Ethereal indie minimalists The xx last night won the Barclaycard Mercury Prize and the £20,000 cash that goes with it for their eponymous debut album, beating 11 other acts.

It was a popular decision loudly welcomed by the great and good of the music industry who cheered loudly – and with genuine appreciation – as the group members took to the stage in the Grosvenor House hotel, in central London.

There was little air punching or exclamations of joy. Once on stage singer and guitarist Ollie Sim managed a breathless “wow”. He thanked the judges and the band’s record label: “We have had the most incredible year and it’s felt like every day we have woken up to something incredible that we were expecting.

“It’s felt a bit like a haze to us, being here has been a weird moment of clarity. It just means so much.”

Asked what the band would spend the prize money on Romy Madley Croft suggested it might go towards building their own studio, since their first album had been made in a converted basement the size of a bathroom. “We’re all very excited to make new music,” she said.

Martin Mills, founder and chairman of Beggars group, which houses the band said: ‘The xx is a perfect winner for the Mercurys – a completely fresh sound, which over time becomes an intimate friend.”

The reason the panel of judges chose this album could be distilled into one word, said chief of judges Simon Frith: “Atmosphere.”

He said the decision had not been easy but the panel had been wowed by the album. “It has the most amazing sense of mood and atmosphere and there is really nothing quite like it.” Thanks to a number of adverts and endorsements the album had imprinted itself on the public’s consciousness, he added. “It appears to have become like part of the soundscape in an almost invisible fashion. It also captures a sense of the uneasy times we live in. It’s a very urban record.”

The xx had been hotly tipped to win the award since being nominated back in July. Their album, released in August last year, was praised for its “lightness of touch at play that gives The xx a sophistication beyond their years” in the Observer.

The three-piece band from London who formed in 2005, met at Elliott School, notable for alumni including Hot Chip, Burial, The Maccabees and Four Tet.

Recorded, mainly at night, in the basement of the XL studios the melancholic, almost dream-like, album wowed critics when it was released, featuring highly in NME and Rolling Stone’s “best of the year” lists.

Released in August last year, The xx entered the chart at 36, slipping to 62 a week later. Showing that the Mercurys still have some power despite the naysayers which question its relevance, after the album’s nomination it jumped from 44 to 16 in the charts, quickly becoming the favourite to win the prize.

Rock veteran Paul Weller, despite being the late favourite to win after a sudden surge of bets on his album Wake Up the Nation, missed out along with nominees Wild Beasts, Laura Marling, I Am Kloot, Villagers, Foals, Dizzee Rascal, Mumford & Sons, Biffy Clyro and Corinne Bailey Rae and Kit Downes Trio.

Paul Stokes, associate editor of NME, said that based on pre-awards hype, there might have been a suggestion that the judges would opt for the obvious choice. “But let’s not forget this is an album made by self-confessed social outcasts, that merges the fringes of indie and dance culture. That it has become the favourite demonstrates this album’s true achievement.”

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/sep/08/the-xx-mercury-prize-2010

Has there ever been a more maligned award than the Mercury music prize? The annual round of hand-wringing and what’s-it-for criticism began even before yesterday’s shortlist was announced – though, if anything, the dissenting voices have been a fair bit quieter since. Does this mean this year’s 12 album nominees are an unusually safe bet? Dizzee Rascal, the xx, Paul Weller: you could argue that the judges have managed to nod in every musical direction this island has to offer. Or, less cynically, you could say the range is a positive sign that British music is on fighting form, after a period of several years in which the US album has dominated the awards scene, as well as critics’ and readers’ polls.

In fact, the field has seemed even narrower than that: for the last couple of years it’s been largely Brooklyn exports who have swept the board. Last year brought wildly successful albums from Brooklyn-based Dirty Projectors, Brooklyn-based Grizzly Bear and Brooklyn/Baltimore-based Animal Collective. In 2008, the Guardian critics’ end of year poll for best album was topped by New Yorkers TV on the Radio and their excellent political art-rock LP Dear Science (the influential US website Pitchfork agreed with us); meanwhile, the readers chose Wisconsin’s cabin-dwelling troubadour Bon Iver and his album For Emma, Forever Ago. That year also saw brilliant albums by Vampire Weekend and MGMT – both, you guessed it, based in Brooklyn.

