this duo’s influences. Their mix of synth and OTT echo on the vocals wreaked of Suicide, circa ‘77. If you ever wondered whether that effect could stay fresh after half an hour on repeat, in a live environment, the answer is yes. Top that with this dude, who calls himself CosmicNeman, perched just above a circle of drums of all sizes, bashing out relentless tom-tom beats that send the audience into a cosmic trance of their own, aided only further by the dark shifting light patterns that almost obscure their stage telepathy, and you’ve got one helluva kosmische party man! He even proceeded to leave his perch and dance uncontrollably in front of the stage for 5 minutes yelping like The Boss dodging a State Trooper, while accomplice Etienne Jaumet kept space wailing. Good it was!

I should have been more pumped up for The Chap but I think energy levels at that point were waning. More’s the pity that they couldn’t fix the situation; I think even my + 1 (who did the recommending) was having doubts after seeing Zombie-Zombie. The Chap were a horrible mess of irritating sing-a-long twee vocals without an ounce of soul. There was the odd flash of an interesting riff here and there but all I could think about was how much the singer looked like Tom Hanks in Big.

New ways, new ways,
I dream of wires.
So I press ‘c’ for comfort,
I dream of wires, the old ways.
- Gary Numan, 'I Dream of Wires'

Not only an underrated Gary Numan B side, but the latest retro clothing shop to open off Brick Lane. On the opening night, I Dream of Wires offered a kaleidoscopic mix of vintage fashion and nostalgic trinkets creating an environment Mr Benn would have reveled in. Had he actually existed outside of television. (For those who were not raised on children's cartoons, Mr Benn was my childhood hero and the eponymous character of the classic children's television show. He tried on clothes and was transported to exciting and dangerous worlds through the back door of the dressing-up shop. Now you know.) The rails ached with an eclectic clothing range as a cropped Moschino jacket with candy-striped lining hung beside a fluorescent pair of ski pants and bejewelled sweatshirt. Carla created a strong look Gary Numan would have loved, pairing a vintage dress with animal emblazoned leggings. In the display cabinets, curious and peculiar ornaments were arranged, the sort your grandparents displayed lovingly on tabletops and shelves. The changing room was continuously occupied as treasures came back and forth to be tried on for size and, happily for all, there were no January sale style brawls. Visiting the shop was like being in my own Mr Benn inspired magical adventure, starting out in the wardrobe of my babysitter in the eighties and stumbling through to my Nana’s bungalow. With so many second-hand and vintage clothing shops located around Brick Lane, I Dream of Wires is sure to appeal to those who get kicks poking fun at retro styles to create eccentric, outrageous ensembles.

In amongst the glut of sugar coated schmaltz vying for the rather hollow accolade of Christmas number #1 for 2007 is this rather lovely cut from Welsh Wizards Super Furry Animals. A gift it is indeed. The track will be available free to fans in download format, complete with B side and artwork on Christmas day. It’s safe to say this won’t be troubling the upper reaches of the charts then, but when did SFA ever sell any records? The band’s lack of relative commercial success is still somewhat perplexing.

It matters not. Never intended to be a Christmas single, TGTKOG is one of many highlights from long player Hey Venus! released earlier this year. There are no bells or lyrics about snow. Just Gruff’s gorgeous tones, a meandering brass line and some intricate harmonies. Nadolig Llawen.

Imagine you’re watching one of those American hospital dramas on TV. Perhaps it’s the Christmas episode or season finale, either way something is bound to go wrong. And when the shit hits the fan it breaks down into a montage of various characters in their scrubs, remorseful, head in hands. Then, think of the music that accompanies those tearful medics. It’s emotive, driven by acoustic guitar and piano, with mildly folky vocals and a healthy dose of strings. Deadman, by House of Brothers, is one such track. Both sad and uplifting, this song has been strictly tailored in the studio to drag listeners up to peaks and down into troughs.

House of Brothers is Andrew Jackson’s solo project and is vastly different from his work with Scarecrow and The Death of Rosa Luxemburg. When I read the name of this EP I instantly thought of Jim Jarmusch’s film of the same title. House of Brothers’ release has little in common with the black and white western. I suppose you could say it’s lyrically bleak but the upbeat arrangements prevent Jackson from plumbing the depths.

Although lacking the polish of the title track, the other material has the same guitar/piano/strings, or indie-folk, sound. They are too long and it’s hard to maintain any kind of enthusiasm by the final track, correctly named The Last Ballad.

This EP is also aptly titled, because it retreads a musical style, which doesn’t have much life in it. It feels a little tired, as though most of the effort went into the first track. And was that effort worth it? As Jackson sings, “Don’t want to rise and shine for the second time. Just leave me be.” Perhaps we should.

