Yahoo! Music Album Review

Released on 05/11/07
Label: 14th Floor

One day scientists will invent an electromagnetic microscope powerful enough to detect that vital string of DNA that separates an exciting Wombats song from a mediocre one. At a distance, there's not much to tell the two apart - both run on frantic energy, canny wit and the ability to snatch a line or two of poetry from the usual tales of teenage romance. In fact, when listening to a good Wombats song, it's hard to imagine how they could ever be underwhelming.

But possibly because we're hoping too hard for this to be a debut to rank alongside "Employment" (not too much to ask, surely?), "A Guide…" is ultimately a disappointment. That's a little unfair on The Wombats, of course. The Kaiser Chiefs had the element of surprise on their side when they unleashed their answer to "Modern Life Is Rubbish" - plus the only real competition in the English guitar pop stakes back then was The Ordinary Boys (ie, no competition at all). But with The Kaisers themselves unable to replicate their original, unstoppable glory, a vacancy is suddenly waiting to be filled. Expectations, it seems, are high.

Why are The Wombats being shoved into the spotlight rather than, say, The Cribs? Because, on the evidence of their latest singles, it appeared that they were big enough for the job. The infectious "Kill The Director", all jerky guitars, runaway harmonies and wry couplets ("With the angst of a teenage band / Here's another song about a gender I'll never understand"), was a blast of simple, day glo fun, while "Let's Dance To Joy Division" married a joyous, chant-along chorus ("Everything is going wrong / But we're so happy") to that boldest of pop risks - the, ulp, children's choir.

And to begin with, it seems "A Guide…" is exactly what had been ordered: an exhilarating, confident, bold, playful, grin-inducing debut album. "Tales Of Girls, Boys And Marsupials" is a brilliant start, a doo-wapping, hand-clapping excerpt from "Grease: The Scouser Years". "Party In A Forest (Where's Laura?)", where "upper class thugs take middle class drugs", sees singer Murph adrift in a forest rave, yearning for a girl on the wrong side of the Pennines. And "Dr Suzanne Mattox PHD" has future hit single written all over it - the chorus of "Help me Suzanne, help help me Suzanne" tailor-made for a frenzied mosh-pit.

But, sadly, the trio can't sustain this energy and inventiveness over the entire album. Although there are plenty of clever lyrics and neat turns of phrase - "I don't even know the location of the bikes-shed" laments Murph on "School Uniforms" - the songs themselves are more humdrum, less willing to throw in mad pop harmonies or take oddball, unexpected chances. There's nothing actually that wrong with, say, "Lost In The Post" or "Little Miss Pipedream", but there's little to spark genuine excitement within them either - they're just yet more indie rock songs about trouble with girls.

Not quite the new Kaiser Chiefs then. But still several thousand evolutionary stages on from the dreary likes of The Cribs. Raise a glass and pray that The Wombats will one day write an album that can keep up with their singles.

    by Ian Watson