But the last 12 months have been triumphant for British music, and the Mercury panel has gone some way towards reflecting this. Nominations for Mumford & Sons and their tour-mate Laura Marling (also Marcus Mumford’s girlfriend) shine a light on the success of London’s so-called New Folk scene: both acts straddle the generation divide, uniting teenage fans with those who remember the halcyon days of 1960s folk. The recent success of “heritage” acts (Led Zeppelin, Leonard Cohen, the Police) has also generated a fresh appetite for reunions and revivals. Many of these acts get away with plundering their back catalogue; Weller, however, who has been making music for more than 30 years, has surprised everyone by moving on and releasing what critics have rated the best album of his career, Wake Up the Nation.

The nomination for Dizzee Rascal’s fourth album, Tongue N’ Cheek, is already bothering some: the prize is meant to reward artistic ambition, and many would argue that the 24-year-old rapper is more interested in raising his game commercially on this showing. But the last year has seen British hip-hop artists do the one thing no one expected: sell records. Chipmunk, N-Dubz and Tinchy Stryder have all topped the charts; none of them would be there without the man who won his first Mercury prize seven years ago for Boy in Da Corner.

My own favourite album on the list comes from Wild Beasts, whose music is hard to quantify (though you could reductively describe them as indie-pop). The Kendal four-piece have many remarkable strings to their bow: two lead singers capable of singing both in falsetto and baritone, an intrinsic understanding of rhythm and groove, a gift for visceral and poetic lyrics. They are also just the kind of band who could benefit from the exposure a Mercury win would bring them: they’re near enough the mainstream to accumulate a growing fanbase and critical praise, but without that translating to significant sales – yet.

Already the xx and Dizzee Rascal are favourites to win. The xx’s album has managed to hang on to its artistic credibility while being ubiquitous in the mainstream media (something the Mercury prize seems to value). Their songs sound as at home on hip music blogs as they do soundtracking Grey’s Anatomy – bracing, captivating and aching with languid sexuality.

Would it be good for the xx if they won? The Mercury prize can be a gift or a curse. While few would balk at the £20,000 prize fund that goes with it, you only have to look at the fate of last year’s winner, Speech Debelle, to be reminded how transient success can be. No sooner was she thanking indie label Big Dada for allowing her to release a “hip-hop Tracy Chapman” album than she dumped the label, after it became apparent that it took more than the approval of a roomful of music industry insiders to persuade the British public to pay for an album of dull art-rap that sounded nothing like Tracy Chapman.

Still, it’s not all bad news. As the Mercury limelight begins to swing towards some other lucky (or unlucky) soul, it was confirmed this week that Big Dada had reunited with Debelle; her next album, rumoured to be called The Art of Speech, will be released by them in the not-too-distant future.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/jul/20/mercury-prize-nominations

How slowly a year passes. It seems like only, ooh, 12 months ago that rapper Speech Debelle was first spotted on the 2009 Mercury prize shortlist. She went on to clinch the prize last September. Before her win, all that customary teeth-sucking talk about the Mercury curse (where the winners’ careers subsequently jump off a cliff) had even begun to subside a little, thanks to the warm, fuzzy “Elbow effect”. Pop justice was seen to be done when the manfully soppy Mancunian journeymen triumphed in 2008. (Well, I would say that, wouldn’t I? It was the year I was on the panel.)

But what industry wags now refer to as “Speech Debacle” saw Debelle record the worst post-Mercury album sales any winner has ever seen. Debelle left her label, Big Dada, in a huff, accusing it of failing to market her album sufficiently.

Since its inception, the Mercury has always made wildly idiosyncratic choices that often ignore the popular mood. And rightly so: this is a process that recognises that musical value should be measured by more subtle means than sales. It is absolutely about art, not about units. Even so, Speech Debacle still trumped Roni Sizegate: Debelle has gone to ground. No one has noticed.

So the pressure is on this year, to get it right – or at least, given that “right” is always in the blog rant of the beholder – less arrantly wrong. There will, of course, be heated panel conversations about the commercial explosion in homegrown urban music. Will they recognise N-Dubz and Chipmunk? Does the bangin’ disco-pop success of Dizzee Rascal preclude this former Mercury winner from another stab at the prize? Can any of the panel make it through the whole Muse album? We shall see. Below, in no particular order, are our 2010 runners and riders, a mercurial dozen that eschews token jazz entries and makes no apology for it.

