Go, said Lammo. Tiny toy instruments from a U.S. hotel room wing their way back to Blighty and my ears are pricked.
A wonderful racket and many voices make a full length an exciting prospect. So here we are.
Is it inevitable though? The first hit that caught you off guard, half a song on the radio, a support slot you didn’t expect to matter, can’t be matched when you gladly go back for more.
Not that there’s anything wrong with Little Death. An assured production and enough catchy moments to justify more listens leaves small chance for disappointment. But making the scattered inspiration of a new prospect palatable for radio can often smoothe the edges that grazed our thick skin.
Moving and Humming sigh their way into the conscious in a way that their louder peers would if they weren’t as reliant on the kind of guitar sound that has come to dominate UK airwaves since a certain group of NYC hipsters remoulded a previous NY guitar sound.
Come On Feet is still wonderful and there are more moments that deserve to be heard, but it’s almost the third album that I want to hear. They’d have been through the mill, survived, made the D.S.A, and now ask themselves what do they want to hear.
As far as I can see it, they’ve got the personality, an individual approach to harmony that most of the usual shower would kill for, and now our attention. We’re still listening.