It’s almost a little churlish to have to compare and contrast new Super Furry releases with the old, not to mention being a pointless waste of energy. Inevitably we’ll end up doing so before the end of this review, but here they are, six proper albums on, nearly a decade down the line, tinkering with the boundaries of possibility like they’ve got the whole room to themselves, like they always have had. Like they’ve been hitching aboard the Weird Train of Pop all this time without even getting their tickets checked, not once. And look at them doing handstands through first class, hanging trippy mobiles in the buffet car, installing a plasma screen to watch the ‘Withnail & I’ DVD in the smoking carriage. Should they even be on here? Has anyone thought to ask? And who do they think they are? Actually, they know exactly who they are, as do you. As a cheese and pickle sandwich is a always a cheese and pickle sandwich regardless of the quality of materials and craftsmanship, this simply is a Super Furries album. And that’s not the kind of thing you argue with.
As far as standards go then, looks like you’re bound to get a few bits stuck between your teeth but it’ll slip down easy enough, with only a low-moderate likelihood of indigestion. It’s not their best outing (‘Golden Retriever’, despite being the insistent little fluffy pal that it is, wasn’t their best lead single to date now, was it), but neither is it their worst. That’s probably got more to do with them being just the type of band who don’t make worst records, there’s apparently a watermark they can’t descend past. Which is a very good thing in a band. Even if ‘Phantom Power’ chugs along in a vaguely disappointing way (that is only if we’re comparing and contrasting of course), it’s still enough to put a shuffle in your stride and a glowing seal on your day.
‘Hello Sunshine’ (Exhibit A) for instance has undoubtedly the cutest lyric of the year. “I’m a minger, you’re a minger too,” purrs Gruff in that reassuring Welsh stoner baritone, “come on minger, I want to ming with you-hoo-hoo”. Utter beauty. It makes you smile, pushed on by a warm, fuzzy Beatles saunter. Which it sticks to for the duration, more or less. There’s some Stooges-on-the-Starship-Enterprise type fun on ‘Out Of Control’, but for the most part it’s ‘Tears On My Pillow’-esque Motown heartbreak like on ‘Sex, War and Robots’ or Kinks melodies, Beach Boys harmonies and other such assorted 60s bric-a-brac. And ‘Venus and Serena’ should have been the first single, a gorgeous spasming spiral of crossed harmonic wires. It’s a focused, satisfying, close-feeling, brimming hummer of a retro pop record. Nothing more, nothing less, sticking to the programme, not stretching too far. But then, we’ve no real complaints. Have you?