Here they come, these bright new saviours of British guitar music, riding the crest of a small wave of media hype, proffering a debut album produced by Johnny Marr and containing songs honed in Cornwall and realised in
Manchester.
Initially, 'Between The Senses' promises much, bursting into life with last year's 'Beautiful Thing', all epic bluster and soaring, earnest vocals from Gary Briggs. The gentler 'Where Is The Love' possesses a quieter passion with Nat Watson's guitar turned down to an accompanying role, sitting behind Briggs' more sober performance, before Watson unleashes a fine solo and briefly reclaims centre stage.
Despite its jangly, almost generic opening, 'Say Something' is already a contender for Single of the Year, Briggs reaching a haunting, majestic crescendo on stark chorus. If one was looking to make quick and easy comparisons, you might say it could well turn out to be their 'Yellow'.
But from that lofty plateau, the album loses its way somewhere. Songs become overlong and overwrought, repetitious phrases, both vocal and instrumental, emerge and what is left is something rather less than was initially suggested. Another former single, 'Til The End', gives a much needed dose of urgency to proceedings, with Briggs reawakening and delivering another stratosphere-bursting chorus. And 'Let It Live' benefits from some wah-wah effects and an uncomplicated lyric.
First time around, 'Between The Senses' wraps its arms around you and invites you to spend some time with it. But, like a new friend who turns out to be a bit of a bore when you let them dominate the conversation, repeat listenings reveal an album bravely attempting to be a monumental statement on the state of life and love but falls short.
That's not to say there aren't many fine moments, and 'Between The Senses' will sit very nicely next to 'Parachutes' and 'Love Is Here' in many collections. But, as is so often the case with British guitar bands, it isn't an album that is going to be acclaimed in years to come as a groundbreaking piece of work, it simply does its job today. Classicist, yes, but not a classic.
