Not one for naming albums then, Richard Warren. His first appearance under the Echoboy moniker (a solid, satisfying and adequately representative tag if ever we’ve seen one), ‘Volume One’, was followed a while after by ‘Volume Two’. Which was consistent, if nothing else. And now, with no respect for configuration or form, he plumps for ‘Giraffe’ like a listless foreigner on a Learn English By Post course with the wrong photocopied worksheet. Which is random, if nothing else. But it is at least right that he didn’t call this ‘Volume 3’. Where the first two albums excelled in splurges of minimalist electronic landscaping, billowing backdrops and a token Kraut-pop wig-out or two (the perfect contagious whiteout of ‘Kit and Holly’ for example), this record does not fuck about. Gleaming murmur-along pop excellence from its head to its toes (which, bear in mind, is a long way).
If you caught his live shows anytime over the past few years, an adrenalised 10-legged pulsating rock n roll freak-out to varying degrees, then you’ll have seen the yearning to stretch out and above than the largely electronic confines of Vols. 1 and 2. And just looking at his range of touring partners over the last 6 months (Doves, Simian, Appliance, Puressence) you know he’s going for something spacier and better ventilated than that underground pocket of electronic resistance. Though no doubt just as badly lit. And this time he’s got it, with a record that sounds as mixed-up and intricate as it is consistent and as obvious as a brick.
10 whole tracks then, with verses, choruses, bridges, climaxes and vocals (!). More important than anything else this time, vocals. And on top of that, hooks. And it all really suits him. He may have jumped from one extreme to the other years ago by leaving tuneful but shockingly average Britpop mods The Hybirds and setting up on his tod as Echoboy, but here he edges back slightly and finds his perfectly balanced middle ground. But that middle ground is still fortunately an obtuse angle or two off middle of the road. For evidence see the Beta Band doing Depeche Mode regimentation of ‘Automatic Eyes’, the dirty Xtrmntr-esque depth charge ‘Wasted Spaces’, and Underworld morphing into Kraftwerk and back out again during ‘Don’t Destroy Me’. A truly eclectic and powerful blast of mechanical might then. But ‘Giraffe’?!