The more Finley Quaye gives lippy quotes about how he is the only talented and creative person he knows (stop hanging around with Gail Porter then), and the more he makes a twat of himself at celebrity parties, the less the public cares about his new album.
Do we really need the Liam Gallagher of reggae? Just as Oasis have progressively lost the musical plot as they've become more "celeb", so Finley's weekly appearances in Heat magazine warn of a worrying move away from the innocent, optimistic sound of 'Maverick a Strike'. Is 'Vanguard' a worthy follow up, or the self-indulgent noodling of a man who's a bit too familiar with the inside of the Met Bar?
Predictably enough, the answer is, a bit of both. The lyrics are almost uniformly dreadful a million miles from the shallow but charming 'Sunday Shining'. 'Chad Valley' opens with "Her name was Susie/I met her in a jacuzzi". A random girl's name and a nonsensical rhyme remind you of anyone? Finley's obviously been taking lessons from the lyrical genius that is Noel Gallagher. The song trundles along in the same baffling vein until the final refrain -"PCP', LSD', THC" and it all starts making sense. Is Finley trying to tell us something?
Finley's trick of solemnly intoning the lyrics over sparse beats means they're very difficult to tune out. Consequently, the listener is forced to try and make sense of them. So after some time spent puzzling over "Manic Preachers/on the bridge to Wales...oppression" ('British Air Rage'), your reviewer has concluded that Finley is adding his two cents to the hot potato that is Celtic devolution. You tell 'em Fin!
Some tracks ('The Emperor', 'Hey Now', 'Everybody Knows') point towards a darker direction than we've previously heard. They're not easy listening first time around, but persistence pays off. And then it's all ruined by 'Feeling Blue' an execrable slab of reggae-lite built around Finley telling us, repeatedly, that he, um, feels blue, over an incongruously cheery beat. Oooh, it's just so Pato Banton!
It's not, truth be told, unlistenable, so long as you don't listen too hard. 'When I Burn Off Into The Distance' is good enough to live up to it's arresting title, and, the judiciously chosen single, 'Spiritualized', rocks.
But there's nothing to get you dancing, and very little to get you thinking. And what does that leave you except background noise? Something you might hear, and ignore, at all those celeb parties we keep seeing Finley at, maybe?
