From the fervent hand-claps and miss-hit chord at the very beginning of ‘Kissing the Lipless’ to the plucked, petering daydream guitar at the close of ‘Those To Come’, The Shins’ second album is pristine to the point of textbook near-perfection. The tradition they set themselves with their revered debut, ‘Oh, Inverted World’, remains – namely that the most concentrated melodies are intoxicating, and best served gently. This is sparkling West Coast pop of the vintage kind, but it’s adept enough to rely less on its influences and forefathers than it does on its own focus and moulded reality. From the unfolding-collage cartoon cover art, through the dark humour and bright clarity of the lyrics and the musical benchmark that keeps this record afloat, there is the impression of a uniquely positioned creation which could only really have been fashioned by their fingers.
This is an album that stands up to their snowballing legacy proudly. The difference here is that they’ve really stepped up a level, it’s like they want to be noticed this time around rather than quietly discovered. While ‘Mine’s Not A High Horse’ is a close twin to the first record’s ‘One By One All Day’, all bubbling drums, wistful voice and guitar jangles, this version’s dressed up all nice, like somebody might see it. And the chiming, momentum-heavy ‘So Says I’, arguable album (and maybe even career) highlight, would have shattered the peace somewhat on ‘Oh, Inverted World’, but is one of a trio of strong jubilant peaks that pace and hold the album tightly in place.
This is Dylan-esque storytelling, Byrds pop and Beach Boys melodic stretching of the most carefree persuasion, exactly the kind of thing that The Thrills are aiming at with a wobbly bow. If there’s one thing that steadies The Shins’ rock-solid grip on the genre it’s James Mercer’s intuitive delivery, and lyrics talking of secretly wanting to bury a friend in the yard, drowning him in holy waters and crashing planes into the sea. There’s an open invitation here into a vivid muse that never succumbs to the typical clichés of love or malcontent. The best thing to happen to Albuquerque since Prefab Sprout threw it about frivolously with some jumping frogs. It’s back on the ground now, and under a far more flattering light.