It's fair to assume that most bands are having fun; travelling around the country playing music and generally being outrageous on tour buses is fine work if you can get it. Kotki Dwa however sound like they're enjoying it even more then everyone else, not only have they rummaged around the musical toy box but they've emptied the shop. Robin's Clogs is a wonderfully crafted indie pop song, with slicing guitars not dissimilar to Foals except without the edge and with a squeaking synthesiser over the top playing out a melody as catchy as they come.

Kotki Dwa then are one of the new generation of British pop bands who are re claiming the fun in indie from across the Atlantic. Vocalist Alex, unlike so many of his contemporaries, is actually able to sing melodically and belt out fine vocals with a painfully delicate voice, sometimes sounding on the verge of tears, yet conversely remaining wistfully upbeat, lips smiling but eyes crying. You know the type. This is never more apparent than on B-side Halogen, which holds it's own to make a single of two fine songs. Oh, and they can even sing in French.

Bands like Okkervil River are eminently missable. They’re so redolent of a slew of others, and if you’re not on friendly terms with their songs they’ll pass you by like so much jaunty, pleasant Americana. They’re also a great illustration of why you should persist with music.

And that’s not some pious, rockist view meaning you’ve got to put down what you’re reading, sit up, and pay complete attention. It’s just good to give things a chance to get beyond your initial scrobbler – which makes quickfire connections, comparisons and judgments based on an increasingly convergent shared knowledge-bank of 50 years of pop. It’s about checking in music’s hiding places for that spark that turns a casual recommendation from a friend into your favourite album of the year.

You need to listen to Okkervil River because the real star attraction is the lyrics of Will Sheff. Like a Prozac-ed Conor Oberst words tumble out of him in stanzas, cascading, beautifully chosen, but always controlled. “Although I put my lips to your face / trying to push his kiss out of its place / although my heart started to race / now it has slowed / I’ll let it go,” he sings on ‘Song Of Our So-Called Friend’.

Behind him five guys playing the alt-country instruments you’d expect stay out of the way. Childlike drummer Travis Nelson (who has excellent wiry drummer’s hair) and keyboardist and trumpeter Scott Bracket sing along with every word, like their own band’s biggest fans.

Six members is often a bad, self-indulgent idea but OR’s are always serving and augmenting their songs. The slow-burning ‘The President’s Dead’ segues masterfully into ‘Black’, which is a pretty straightforward three chord stomper but when Okkervillised it comes out yearning, wistful and layered. They’re like “partytime!” Wilco, Being There-era. There’s a touch of Arcade Fire in their scope and ear for an epic. This sometimes skirts too close to hokey, but with lyrics as good as Sheff’s they’ve earned their slide guitar solos.

On latest album The Stage Names, everything comes together during the final song ‘John Allyn Smith Sails’. All the words, all the fear, all the joy, all the themes that have preceded it fall into place when it morphs into something from a very famous album. It’s one of the most beautiful musical moments of 2007. Ruining it before you’ve heard it would be a spoiler on a par with that Planet Of The Apes video cover featuring the Statue Of Liberty.

It’s a transcendent moment tonight. They know exactly how good it is. They audaciously don’t even end the set with it. They’re rightfully confident. They may be America’s best band.

As an unwavering bastion in my theoretical top ten songs of all time, Easy Lover by Phil Collins (masterfully assisted by Philip Bailey) had little trouble in luring me of into its latest namesake, a Friday night affair at Punk in Soho.

The premise makes sense; leave your credibility at the door and get your rocks off to the songs you had forgotten you loved (or were too scared to admit it). We’re talking mid-nineties dance anthems, think Rozalla, Haddaway, that featured heavily on double-disc rave compilations and were considered for the edgier roster of Top of the Pops. I was excited to see how Easy Lover would pull it off and avoid that tragic walk down memory lane often seen at school reunions for thirtysomethings. So, we had cred-friendly, slightly edgy pop-meets-electro hits of today (you guessed it, CSS and NYPC) sliced around the old-school classics in order to appease both traditionalist and modernist. It didn’t work.

Firstly, a feel-good night of nostalgia is out of place at a swanky west-end venue where the bouncer’s suit cost more than a small car. The entrance is uninviting and the regimented door policy is at odds with the encouraged ‘fun-factor’ inside. Couple this with the fact that it is a Friday night; the post-work office crowd are uninspiring at best and look somewhat confused by their own presence. Some made a concerted effort to fill the minute dancefloor, spurred on by a valiant effort from the well-meaning Easy Lover dj, but alas, delving into yesteryear became redundant pretty quickly and my lemonade was served flat. I headed to Trailer Trash.

