★★★★☆

Best known for their previous album Rhine Gold, which was used as the soundtrack for hit TV show The Bridge, Choir of Young Believers’ have released their fifth album, Grasque.

Initially the record seems to include Rihanna-like RnB beats alongside Eno-esque synth transitions. On fifth track ‘Græske’, Jannis Noya Makrigiannis’ vocals take on an ethereal, raga-like chant. Makrigiannis hails from Copenhagen and thought up much of this album on a Swedish farm with producer Aske Zidore. Yet this album is not restricted by landmass.

Instead, the tracks weave a complex web of sound. What should be grimy beats quickly morph into emotive chimes, and a sound that is at one time hauntingly chapel-like rapidly morphs into urban roughness.

With song titles ranging from ‘The Whirlpool Enigma’ to ‘Olimpiyskiy’, Grasque is expansive and all-encompassing. While tracks are not immediately distinguishable from others, the textural development of each alone – particularly ‘Does It Look As If I Care’ and ‘Jeg Ser Dig’ – is astounding. These songs mutate from piano-led smoky jazz to ambient synth work. Makrigiannis’ voice has a sensitivity rare to find in serious male musicians without it taking on a wussy, frail tone.

Hardly an album of party bangers, this record is saturated in complexity and nuance, requiring several listens before you feel you can even begin to grapple with the sound.

On stage from 27th-30th January, Peter Shepherd’s musical This World Lousy was a fascinating blend of two styles originally based on the same concept. The director, Maya Ghose, will also be taking part in the production of Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s Phantom of the Opera later this term.

While both operas and musicals use music and songs to convey emotions, this new creation explores the limits of these narrative systems. The main character, who remains anonymous just like the others throughout the two hour-long performance, is a fugitive mainly expressing his hopes and doubts according to the opera technique. Sung and acted out by Aaron King, he dialogues with the choir and a few other characters who spontaneously detach themselves from this generally hostile group, similar to a Greek chorus.

These exchanges oscillate between growing tension, reflected in the way the orchestra’s theme is gradually played at higher and higher notes, and moments of relief. A young orphan’s clear soprano voice stands out as being particularly cheerful, as the atmosphere switches to a suddenly more optimistic mood. Most singers have their own solo, and a set of easily memorised themes is developed through the musical to make this a varied yet coherent work. For instance, the trumpet’s tune can be noticed from the very beginning, but evolves to become associated with the sound of a police car, a worrying signal for a fugitive.

Overall, the storyline and definition of the characters appear to follow the structure of traditional tales, though the absence of names and the notion of doubt echo the music by plunging the audience into a world of ambiguity.

As is mostly the case for good musicals, the music conjures up clear images to accompany the drama on stage. More originally, music director Peter Shepherd choose to write the score of This World Lousy for a full symphonic orchestra, bringing in impressive power in the fight scenes to which unexpected instants of silence respond. The entire musical is in fact built around contrasts. A chaotic effect is produced when the tenor singer’s long, melodic phrases are opposed to the orchestra’s inten tionally dissonant staccato marked by the cello, a clear counterpoint to the audience’s expectations.

Peter Shepherd draws on modern music’s characteristics to create his own intriguing blend of thought-provoking performance and striking combinations. Opposing groups of actors and singers to individuals both visually and musically, This World Lousy moves from the darkness and drama of self-questioning to a positive comment on the potential of our world.

Tidal, Spotify, Apple Music. Music streaming has taken off in recent years, with another huge name recently added to the bill. But with icons like Adele and Taylor Swift rejecting their invites to the streaming party, seeds of doubt have been sown: just how beneficial are streaming services to the music industry?

As all of us old-souls out there, still wearing faded band t-shirts with pride would agree, one detrimental effect of online music streaming is the steady decline of vinyl and CD sales. After all, legends like The Rolling Stones and David Bowie were not made on the internet. What is now seen as the old-fashioned way of listening to music is in danger of extinction, a fact staunchly highlighted by HMV’s demise in 2014. It is no wonder that musical royalty such as Adele actively refuse to feed the streaming machine.

When asked why her new album 25 would not be made available on Spotify, the singer replied, “There are kids I know who are, like, nine who don’t even know what a fucking CD is!” I salute you, Adele, especially since you obviously don’t need Spotify’s assistance; the album sold 800,000 copies in the UK in its first week of release. Many of us will add it to our vinyl displays in a show of solidarity.

