Yahoo! Music Album Review

Released on 11/07/05
Label: Rough Trade

The big news about Brakes is that they're an indie supergroup, featuring - brace yourselves - a bunch of mates from Brighton who just happen to be in bands. Look, there's British Sea Power drummer Eamon Hamilton doing his finest Stephen Malkmus impression. There's Tom and Alex from Electric Soft Parade, keeping it all together while Eamon purrs and yelps and does his best to be as coy and camp as possible. And there's…no, hang on, don't tell us…(consults press release) Marc from The Tenderfoot. Ahoy Marc. Good to have you onboard.

There's a word you don't see very often when discussing The Modern Indie: camp. Most haircut indie bands are far too preoccupied with their latest styling session to risk something as potentially uncool as being camp, but Brakes - being a side project, being Not Serious, one assumes - revel in it. Within the first five minutes of this 16 track, 29 minute album, we've already had Eamon pouting like Steve Harley fronting Pavement in "Ring A Ding Ding" and cooing "ooh-hoo, get me a pony!" with all the panache of a country drag queen in "NY Pie".

So, yes, it's fairly safe to say that early Pavement - back when a mad drummer handing out toast to a bemused audience was integral to the experience - are a major influence on Brakes. There's a whole heap of Jonathan Richman in here too, unsurprisingly - although, in this case, Jonathan Richman if he affected a thick west country accent while garbling about "losing my mind on MDMA". And for the older members in the audience, the ghost of post-punk absurdists Swell Maps pops up for a few rounds of random nonsense and general abuse.

For "Give Blood" seems happiest when it's ripping the piss, all itchy venom and scattershot wit. Music industry idiots get a deserved hammering on "Heard About Your Band", with a "coked up arsehole" being cut down to size. "Hi How Are You" screams in the face of people who insist on talking to you during gigs. "Cheney", "Comma Comma Comma Full Stop" and "Pick Up The Phone" are bursts of wilful frustration, all of ten seconds apiece. Hugely fun stuff, of course, but after the third hit-and-run yellathon you start to worry that it's all getting a little too grating for comfort.

Quite where Brakes go now remains uncertain. At their best, the foursome have a playful understanding of what made the likes of "Crooked Rain, Cooked Rain" so compelling. At their most mundane, they could be a joke band on a par with Art Brut. With all involved busy with rewarding day jobs (knock 'em dead, Marc!), this will most likely be left as a light-hearted footnote. But you can't help feeling that, with a little less self-indulgence and a bit more camp brilliance, Brakes could be the side project that turned into something special.

    by Ian Watson