They’re butchers I tell you, butchers! Taking our clean, pretty music and tucking, tweaking and hacking it into their glorified noise. The Cooper Temple Clause just don’t seem to do conventionality and if they do, it’s got so much spin to it, Tony Blair would be proud. ‘Kick Up The Fire…’ bounces from tinkering electronica to well erm, tinkering electronica. Lambasted for their indecisive, lack of cohesion style, ‘Kick Up The Fire..’ is surprisingly non dimensional for a band so abundant in imagination. It’s like they’ve been shot with a high impact sedative that’s left them writhing and wallowing in the Matrix. The transition from chopping guitars to glorified indie-trance act has been unfortunate to say the least, but if there’s a band to pull it off it’s these gentlemen. They’re no longer the unkempt upstarts they once were, and where maturity kills spontaneity, it’s elevated them to a higher plain currently seating the likes of Elbow.
The distinctly sinister edge to the album lurches and slides from track to track without ever really exploding. ‘Music Box’ entices a chilling sense of darkness before revelling in the brooding aftermath, whilst ‘Written Apologies’ epitomises the Jekyll and Hyde TCTC we all know. It begins as a soft jazz club ballad, before erupting into 10 minutes of bass, synth and sleaze. Singles ‘Promises Promises’ and ‘Blind Pilots’ offer glimpses of the animal that once was, but even they seemed forced through Ben Gautreys gritted teeth. Granted there are examples of the ghosts of ‘See this through’ and at times it is glorious, anthemic even. ‘A.I.M.’ is one such saving grace. The music scales and rages before sweeping you away to drown in a cauldron of distortion.
Whilst ’See This Through’ was their hit and run effort. ‘Kick Up The Fire’s’ sprawling, haunting melodies has set an experimental benchmark, even for them. Where the guitars still gurgle the acid, the synths now spit out the venom. Cover your eyes but not your ears. Welcome to the new prog revolution.