Why I Am Kloot have yet to be embraced beyond those pockets of bruised souls that currently hold the torch for this magnificent three-piece is mystifying. After all, said Northern lads include two Gallagher brothers recently spotted at a Kloot gig at which Junior was found foaming at the mouth with glee at the sight of the fellow Mancs.
In fact, everyone from acerbic, self-deprecating frontman Johnny Bramwell to Kloot's new label, Echo, seem unsure of the simple greatness of this music. It's probably down to the low self-esteem that infects their songs with both a bitter pain and desperate yearning for human affection. A formula that saw their debut typecast as 'miserablist' by many a lazy hack.
Occasionally teetering on the edge of self-parody, Bramwell's cruel/tender juxtapositions continue unabated on this eponymous follow-up. But his development beyond the limits of this kind of 'Beautiful South for grown-ups' wordplay into one of rock's greatest phraseologists has truly begun. "Who am I to dare to pull the stars from your favourite sky," he wonders, like a craftsman gently tapping a rock to break open another painful truth about the way we love. And, in case you thought he was getting sentimental, here's a swift quip about a girl with "saviour faire" and "cheap bleach on her hair" to put the mask back in place.
It's not only the words that show Kloot growing into one of our finest bands but the development of their sound into unchartered territories. The sloping bass and lazily brushed cymbals still turn Bramwell into an Ella Fitzgerald of the working man's club, but alongside them is a richer seam of sound and texture. 'Untitled #1' holds some of the lazy romance of Bob Dylan's 'Desolation Row' with mercury keys floating on a single note acoustic rhythm. 'Life In A Day' charges on a filthily recorded drum clatter and subterranean bass as electric guitar throws sharp angles all over its chorus.
'Proof' again finds Dylanesque plucked chords launching into gloriously chiming guitars, harmonies and the irresistible 'la la las'. Hang the record industry that fails to make this a Top 10 single.
Perhaps it's the ludicrously inappropriate 'New Acoustic' tag, with its images of wet lads and their fey strumming, that's kept Kloot in relative obscurity. Perhaps it's the colloquialism, dropped 'H' lyricism and determinedly four-wall worldview that a wider world struggles to get along with. Whatever, they're missing out. This is one of the most rewarding albums of the year.
by James Poletti