Have you been to a record shop lately? Now that our honeymoon with virtual music is revealed as completely lacking romance, record shops are thriving again. And it’s not CDs these shoppers are after. Those have been squeezed off into a far corner stocking only immediately sellable fare such as The Beatles, The Smiths, Led Zep, and early Oasis. No, the rest of the shop has been taken over by hoards, layers, tranches of alphabetized 12” vinyl, ordered by genre. Whether it’s regarded as whacky retro chic or simply a return to the “good old days”, vinyl boom times are here.

The Human League front-load their set to such a degree it’s unclear how they’re going to maintain such momentum. Their stage set is amazing, just for starters. Stage-length steps rise up to a podium at the back, on which two synth-players are placed either side of the drummer, the backing band, all of them and all around in white. Surrounding the whole lot are three layers of equally white hoarding upon which projections and lighting effects envelop the performance. It’s extremely well designed, impressive and effective.

The Czars: Best of

With just over two weeks to Christmas, thoughts might be turning to which of the deluge of 2014’s reissues might be suitable as a gift, worth putting on your own wish-list for Santa or even merit buying for yourself. So if help is needed, theartsdesk is happy to provide a one-stop guide to the essential reissues covered so far this year.

The last time I saw Jon Hopkins he was bangin’ out techno to a marquee full of sweating ravers at a festival on the Silesian plains of Poland, one man and a small gaggle of black boxes. Today the boxes have expanded from a small gaggle into a congregation and he is joined, upon occasion, by guitarist Leo Abrahams and a violinist, as well as a hefty dose of backdrop visuals and lighting. He also has a grand piano to which he occasionally retreats so that he might play lilting pieces culled from his soundtrack to 2010’s giant-aliens-take over-the-Tex-Mex-border movie Monsters.

“I have quit smoking!” the rock star exclaims to rapturous applause, taking a luxurious drag on an e-cigarette. And the artificial smoke dissipates across the stage, revealing a 67-year-old Marianne Faithfull perched on an antique leather chair, shoulder raised and pouting as if caricaturing her own youth. It is a subtle and triumphant reference to her past of destructive drug abuse and yet tonight quite clearly shows that for Faithfull the stage (alongside nicotine replacement and a wooden walking stick) is now her crucial crutch for rehabilitation.  

Expectations can be dangerous when it comes to live music, but sometimes managing them is easier said than done. Go and see a band like Jaga Jazzist, a genre-crossing collective of Norwegian multi-instrumentalists who skyrocketed to fame in 2002 when the BBC named A Livingroom Hush jazz album of the year, and you expect it to be big. Especially when it’s the group’s 20th anniversary tour and you arrive at Union Chapel to find the queue stretching around the block.

Various Artists: Native North America (Vol. 1) – Aboriginal Folk, Rock and Country 1966–1985

There is an odd moment about halfway through Lily Allen’s set. Clad in a shaggy white mini dress akin to a Puli dog’s coat, she announces the next song will divide the audience into those that love it and those that hate it. Her sweet voice then wraps itself around the soundtrack to last year’s John Lewis seasonal TV ad, her version of Keane’s “Somewhere Only We Know”.

Last night Latin jazzers J-Sonics confirmed their reputation as one of the most compelling proponents of the delicate art of fusion with a deeply grooving, deeply addictive performance of their propulsive repertoire. Their two Brazilian-flavoured sets were characterised by supple instrumental interplay, including from the singer Grace Rodson, a regular performer with the Roberto Pla Ensemble, whose taut, rippling vocalising rhythms and sumptuous tone were as crucial within the band’s instrumental textures as her solos, which smouldered, then burst into hot Latin fire.