Even as I write this, I can’t help but hear that glittering guitar-soaked intro in my head as I wonder how they could have gotten it so wrong.

There’s a lot of talk about Foals at the moment. This quintet from Oxford is tipped to be the next big thing for English music in 2008, combining math rock qualities with techno beats and funky influences. As a result, this bunch of guys have managed to get noticed and talked up by the press before the album they recorded with David Sitek (TV On The Radio, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Liars) has been officially released. And as a matter of fact it still isn’t available in stores.

No wonder I was quite excited about having in my hot little hands on their first single, Balloons. With its beautiful artwork that combines a lovely taste for typefaces and the casual messiness of pattern repetition. It’s the kind of imagery that doesn’t really give you a clear idea of what to expect from it. Will they be just another indie pop band? Electro? Math rock? Foals turned out to be a mixture of all these varied genres.

And so here they are: compulsive guitar riffs played fast on a sort of minimal techno base all mixed with the syncopated vocals of the Devo like singer. Three guitars are playing at the same time making the distinctive mark to Foals songs while keyboards and drums create the background sonic wall...Balloons is quite succinct at just three minutes, but there is no need for anything else as the overall result is overwhelmingly catchy. They remind me of Hot Chip and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, but I can also find something in common with El Guapo in the way they work on the electronic part of the track.

The mix is obviously as explosive as they apparently are on stage (never had the chance to see them yet). It’s a brilliant single that can easily appeal both to the underground geeks and the rest of the masses. Easy to listen to, makes you want to move and would potentially be destroying everything around you in the warehouse party you’re rocking out at.

Not to induce panic, but its 19 DAYS to Christmas. Having not started my Christmas shopping, finding the Bonbi Forest Indie Emporium may just save my life. This web emporium is a one-stop shop for independent designs from around the world. It sells everything from baby clothes to jewellery and cooking aprons. It’s like a beautifully designed, less corporate, version of John Lewis. Highlights include the collaboration with Bat For Lashes. These t-shirts are designed by artist, designer and owner of The Bonbi Forest Indie Emporium, Lee May Foster. Lee’s illustrations combine images of Pegasus, deer, wolves and stars with the Bat For Lashes logo. But this design is not just for Bat For Lashes aficionados, it is such a discreet reference that you don’t have to be a die-hard fan to wear it. Stocking filler treats can be found in the jewellery section. Fluffstuffs is one such label. Its fabric-covered rings, brooches and earrings feature whimsical cartoon designs, starring elephants, cats, teapots and ferris wheels (though not all at once – that would be madness). For more traditional jewellery, check out the fused glass rings and pendants by Amy Burhoe. They’re striking and still have an element of fun, as they resemble old-fashioned boiled sweets. Mmm. But don’t let my panic over Christmas gifts sway your opinion of this web-store. Like dogs, cats and pretty much all pets, The Bonbi Forest Indie Emporium is not just for Christmas, but for life.

It was a Thursday night and practically December. For me that was reason enough to drag Team Amelia out to the Carhartt V Illustrated Ape launch party (perhaps my logic is flawed, but with free drinks, a new line of t-shirts and the possibility of mince pies, who cares?) Anyway, the packed out Neal Street store was home to the launch of four new Illustrated Ape t-shirts designed by Bob London, Simon Peplow and Danny Sturgess. Not only did their illustrations adorn the limited edition t-shirts but the walls too. I mean they supplied artwork, not that they guerrilla graffittied the shop. Once we had checked out Carhartt’s winter stock featuring super-cool t-shirts and a huge range of men’s sweatshirts and jackets, we spent a good half hour trying on baseball caps. Jess rocked the camouflage Carhartt cap in a homage to GI Jane. While we were keeping ourselves amused, the kids at the Carhartt store had rustled up a celebratory whisky and ginger beer cocktail – a recipe I tried unsuccessfully to pickpocket. The night was a great start to the Christmas season, combining present ideas and alcohol, and we all ended up in Pizza Express. How festive.

Modernaire are tight. There aren’t many emerging bands in this genre of electro disco pop that are doing it this well. And at first glance, Modernaire may be misconstrued as pretentious in their motifs, with all their pop noir chic going on; but on further scrutiny there’s most definitely a sense of humour, along with their razor sharp wit and a tidy vocabulary.

After seeing Modernaire one rainy evening at what was described to me as the ‘asshole of Manchester’, they have been on constant rotation in my playlist. This EP named Velvet Never Dries is full of brilliantly composed electro pop; perfectly balanced in it’s juxtaposition of dirty bass/dark deep use of strings and light lady vocals, which are sexy and slinky. That said though, I hesitate to call them 'girl vocals' as they're far more mature and well rounded to be so simply labelled; despite the deceptively innocent timbre of Cruella de Mill’s voice, just take a listen to what she’s singing and it’s far from sweetness and light, the saucy minx.