Before taking her catalogue off Spotify and refusing rights to Apple Music, Taylor Swift raised another question about the growing popularity of online streaming in a piece she wrote for the Wall Street Journal. Swift wants to “keep art valuable,” declaring that “music should not be free.” This is an admirable ideology, but with more artists making their music free and available (the entire Beatles discography is now on Spotify) the ‘Tidal’ wave created by digital music is becoming impossible to withstand for both consumer and industry.

I should point out that huge names like Adele and Swift can easily afford (in every sense of the word) to reject Spotify and Apple. But what about the yet unheard-of artists trying to find their feet in this cut-throat industry? Even Hozier – an internationally-acclaimed artist with two Billboard Music Awards under his belt – started off on the BBC ‘Introducing’ Stage at Glastonbury in 2014. If, therefore, streaming is a way for independent musicians to make a name for themselves, then surely it is the way forward, the very future of the music industry? As much as I grit my teeth in saying it, it’s time to face the future. Or rather the music. Just like virtually every other entertainment industry, music is becoming part of the online world and this is not an entirely bad thing. The future of music is in the hands of the artists. How can they attempt to change the world if they’re still stuck in a basement making their own cover art?

It is hard to reconcile modern-day Radiohead with the band who marked their entrance with three vicious guitar blasts preceding the chorus of ‘Creep’ in 1992. Gone is lead singer Thom Yorke’s bleach blonde hair. Gone is the introspection. Gone, it could be argued, is the pop sensibility. But never has the ability to surprise and to subvert been stronger.

This is precisely what makes their impending return so very exciting. Unannounced artwork, in their distinctive, heavily abstract visual style, all inky blue atmosphere and soulless white figures, has made its way onto their official website. This, coupled with a spate of announcements of headline slots at festivals abroad, has signalled what we’ve known unofficially since 2014, when whispers of new studio sessions first reared their head: Radiohead is back.

But, of course, they never really left. Since their most recent album, The King of Limbs (2011), the Oxford-raised group have been individually rather busy. Thom Yorke casually formed the supergroup Atoms for Peace with some unknowns – namely Flea from Red Hot Chili Peppers and Joey Waronker of Beck and R.E.M. fame. Oh, and he also released a second solo album, Tomorrow’s Modern Boxes, in 2014. The man is unbelievably prolific.

Furthermore, multi-instrumentalist Jonny Greenwood has, through his eclectic collaborations with director Paul Thomas Anderson on The Master (2012) and Inherent Vice (2014), established himself as one of the most dynamic film composers working in Hollywood today. To cap off a trinity of creatives, drummer Phil Selway also released his second solo album in 2014, entitled Weatherhouse. Take a moment to consider that embarrassing run of releases during your next essay crisis.

Then there’s the issue of a small indie film named Spectre and the resulting Bond theme controversy. After they were rejected by the infinitely wise studio heads at Sony in favour of Sam Smith – because obviously the concept of Radiohead recording a Bond theme wasn’t exciting enough – the band released the rejected track for free online on December 25th 2015. Some Christmas present. But even aside from its intrinsic value, ‘Spectre’ represents an interesting musical crossroads. The heavily syncopated, electronica-drenched sound of The King of Limbs, particularly lead single ‘Lotus Flower,’ seems to have been ditched in favour of grand instrumentation and a return to more emotive and personal lyrics. Granted, this is not the first time for Radiohead to switch up its style, aesthetically moulding themselves to a film to which they have attached their music (see the impeccable ‘Exit Music (For A Film)’ which closes Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet). But the question remains: just how far does this foreshadow whatever release is forthcoming next year?

To observe Radiohead historically, each album contains traces of the next within its sonic vocabulary. OK Computer was quite a departure from its exceptional, late 90s indie boom predecessor The Bends in that it shied away from the guitar-driven indie rock of their previous fame. That, of course, led to arguably their best work, and many fans’ (this one included) favourite album, Kid A, ditching the guitars almost entirely for a more synthetic musical landscape. This development has continued similarly up until today, when their impending sound is once more up in the air.

Though in some ways, the excitement stems from escalation. To chart Radiohead’s sonic development is akin to charting the development of any given top author, or filmmaker – each album becomes a statement of intent, and between each album lies new confidence, experiments and genres, which is precisely what makes them so immediate, and so wonderfully relished in the annals of indie rock.

For Radiohead to produce yet another LP which reaches the band’s impenetrably high standards seems impossible. But to quote the band themselves, “You can try the best you can / the best you can is good enough.” Go on, lads.