It’s a lying-in-the-gutter-staring-at-the-stars thing: The Murmur look like a street gang and play like Desolation Angels. And they’re a real band in the best sense of the word – enjoying a loyal fan base, managing to excite the palates of jaded rock stars such as Robert Plant and gigging relentlessly like a bunch of rag tag Flying Dutchmen.
With ‘Vietnam Morning’ their second studio album, it’s easy to see where they sit in today’s musical landscape, nestling between unassuming scouse gangs touched with indie magic (such as The La’s and The Coral) on one side, and the blander fake indie of McFly and The Rembrandts on the other.
‘Measuring the Rain’ is a strong opener – guitars jangle and Kevin Donaldson’s plaintive vocals soar through a catchy chorus highly reminiscent of ‘Mr. Tambourine Man’. So far, so Byrds.
‘Reasoning and Rhyme’ is up next, the kind of loveable pop-march that The Coral and The Zutons do so well. ‘Miss Mundane’ throws acoustic guitars and harmonica into the mix, and Donaldson even affects a Dylanesque whine. ‘One Summer With Monica’ is bar room blues-rock and probably a favourite live.
The album sticks to this template. ‘The Drugstore Cowboy’ throws in some tentative slide and ‘Rivers of Gold’ is a gin-soaked waltz. The title track is about the Vietnam conflict seen through the sensibility of a disillusioned soldier: guitars, dirt and poetry, like a three minute Apocalypse Now.
Lyrically, the band’s infatuation with Americana consists of a heavy and predicatable scattering of images from Vietnam to Watergate, Babe Ruth and the CIA, however it’s saved by occasional glimpses of oblique poetry and the simple sweetness of the melodies.
It’s indie rock with its heart somewhere on the other side of the Atlantic and while they’re no Arctic Monkeys, they still benefit from good grass root support – and they’ve earned it. They continue to play here, there and everywhere and ‘Vietnam Morning’ is good, earnest music. Tonic for the troops, indeed.