ALBUM REVIEWS
Pacino and DeNiro, Nicki and Beyoncé… Tinchy Stryder and the Chuckle Brothers? Look, the point is that pop culture is packed with long-awaited team-ups, clashes of titans that sometimes soar with ineffable magic and sometimes crash-land on the same cultural scrapheap as Metallica and Lou Reed’s ‘Lulu’. Just because someone’s great in their own right, it doesn’t necessarily mean their talents will mesh with those of another creative giant.
Liam Gallagher and John Squire, though, have spent decades courting one another like One Day’s Emma and Dexter. Liam’s never been shy about his adoration of The Stone Roses – in fact, Oasis’ mission was essentially to finish what the earlier Manchester band, with one classic album and an underwhelming follow-up to their name, started in the late ‘80s. When the Gallaghers invited former Roses guitarist Squire to perform ‘Champagne Supernova’ at their epochal Knebworth show in 1996, they were all but getting on their hands and knees to declare: “We are not worthy.”
Yet it’s taken some 30 years for ‘Liam Gallagher John Squire’, which is more imaginative than its title might suggest, to come to fruition. Although he’s been more focused on creating visual art in recent years, the guitarist’s genius remains undimmed, as he adorns these bluesy arrangements with slow-burning grooves and wailing licks that ache with his life-long love of Jimi Hendrix and Jimmy Page. This is psychedelic, on occasion even transcendent music brought down to earth by Liam’s gravelly sneer, an intoxicating mix that often comes good on the singer’s promise that they’ve combined “the best bits of Oasis with the best bits of the Stone Roses”. You think: why didn’t they do this before?
The duo have collaborated once previously – on 1997’s ‘Love Me and Leave Me’, a keening track released by Squire’s short-lived post-Roses band The Seahorses – but this new project didn’t come to life until Gallagher returned to Knebworth as a solo star (he scoffs at the word ‘artist’) in 2022. Just to ram home how successful his comeback has been, and the extent to which it’s placed him back in the midst of former glories, Liam had the guitarist perform ‘Champagne Supernova’ again. During rehearsals, Squire revealed he’d written a couple of new tunes: would Liam like to sing on them? The answer was – presumably swearily – in the affirmative, and the project spiralled from there.
If they haven’t exactly walked their tasselled moccasins into a bold new direction, the result is a thoroughly modern record that meshes Squire’s gritty guitar work, which revels in imperfection, with the studio sheen of Liam’s solo albums. As their courtship blossomed, the musicians exchanged photos and video clips for a moodboard that set the tone of the album: Liam sent Bob Marley and the Pistols; Squire sent Hendrix, the Faces and the Humble Pie track ‘30 Days in the Hole’. The resulting 10 Squire-penned tunes were demoed in the guitarist’s home near Macclesfield, before they decamped to LA to record them with uber-producer Greg Kurstin, who helmed Liam’s three solo albums.
Squire, the auteur, was nervous about such a move – but it’s proved a canny one. What could have been a spit-and-sawdust psych-blues record is instead augmented with a glam crunch (the woozily assured ‘I’m A Wheel’); warm, rolling keys (joyous second single ‘Mars to Liverpool’); and buzzing electronic accoutrements (self-explanatory opener ‘Raise Your Hands’). The Roses-meets-Oasis promise heaves most gloriously into view on ‘Love You Forever’, as Liam’s loved-up delivery gives way to a thrillingly indulgent guitar breakdown. By the time Squire’s lashes of guitar weave around stabs of boogie-woogie piano on ‘You’re Not the Only One’, you’ll be digging out your tie-dye.
Sonically, the tracks are admittedly of a piece, though that’s sort of the point. Squire, who’s previously withheld his musical output like Scrooge McDuck hoarding riches in his bank vault, teems with ideas, overlapping gorgeous melodies with howling solos. Having overcome a near-catastrophic hand injury and the collapse of the Roses comeback, the guitarist sounds absolutely invigorated – and uses that inspiration to paint on one large canvas, rather than craft individual portraits. His lyrics are perhaps more questionable, but Liam isn’t exactly inexperienced at transforming even the most pedestrian rhymes into terrace-ready chants. “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for,” Obi-Wan Gallagher shrugs on ‘I’m A Wheel’. No-one else could get away with it.
If fans were vaguely alarmed by lead single ‘Just Another Rainbow’, which pulses with a reassuringly Roses-style riff but also sees Liam recite the colours of the rainbow and ponder, “am I your windmill?”, it’s hard to imagine anyone feeling short-changed by the album itself. Obviously this isn’t a ‘Definitely Maybe’ or ‘The Stone Roses’ – no-one could touch those hook-laden masterpieces. As a triumph of style and mood, though, ‘Liam Gallagher John Squire’ is well worthy of their enduring legacies.
ALBUM REVIEWS
The leather jackets and skinny jeans worn by Noah Dillon and Chandler Ransom Lucy have become something of a signature, and the pair have hovered around the edges of the pop worlds in New York and Los Angeles for quite some time. First highlighted by NME during the Dimes Square resurgence in 2023, The Hellp have gradually stepped away from their earlier indie-sleaze imitation and leaned into something far more thoughtful. Their wild, neon-tinged party vibe has been traded for a more cinematic electronic approach that still holds onto a confident, self-aware attitude.
Dillon and Lucy started releasing music as The Hellp in 2016, with early mixtapes rooted in the chaotic nights and carefree behaviour once associated with NYC’s indie-sleaze staples like LCD Soundsystem and Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Over time, though, they’ve earned a steadily growing respect from critics. That rise has come through both their underground gigs, which have included a show at London’s Corsica Studios with Fakemink as support, and through Dillon’s expanding visual work that recently reached Rosalía’s ‘LUX’ album and a pair of music videos for 2hollis.
As ‘Riviera’ approached release, the duo shared: “We knew our next project would need to be a bit more mature… we refuse to become stagnant. ‘Riviera’ is more solemn, restrained and impassioned than anything we’ve done before.” The finished album feels like Dillon and Lucy carefully balancing identity and openness, theatricality and direct emotion.
The lead release, ‘Country Road’, carries a late-night heaviness, the kind of confession you would quietly tell a friend in a club’s smoking area. Its lonely tone is surrounded by glitching electronics and a rising bridge that points to the exhaustion that follows endless nights out. Tracks like ‘New Wave America’ and ‘Cortt’ deepen what the duo mention in their liner notes as a “desperate story of the disparate Americana.” Both pieces broaden the album’s emotional landscape and offer clear-eyed commentary on reluctantly stepping into adulthood.
When ‘Riviera’ shifts into ‘Doppler’, the tone brightens for a moment as hopeful synths lift Dillon’s words about yearning and heartbreak into an emotional peak. And in the final moments of the record, The Hellp land on something instantly familiar to anyone who has drifted away from the club scene. The Kavinsky-like opening of ‘Here I Am’ nods to their early inspirations, while the closing track ‘Live Forever’ arrives with a slow, grounded maturity, built around Dillon repeating the line: “I don’t want to live forever.”
‘Riviera’ holds far less disorder than The Hellp’s earlier releases. This turn inward marks an important risk for a duo once fuelled by the momentum of a downtown New York comeback. By easing off the frenzy, The Hellp have stepped out of the party’s lingering haze and returned with a style that feels more refined and more aware of itself than anything they have created before.
