All bands are tribute bands, essentially. And I suppose that in that case the only thing that separates one tribute band from the next is whether they’re ever likely to have their own tribute band, or fleet thereof, paying direct and shoddily named tributes to them. The Thrills will never, or should never, have their own tribute band (The Thrill-seekers, or The Trills? Anyone? No?). We’re not denying them the odd medley from a hapless Irish street-side busker, or even surviving as an acknowledgeable staple of a generic pub-rock set, we wouldn’t be so cruel. But there’s not actually a great deal of tribute left to go around after this. From the ‘Pet Sounds’ inspired cover art, to the air of a stereotypical Californian 60s summer pervading every grin-soaked sunshine moment to the fact they actually relocated from rainy Dublin to the sunshine state to record this debut, there’s a lot of attention to detail.
But far from creating their own subsequent related masterpiece, sweetly inspired by a long lost time and attitude, it’s a touch like Woodstock II or the desperately rehashed modern day Isle of Wight festivals, a wheezy attempt at recreating something magic with little care for the present context. Having said that, it’s a lovely little album and that you can’t take away from it. You can feel the glow coming off their pale little faces, the genuine effort in their step. The early promise that they could become a Teenage Fanclub for the naughties may have fallen short with the full album, but then the ‘Fanclub still aren’t making a bad go of that so we’ll leave them to it.
Of course it still hangs in the air for the likes of ace single ‘One Horse Town’, but it’s that band’s prime influence The Byrds that sticks firmest, with the Beach Boys filling out any vacant gaps with a soft melody. ‘Santa Cruz’, ‘Don’t Steal Our Sun’, and the excellently brimming ‘Your Love Is Like Las Vegas’ all adhere without a struggle. Not important then, but satisfying enough. There is plagiarism lurking in the shadows, but under the circumstances we’ll turn a blind eye. They end up seeming like their own “hey hey we’re The Monkees, people say we Monkee around” line, enthusiasm, bounce and tune all proudly intact, but viewed under modern sanitising studio lights.