MIA: /\/\ /\ Y /\

Motherhood has clearly not mellowed Mathangi Arulpragasam, British-Sri-Lankan noise-art provocateuse. Her bold, saturated third album comes bundled with in-built controversy, conspiracy theories and cacophonous post-R&B rhythms. But peel away (if you must) all the surface noise and art-school posturing, and feel the love, sadness and compassion within.

Trembling Bells: Abandoned Love

Feted by the eminence grise of British folk-rock, Joe Boyd, Trembling Bells were the just successors to Fairport Convention in a year when any old indie band with acoustic guitars were called “folk”. Lusty, erudite and keen on cross-pollinating Dylanesque choogle with earlie musicke, their second album crept out on Damon Albarn’s pleasingly unpredictable Honest Jon’s imprint.

Corinne Bailey Rae: The Sea

A media focus on the death of her husband might have looked prurient, but the emotional heft of Rae’s second album was inexorably linked to her personal tragedy. Critical, too, was the artistic maturing of the Leeds singer: the bland expanses of her debut being replaced by a sophisticated but notably unforced soulfulness.

Fuck Buttons: Tarot Sport

Well, at least their name would bring a shot of controversy to the Mercury. Fuck Buttons are two Bristolian geeks who emerged from the subterranean noise-rock scene, hooked up with techno veteran Andy Weatherall and made an album of chest-beating epics. Lord Coe should consider deploying their incredibly heroic “Olympians” for the 2012 campaign and not just because of the title.

These New Puritans: Hidden

Any number of post-punkish types were dropped or imploded in the past year or so as the selling power of British indie withered on the vine. Southend’s These New Puritans might not have sold millions, but they used minimal commercial expectations to their advantage and flourished into genuinely adventurous – a post-rock band who cite Peter Grimes as inspiration, for heaven’s sake – outsiders on their second album.

Gorillaz: Plastic Beach

A fractionally disappointing Glasto headline set and some cartoon personae who have, perhaps, outlived the joke should not detract from the latest achievement by Britpop renaissance man Damon Albarn. To wit: an ecological concept album that yoked Snoop Dogg, Lou Reed, the Syrian National Orchestra for Arabic Music and some killer tunes into a compellingly coherent whole.

The xx: xx

If the Mercury prize were awarded to the most slyly ubiquitous record of the year, then the xx would walk it. The enigmatic Putney band’s “Intro” has been TV’s soundbed of choice for months now. Chances are, though, that this enormously insidious hybrid of urban rhythms and brittle indie textures will be the strong favourite anyhow – and rightly so. You can imagine the panel meeting once, concurring that The xx should walk it, and saving a small fortune in tea and biscuits.

Hot Chip: One Life Stand

After the moderately disappointing Made in the Dark, Hot Chip’s fourth album was possibly their best yet, a masterclass in combining cutting-edge dancefloor tropes with a very poignant and eccentric tradition of English songwriting. With the title track, they created a marvellous anomaly: a club anthem about enduring monogamy.

Voice of the Seven Thunders: Voice of the Seven Thunders

Britain has been rather laggardly in producing new psychedelic rock bands in comparison to the currently flourishing American underground. Rick Tomlinson (formerly known as Voice of the Seven Woods) is the exception: a furiously inspired guitarist who can slip from acid-punk to pastoral folk to Turkish freak-outs in the space of one song.

Wild Beasts: Two Dancers

Somewhat brainier than the average British indie band – their fauvist-inspired name being only the tip of their intellectual iceberg – Lakeland lads Wild Beasts nevertheless began translating chin-stroker esteem into actual popularity with this superb second album. Hayden Thorpe’s uncanny falsetto (think the Associates’ Billy Mackenzie) was an acquired taste but was an integral part of their allure, at once arty and ribald, quirky and anthemic.

Tinchy Stryder: Catch 22

In a problematic year for the British music business, the success of homegrown urban pop was a commercial, if not critical, success. One-time grime MC Tinchy Stryder was the best of a variable, ambitious lot (N-Dubz, Chipmunk, Taio Cruz et al), parlaying a hard-earned credibility for actual hits and following a path effectively trodden by his Bow compadre Dizzee Rascal.

Laura Marling: I Speak Because I Can

Mumford & Sons might have sold more records, but Laura Marling’s second album is that unlikely thing among modern British artists, a follow-up album that makes good on this young singer-songwriter’s early promise. Part of Marling’s charm was her winning understatement, but also the way it intertwined with a quiet determination: her next record is a set with the White Stripes’ Jack White.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/jul/18/mercury-prize-2010-predictions