Music
Christ, it's Britpop. With one Cliff Jones on backing vocals, a radio permanently tuned to the Evening Session and a highly dubious band photo in which teenage brothers Alex and Tom White closely resemble DJ Oxide and Tim MBICR. Confused? You will be.
Much is expected of the Brighton youngsters after excellent, anthemic single 'Empty At The End', but although there's a mature songwriting voice at work, literally externalised in Alex White's laconic, understated sigh, the struggle is to escape from the shackles of overly derivative youth. With artwork peppered with the obvious icons (Geneva, Super Furry Animals, Suede), this is a very young band still wearing their prominent influences on their (album) sleeve. The excision of 'Red Balloon For Me's former subtitle, '(Song For Martin Carr)', fails to dispel the long shadow of the Boo Radleys frontman, whilst 'This Given Line' begins with a tinkly piano rendition of Ash's 'Shining Light', proceeds to replicate the entire song and finally mutates into pure Mercury Rev. Just before launching into 'Why Do You Try So Hard To Hate Me', a forced indie thrash utterly plagiarising Blur's 'Song 2', White admits that "it's getting harder to feel secure". Hmm. Identity crisis in full flow, then.
But don't consign The Electric Soft Parade to the unconvincing phalanx of emerging British indie bands, unremittingly troubled of lyric and formulaic of sound, just yet. Although the title track moulds Radiohead-lite acoustic dejection from the far superior 'Echo In The Airport', an outstanding session track mysteriously not included here, 'It's Wasting Me Away' is genuinely poignant, the sigh "there's a line across the window, like the lies across your face" rising on a wave of simple, shimmering guitars. Resigned to loss, it's the sad shrug of acceptance at the end of the affair. It's centrepiece and nine-minute epic 'Silent To The Dark', though, which really demonstrates what this band can do. Beginning with the requisite euphoric chorus (and when Danny McNamara hears it, Embrace will probably sue) before sliding into a hymnal, beat-driven organ requiem eventually adorned with sombre, stately piano, it's the sunset on a stilled sea, the last traces of a turbulent storm. Imagine Mogwai and Electrelane dreaming in the distance, Jeff Buckley breathing his last, the Titanic slipping beneath the waves. When the final minute brings an exquisite recapitulation of the chorus, shards of shattering stained-glass sink into the depths. Much as we hate to endorse the extortionate price of CDs, it's worth every penny of that fifteen quid.
But, ultimately, it's anonymous opener 'Start Again' which summarises Holes In The Wall; the admirable, if ironic, defiance of a homogeneous indie scene, combined with the realisation that they're "never far away from what you want to be". Good effort. Can do better.
Ok, let's just put this review into its proper historical context. Staind are the band that gave us 'Outside', remember? It was probably the least powerful power ballad in living memory, and one which would have flopped much like everything else they'd ever done had it not been for the fact that the video featured Fred Durst sitting on stage not doing very much. It really was a travesty of a song, as was it's follow-up, 'It's Been Awhile'. Both were equally bland and predictable, the musical equivalent of Milton Keynes only less original.
So what of latest offering, 'For You'? Is this a new Staind, practically unrecognisable from the 2001 model? Is this the track which sees them come out of their shell to produce something which will unquestionably change rock music as we know it and justify their triple-platinum status? No, it isn't: it's every bit as dour and monotonous as what has gone before.
If Staind really wanted to do something "for me" they'd act on their angst and just slit their wrists instead of shoving their dire, self-pitying, damn-near-unlistenable drivel down my throat. Please, cheer the fuck up or just go away.
Neil Halstead is probably quite a calm bloke. His Sleeping On Roads is bloody relaxing. The mellowest crooning guitars are backed with unpretentious drums and occasionally interspersed with Halstead's unremarkable but palatable voice. The odd horn thrown in makes me feel that he might have worn a poncho occasionally. In terms of style, he takes the quiet bits of Elliott Smith, blends it with a sizeable portion of Nick Drake, and takes a bit of folksy roots for good measure. There's even a smidgeon of Gomez's oddness in there. His work feels very acoustic, but there's a huge variety of instruments in there - they're just kept in their places. What is characteristic is not his lyrical ingenuity, which tends towards the simple and understated, but rather the charming instrumental panoramas presented here. There are only nine songs, which may feel a little slim to splash out on, but it does come across more as a hidden find than a chart-buster. Very restrained, very accomplished, and very enjoyable once in a while. It can feel a little samey though, and so retro in places that you can't help thinking it's all been done before.
There is a difference between experimenting within your genre as your band grows (as seen by Radiohead, U2, and even the Beatles of course), and completely forsaking your musical genre of choice (as recently seen by Pink and Scritti Politti last year). The former is generally a welcome answer to a band becoming bored with its own sound, while the latter is usually a matter of desperation and should be viewed with the utmost hesitance. With the new single from No Doubt's album, Rock Steady, all recollection of the loveable ska/new wave sound that made them so popular is abandoned for some confused reggae/synthesiser-laden hybrid. While the Gwen Stefani appeal is as charming as ever, with the delectable Gwen voice you know you secretly love, the track is still a stylistic mess. And while bringing in reggae super legends Bounty Killer seems to be a wise decision to help them through their first steps into the world of reggae and dance, the result still seems a bit forced to say the least. Moral of the story: although Gwen can make just about any sound charming, the same cannot be said of the rest of the band.
Rising like a phoenix from the ashes, Hell Is For Heroes, named after a gritty 60s war movie, formed about a year ago, after the collapse of chirpy teenage punks Symposium. However, this band are keen to distance themselves from that past, and are taking a different route to Rock Stardom. Avoiding the bouncy near-punk and lyrics about drinking sunshine of Symposium, this sounds like the later tracks Symposium wrote, but a lot heavier, darker and more aggressive.
Live, this band are amazing, a whirlwind of spiky guitar noise, and, as with most bands of this nature, the energy and drive of their live performance doesn't quite translate to record. Definitely one to watch at Reading at that pissed-enough-for-them-to-be-brilliant stage at four on Saturday afternoon. Still, this song chugs along in a mosh-friendly way, but not quite hitting the heights that would make it a classic tune.
The B-sides are also good enough, the last song being notable for the singer sounding like he's reached the end of the gig, willing both audience and band on for one last crescendo of noise and action.
See the band live, for this single doesn't give their passion and power on stage justice.
The awkward buggers. From the decade spent perfecting acclaimed debut album Asleep In The Back to defiantly peppering their detailed documentation of Northern soul with experimentation of a distinctly (whisper it) prog bent, Bury's Elbow have always been too difficult to sit comfortably alongside contemporaries Coldplay and Doves. And so brand-new track 'Asleep In The Back' is simultaneously quintessential Elbow and an unexpected change, uses the line "my twisted heart is yours" as a serenade and doesn't even appear on the album of the same name.
What's perhaps most surprising here is the clarity of the sound. Taking its acoustic arpeggio theme from single 'Newborn', it's a dignified waltz accompanied by elegant oboe and subtly layered brass; eschewing the usual claustrophobic swirl, the approach foregrounds Guy Garvey's newly anecdotal lyricism ("the shameless fits of love that always smother you for moments till I fold them up and leave"). It's gorgeous, and it's a grower.
Brooding double A-side 'Coming Second', meanwhile, showcases their debut's difficult material, a dark portent of nagging acoustics concluding with effects somewhere between a heavily treated groan and an elephant trapped in a synth. Addictive as it is, Elbow's continuing commercial success depends on 'Asleep In The Back', because if this is ever played on daytime Radio 1 we will, quite frankly, be buggered.
31st Jan 2002