To nit-pick, or not to nit-pick; that is the question. Or it’s my question at least in respect of Feeder’s fifth studio album, ‘Pushing The Senses’ whose ruminative introspection threatens to plod like an elephant over thumping tigerish efforts like ‘Buck Rogers’, and leave big, baggy pools of melancholy in its wake. Many would argue that it was previous album, ‘Comfort in Sound’ that really marked the departure from the razor-sharp power-pop of breakthrough album ‘Echo Park’ – but the faltering sadness of tracks like ‘Frequency’ and the moody, piano led, ‘Tender’ suggests that Grant Nicholls and co. have sunk to an even greater depths of miserabilia. And why not? The critics liked the last album. So did the fans. So why not more of the same?
Evidently buoyed by the sheer volume of fragile wretches in the album charts at the moment like Snow Patrol, Keane, Coldplay, ‘Pushing The Senses’ builds on that same low-loud, low-loud dynamic and whilst ‘Pilgrim Soul’ occasionally threatens to yield those blistering trademark riffs that earmarked ‘Buck Rogers’ for greatness there’s an thoroughly shameless tendency to emote on just about every other track. ‘Pain On Pain’ and ‘Frequency’ struggles mercilessly toward reproducing Mercury Rev’s resolute earnestness and simplicity and ‘Dove Grey Sands’ is as gentle and as whimsical as a handful of daffodils. The productions clichés come screaming to the fore on occasions, and the lyrical approach may lack the subtlety and finesse that much of the music warrants (‘facing life alone’/’numbers on a phone’) but the sheer hum-ability and noise of tracks like ‘Feeling A Moment’ and ‘Bitter Glass’ suggests the band have jumped on a lap or two in a race toward being credible. Dismissing Feeder for being a pop-band is like dismissing the Pope for being Catholic – there are just some things that’ll never change and Feeder’s Silverchair propensity is one of them.
For all their faults Feeder never seem to disappoint entirely and this album is no exception: they’re still vigorous, they’re still euphoric, they’re still struggling to be taken seriously by the pernickety indie-market – all that’s changed is the pace. And that always happens with age.