On first listen to these Gems From The Golden Age Of Yesteryear (tm) - ah, Britpop, Union Jack guitars for goalposts, small boys on Top Of The Pops, run along sonny and form Northern Uproar, eh? - it's immediately apparent how much we've taken Gene for granted.
Qualities worth their weight in platinum discs in a just universe - grace, poetry, romance, beauty - abound, lightly scattered throughout the songs as if singer Martin Rossiter had a bag of golddust and an infinite bank account. Songs like 'Olympian' - gentle, slow, rising to epiphany with a sense of strength and confidence - and 'For The Dead' - the most sumptuous ode to suicide ever committed to vinyl - marry the head over heels potency of the best love songs with a broken glass poignancy that aches towards true drama.
So how come Gene are regarded as runtish also-rans rather than masters of all they survey? Well, the shadow of The Smiths looms large on even their finest moments, with Rossiter's Morrissey-esque croon never quite achieving escape velocity from its formative influence. And, no matter how hard Steve Mason tries to push the boundaries with the melodies - the howling trumpet of 'Into The Night' is a particularly inspired moment - there is a sense of sameyness here somehow, that a handful of Gene songs is all you need.
In a way, Gene fell victim to their own reputation, by facing up to their C list status and coming out with fists swinging. 'Fighting Fit' is a glorious, rabble rousing call to arms that kicks The Smiths influence into the stratosphere, but then they make the self same underdog bites back point on the next four songs. 'We Could Be Kings', 'Sleep Well Tonight', 'Fill Her Up', and 'You'll Never Walk Again' all have Rossiter getting tooled up for a rumble and, while you could take the idea of 'Fighting Fit' being a metaphor, it was always hard to believe that our Martin was the scrapping sort.
Amongst the gripes and doubts and misgivings, however, one crucial truth stands firm. At the top of their game, free of the past and unhindered by the present, when they were expressing their souls rather than blind ambition, Gene were a delight and an inspiration. 'Haunted By You' has a chorus to swoon for, 'London Can You Wait?' a sublime blend of tears and
rage, and 'Be My Light, Be My Guide' pure genius. And in an era when indie pop is little more than marketing and bluster, even Gene's worst efforts shine.
