This album would be aided immensely had we not ‘experienced’ any of their increasingly rigid and stylised live spurtings over the past couple of years, nor been subjected to the disappointing, blindfolded shooting of their flat debut ‘See Through This And Leave’. But oh, we have. That we approach this follow up with such abysmally low expectations though is its absolute saving grace. And surprisingly, grace there is on this occasion. Swells of it, actually. As ‘The Same Mistakes’ wisps into dark atmospheric shape like ‘Mezzanine’ Massive Attack interrupting Interpol on a pirate frequency, there is defiantly something amiss. And that is that against all reasonable predictions they’ve not fucked up this time, they’ve not had their sight all gummed up by the slapped-on sheen. Or if they have they’ve pulled the wool over our eyes like the expert architects they think they are. In that first track they prove themselves the product of at least some of that self-vomited hyperbole that just hadn’t stuck, until now.
Half the problem with the first record is that there were no goals, and the limits were all too clearly in view. Accurately personified through the awful suburban imagery of the artwork and videos, of which they didn’t even convey that much experience, there was merely an uninspiring reflection of who they probably were. But there was nothing to take you away from that, nothing to say they even could, no acceptance that there was anything bigger. But it turns out there is something bigger, and it’s manifested itself as their second album. Hinted at by surging special-edition intermission single ‘A.I.M.’, included here, their original awkward collision of styles, a desperate attempt at hybridisation, has been washed away. It’s replaced by an eclectic, warm melt of ideas and ambition, a pretty damn gorgeous production touch, and ultimately a realised view.
Their main live bugbear, cringe-worthy behaviour from singer Ben, not to mention the tatty Liam Gallagher aping vocals, has been kicked into touch here with some admirable restraint and no doubt a helping of studio jiggery-pokery. Most of the vocals actually fit their shoes, there being a hint of some of James’ great latter material (take say ‘Someone’s Got It In For Me’) on the likes of ‘New Toys’, ambling murmuringly with a soft pronounced harshness. They may lumber slightly on the ‘D’you Know What I Mean’-Oasis-esque ‘Talking To A Brick Wall’ and forced-angry single ‘Promises Promises’, but it’s not much of a grumble. Not when the amazing likes of ‘Into My Arms’ build from the ground up, taking in Spiritualized, Primal Scream and Nine Inch Nails respectfully, and ‘Blind Pilots’ has an efficient Oasis stomping on U2’s toes in Kevin Shields’ boots. Ok, so you’ve got our attention. Now see if you can keep it.