There have been plenty of examples over the years. To present three at random; Scandinavian epics Leaves’ debut, the 60ft Dolls’ posthumous sophomore album, and most notably the much maligned Terris – 2000’s great white hypes – who had a ferocious kicking heart wrestling with scattergun beats downsized to a badly laminated replica by the time it was immortalized as a long-player. The Duke Spirit can never become a laughing stock in the same way, too certain an impression is thankfully guaranteed for that and though they’ve ascended at an alarming rate not nearly as much is required of them, but it’s with a heavy heart that we reflect on this debut album being a opportunity somewhat discarded.
It’s not that the songs aren’t here, many are already fondly held singles, but the way they’re racked up only seems to emphasise weaknesses. Defining characteristics are blunted, and together they just aren’t as damning as we were expecting. Take ‘Stubborn Stitches’, svelte sibling of Primal Scream’s ‘Accelerator’, throbbing and urgent, but until it puts the boosters on with 45 seconds to go, politely planed-down, uniform.
The thrill of The Duke Spirit playing live – the primary reason they are where they are now – is the chaotic jousting between their many parts, guitars crashing into and over one another like waves with alternate gravitational pulls, steadfast rhythms pushing forward with the same routine as night follows day, and temptress Leila Moss conducting all that beats around her through an icy, demure performance. It nearly always feels like a peak’s being climbed. On record that has been simplified, almost to the point where you wonder if producer Flood was even aware of it. All parts are present, but why then does this album feel like it’s lain dormant?
There are select moments when it wakes up, at the climax of ‘Bottom Of The Sea’, which limbers along seductively like PJ Harvey sensitive to the touch in front of BRMC, vocals overlap and guitars intertwine beautifully, ‘Red Weather’ uses voice well where it otherwise falls a little flat, the gentle ‘Lovetones’ and ‘Hello To The Floor’ at least feel like they can breath and ‘Love Is An Unfamiliar Name’ is engagingly spiky like ‘Stories From the City…’ period Polly Jean even if the sound isn’t as threatening or ominous as it should be. Leila’s lyrics suffer slightly in such a clean setting as this, a little one-dimensional and unable to match up to the importance and crisp authority with which she performs them.
This album doesn’t deserve to be panned, it certainly represents a band we’d grown to love. But it’s sadly too short on the details to be adored.