Velvet Never Dries opens with Bloodshed In The Woodshed; and at this point I wondered whether they were squandering their best first. But as Rain relived my own experience of Manchester, with a tongue in cheek cry of despair/homage to the city that birthed Modernaire, before moving onto the sea shanty that is Bonnie and Reade, I was more and more impressed. Then Scalpel storms in with it’s ridiculously infectious and dirty beats, lit up by glicks and cuts with laser guns beaming. “Your love/Cuts like a scalpel/Your kiss/Sweet like Calpol/In the grip of your infection/My only hope is a quick dissection.” Like I said – saucy minx. Followed by Nosferatu with it’s undulating bass and tinny 80s toy guitar sample (that in other hands could have gone so, so wrong) alongside the swashbuckling, plundering cello solo. Stabby and pulsing September rolls into Terry, with more of that lush cello as well as gorgeous harmonies. Nothing is surplus on this EP - it has intelligence and class in (grave digging) spades.

Modernaire are as serious as a heart attack, but don’t take themselves too seriously.
Deliciously dark, a tad eerie and a little haunting if it wasn’t so damn catchy.
One of my favourite bands for the past six months and a mainstay on my playlists for whatever the occasion; from death to divorce, discos and drama all the way to delerium and a fully blown dance. Forget new rave, this is new grave (forgive me), and despite being one of Modernaire’s ongoing themes, their music is far from deathly, unless under the context of being dead good.

Launching into choice selections from their latest long-player, No Shouts, No Calls, Electrelane took to the stage in Camden’s venue du jour – Koko. Admittedly, this long-standing Brighton 4-piece have all the stage presence of a wet kipper; they remain motionless, refrain from interacting with the audience between songs, and to be frank, would look more at home in an episode of Press Gang.

But. Gently assisted by a fantastic sound system and a powerful lighting display, they go far to fill the grandiose auditorium, swathed with thoughtful types and Parisian gap year students. Electrelane do not claim to be the latest thing to come out of the indie underbelly, nor are they interested in fashion-conscious on-stage posturing; they simply make astute and affecting music, brilliantly. Songs like To The East are heartfelt, honest and unrivalled stylistically, positioning this neu-kraut/new-wave collective as on top of their game. Extended instrumental sections excite the crowd into a chorus of whoops and cheers while slower, more solemn tracks like The Greater Times have some tearing up.

Within their set, we find elements of francophilia, imagery of nature, innocence and a touching emotional honesty that has become so rare in left-field music of today. They easily transcend comparisons with garage-rock favourites, Sonic Youth, and resist quick key changes that would have them sounding too pop-perfect. Instead, they lie more in the ranks of sombre stalwarts, Interpol, as they languish in one corner of a song for as long as they damn well please before lifting the tempo back up again and hammering it home. It’s at these moments that Electrelane truly peak, eliciting joyous rapture from sections of the crowd, creating a wonderful night for all.

This flash in time is already being recalled by those who were there, as a paean to all that Electrelane have achieved over their ten years together. They announced their indefinite hiatus prior to this show, ensuring that it was a bittersweet climax for all their devotees to enjoy. Even potential successor’s Au Revoir Simone will find difficulty in competing with their ability to connect with the hearts of their listeners.

Candles – pillar, tea lights and especially church candles in wine bottles. I love them all. Once I bought a load of tea lights, lined them up on the windowsill behind my bed and lit them, hoping to create a nice atmosphere in my squat (ok it wasn’t actually a squat, but we did have a beetle and maggot infestation – who thought these life forms could co-exist so happily?) This ambiance lasted for about half an hour, until my friend forgot they were lit and leant back too far whilst sitting on the bed. His hair caught fire. After this debacle I’ve been banned from candles just incase I drop out of University to pursue arson as a career. But fate was quick to intervene, as some delightfully scented Diptyque candles were delivered to Amelia and I got to spark up. Diptyque began producing candles in 1963, and in the ensuing 45 years it has cornered the candle market with its exotic wax concoctions and beautiful packaging. In time for Christmas and the New Year, Diptyque have produced three limited edition winter candles – Encens (incense), Gingembre (ginger) and Epicea (spruce). These are candles your mum will actually appreciate as a gift, and so will everyone else within smelling distance. With 60 hours of burning time per candle, this seasonal trio are sure to last through the festive period to deliver the perfect aroma to cure January blues.