Whatever ignominies Top of the Pops was put through in its latter years, it continued to serve one important function. Until the show’s dying day, a TOTP debut remained the way of gauging when a new band had made it. Now it’s harder to pinpoint that passage from margins to mainstream. In TOTP’s absence, a place on Never Mind the Buzzcocks has assumed some of that responsibility. But herein lie problems.

A band debuting on TOTP could emerge into the overground with their mystique intact. Yannis Philippakis from Foals had to do it by standing next to Phill Jupitus and scatting the intro to a Daft Punk song. In another age, that might have been Ian Curtis beside Stan Boardman, whistling the opening bars of Y Viva España. If we’re to agree that Joy Division’s music would have been undiminished by such indignities, then the same ought to apply to the 11 songs on Antidotes. And on an album that sets out its own sound-world with utter clarity, this turns out not to be too great an ask.

You suspect that somewhere among Philippakis’s possessions is a scrawled manifesto of do’s and don’ts that ensures that half of these songs are written before they’re even conceived. There’s nothing so gauche as a guitar solo here and, on tracks such as Tron and Balloons, nary a rhythm that doesn’t have a hi-hat tapping on the off-beat. Gang of Four and “math-rock” supergroup Battles are cited as kindred spirits in the Oxfordshire quintet’s quest to build songs around tart, concentrated grooves. So far, so Bloc Party. In time, Philippakis too may write a cringesome second album prompted by the ennui of too many Shoreditch gallery openings.

For now though, there’s Cassius – a homo-erotic sketch of longing rendered instantly thrilling by the high guitar motif that shadows the singer’s every utterance – and the yearning convulsions of Olympic Airways. The best of the lot, though, is the funky marching music of Two Steps, Twice.

Presumably in an attempt to anger Fela Kuti up from the grave, NME is calling it Afrobeat. It isn’t, really. Though there’s a hint of Nigerian highlife about Jimmy Smith’s guitar playing, the beat is more Leeds ’79 than Lagos ’70.

Does it matter? Not a bit. Put it all together and the boundless, youthful magnetism of Foals’ noise flags up a chemistry that no amount of ill-advised panel-game appearances can neutralise. That said, if Alan Carr’s Celebrity DingDong come knocking, Philippakis might want to think twice before committing.

(TMS £8.99)
Transgressive

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