For all the ubiquity of post-punk inspired bands flooding the mainstream over recent years, the amount of truly innovative music they have collectively produced has been disappointing by comparison. It's not difficult to see why; the original class of 78-82 set the bar high and bequeathed one of the most astonishingly imaginative musical legacies ever - a lavish cross-pollination that embraced punk, disco, dub reggae, funk, glam and krautrock to often dizzying extremes. And while some of these acts (Talking Heads, Wire) have become touchstones for a generation of indie kids, other key players (Associates, Magazine) have proved simply too rich to rob - talents so 'out there' as to defy influence.
It's a willingness to experiment, both musically and technologically, that's been missing of late. All the aforementioned artists broke new ground in the studio and, in their own ways, redefined what the pop single could be - mental but magnificent, yet still within detection of the Smash Hits radar. Certainly, the likes of Franz Ferdinand and Maximo Park have produced top-notch material in recent years but, worryingly, little new ground has been broken and the 30-year-old model remains the blueprint.
Thank flip, then, for Foals and their wonderful new album, Antidotes. Ostensibly, given their youth, NME-darling status and oft-mentioned Skins appearance, it would be easy to dismiss this Oxford bunch as yet more spiky-guitar-driven, jerky vocal, Gang of Four wannabes. Not so. Foals have ambition by the truckload and, while their influences are clearly apparent, they've applied them in new and unpredictable ways. And finally, thrillingly, over a decade after Oasis single-handedly kicked the cack out of musical progression, here's a guitar band that's clearly in love with the studio, electronics and the notion of stretching possibility.
The singles Cassius and Balloons are perfectly formed pop confections that, like with all the best albums, only scratch the surface of the whole. African-influenced guitars abound but it's the concise drive and restrained neurosis that strikes, as well as the arresting use of saxophone (think Mirror In The Bathroom rather than Baker Street). The album's true heart lies deeper, however, and the tension is released throughout Antidotes at several key moments, so when everyone stops to admire the beautiful view they've created, - the heart-rending chorus of Red Sock Pugie; the gentle ascent of Big, Big Love (vaguely reminiscent of Unforgettable Fire-era U2) - it's exhilarating.
At last, the noughties have their own Fear of Music, Chairs Missing or Fourth Drawer Down - a record driven by an impulse to create something new, where musical dexterity is of secondary importance to the idea, but still retaining one foot on the dance floor. Yes, that good.
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