Sarah Gayton interview

In progress?

We will meet where the lights are/The defenders of the faith we are/Where the thunder turns around/They'll run so hard we'll tear the ground away.

Four become five. It’s an emotional and significant album for Take That. In-band squabbles and differences have been put aside to celebrate the good times, and all this has been condensed into an album that suggests they could actually have a future together as a five-piece.
Those expecting a rehash of Beautiful World or The Circus are in for a shock/treat (delete as appropriate). Gone are the middle-of-the-road ballads and in their place is a contemporary euro-pop album that consistently plays on your belief that you’ve come to know what to expect from Take That. This is 100% a very good thing. Personally, I don’t know if I could stomach a CD of lighters-in-the-air anthems, while Robbie stares lovingly at Gary and all is forgiven. Instead, what we have is an album that boldly dares to write the next chapter in Take That’s history, documented in a collection of ten perfectly-formed tracks.

SOS is like ABBA on steroids. The chorus is a whirling cry of disarray, and disorder has never sounded so catchy. Kidz, not to be confused with Williams’ solo hit of (almost!) the same name, sizzles over a thumping electro stomp whilst Mark mumbles anti-establishment sentiments of “kings and queens and presidents, ministers of government” and such, before Williams grabs the issue by the crotch and roars, “There’ll be trouble when the kids come out/There will be lots for them to talk about”, to which Mark retorts a few “hey hey heys”. It’s quite a departure from Take That’s typical soundscape and, as such, is one of the best tracks here. Consequently, Kidz is an obvious contender for follow-up single to The Flood.
Meanwhile, Pretty Things is a soothing lullaby lost in clouds of synthesizers - fronted almost entirely by Williams again – whereas Happy Now is a ray of euphoric pop that is almost as jubilant in its sentiment as Do What You Like… but then again, nothing ever is.

Howard and Jason hustle their way to the mic on Affirmation and hidden track Flowerbed respectively, both songs positioned in the rear of the track listing. Both tracks do the job however, and will hush detractors that say the vocals should be spread more evenly.
And what about Gary? Well, he is here, most obviously on The Flood and official album closer Eight Letters. Otherwise, he tends to take more of a back-step. ‘Mutiny!’, I hear you all cry. Not quite, as Barlow’s influence can be heard melodically throughout Progress, in the urgency of SOS’ furious beats per minute’s right through to the exuberant harmonies of Happy Now. The decision to step aside and allow Williams and Owen the majority of lead vocals was certainly a brave one, but one that I think pays off when you consider the addition of Stuart Price too.
This year alone, Price has played the part of producer extraordinaire for Kylie, Scissor Sisters and Brandon Flowers’ first solo LP. Here, Progress is enveloped in a layer of warmth that actually contrasts well with the vocals of Owen and Williams. Owen’s voice is an unusual one, which forces its way out in a slightly tense pitch, whilst Williams can let loose with thundering power. The verses of Kidz could not have been done by any other member than Mark, and it is Robbie’s call-to-arms vocal that crash against The Flood which make it such an epic comeback single. To this end, production and vocals are suitably matched, but it is the absence of Gary’s vocals that will cause the biggest upset with fans, rather than the shift in sound.

Some of these songs will sound huge live, and with the album cover depicting the five members in the various stages of mankind whilst lyrics speak of “divine intervention” and “preparing for apocalypse”, Take That can really go to town on the theatrics when their 2011 tour roles around. Progress is a fiery disc of molten brilliance, shot out from the centre of the earth. Well done boys.

My Guy

The air smells wet. Like, it has that faint but decidedly moist whiff to it. That soggy sense clings to you, and you're acutely aware that it's November.
Bonfire night is one of my favourite calendar events of the year. It arrives in the most understated manner, without the expectations that come with New Years Eve, or the effort that Halloween demands, and it completely blows the non-event that is Easter out of the water. Strangely, I always find there's something quite cleansing about gazing into a great mountain of fire. Catharsis, and all that. Plus there's the technicolour treat of fireworks, that climb and fizzle and whistle and crackle and finally pop.

I had the rare opportunity to enjoy a day of 'solitude shopping' in Birmingham yesterday. However anti-social it may be, I always prefer to go shopping by myself rather than with a group of friends, as you're able to focus 100% on what you need to get. After sensible deliberation (mainly brought on by the fact that, much as I hate to admit it, I am not in possession of a limitless bank balance) I settled on a thick cerulean jersey jumper from Cos, and a black and white mohair-blend scarf from French Connection.

I only realised upon returning home and perusing their website that Cos is actually the far more dapper and cooler sibling of H&M - kept that one quiet, didn't you Cos? Their aesthetic is really comforting because it's all about taking items back to basics, but then enhancing them with little bits of detail, like the denim-wash effect that my jersey jumper has, which is barely noticeable unless you look closely on the sleeves. The simple template of all their designs really appeals to me, when so many things nowadays are covered in zips and patterns and pockets. The jersey jumper merely shrugs, 'I am jumper. You wear me.' Brilliant.
I know a lot of people find mohair a distracting son of an itch, but it never seems to give me much jip. It's one of those materials that you can't truly appreciate unless you give it a bit of a closer inspection; again, it's all about the detail. The scarf is a honeycomb web of warmth, and I can't wait to wear this and the jersey jumper together on Bonfire night.


The fact that a day of blissful Brumie browsing was bolstered by one of Starbucks' seasonal gingerbread latte's was just the cherry on top; liquid magic.

YourTube

Poppa Pop is a bit of a busybody. Tomorrow's an important business day, that requires heading first class down to London. Apparantly he spent the afternoon heckling with whoever's in charge down south to move the appointment to 9am. 'Are you sure you can get down here for that time?' the voice on the other end of the line pondered out loud. 'HA!' snorted Poppa. 'Of course I can get down there for that time, there's a train that leaves here at 5:55am!' He eats early morning's for breakfast.

£170 later, first class ticket clutched in his hands as he walks through the front door, I can barely suppress a smirk when I casually inquire as to whether he'd heard about the tube strikes today...?

As he orders me to go and find the quickest route from Euston to Canary Wharf stat, I can't help but marvel at the wonder that is the tube map. Like a retro mosaic in 80s strobing, I can think of no other image which better summarises London. If you want to really experience the super city-slick living of our capital, what better way than the underground pandemonium of the tubes? Tourists might flock with their Kodaks round their necks to get snap-happy with the towering presence of Big Ben, or gallavant to the West End to enjoy a musical or two, but it is those angular and controlled contours in every dominant shade that really shape the city.

Central slices through the middle, while the Hammersmith and Metropolitan line slither by barely noticed. Complain about the stuffiness, smell of urine and bastard buskers all you want, this is the stuff that LDN is made of. Isn't it about time a map of the tube is hung in the National Museum of Art?