When led to believe the fruits of Elvis Costello & The Attractions' sessions for the fraught "Blood & Chocolate" album would be a return to the lucrative new wave sound of "This Year's Model", the band's American label began celebrating. Then the record arrived. Faces clouded over, corks were replaced in champagne bottles and the execs were furious when they realised the album was actually a "pissed-off, 32-year old's version" of "This Year's Model". And actually a fine record to boot if they'd been arsed to listen.
What does this have to do with THE WONDER STUFF you may well ask? Well, morally quite a lot, as "Escape From Rubbish Island" - their first album in ten years and almost a second debut after three consecutive reunion tours with no product - comes packaged in a semi day-glo sleeve that screams "wa-hey! It's the "Eight-Legged Groove Machine" all over again."
Except it's not of course. In fact, if we were to continue the Costello analogy, it wouldn't be entirely unfair to describe "...Rubbish Island" as "a pissed-off, 37-year old's version of "Eight-Legged Groove Machine"....or, at least "Hup" anyway. Which is only fair, surely?
Whatever, let's get the need-to-know stuff outta the way first. "...Rubbish Island" IS a Wonder Stuff record as it features Miles Hunt and Malc Treece. They've drafted in ex-Radical Dance Faction bassist Mark McCarthy (a good thing as we'll see) and - bear with me - drummer Luke Johnson from LA rockers Amen. And mostly the line-up works fine. Having said that, there's nothing here you could peg as a new "Wish Away" or even "Size Of A Cow." Which again is fair enough. Miles and Malc have (gasp) grown up in the meantime too. Happens to us all.
But they still have plenty to offer, it seems. "Escape From Rubbish Island" (the title track) comes out fighting and Tony Blair (who lest we forget was barely the boy-in-waiting when The Stuffies made their last album in '93) is in their sights. It's a good start too: taut, edgy guitar pop with Hunt's customary verbal vitriol as caustically-blended as ever. "Slayed by the sword that fells us all, I musta missed the vote to go to war," he spits with deadly accuracy at one point, and it's impossible to argue the toss.
"Bile Chant," if anything, seethes with a greater anger. "Who was it said that I was fucked at birth?/ Don't have the right to walk God's geen earth...is that right?" seethes a vengeful Miles as explosive shards of guitar and McCarthy's dubby, depth charge basslines go off all over the shop. He's a fine custodian of the Bass Thing's spirit and this is effective, lacerating guitar gear.
"Better Get Ready For A Fist Fight," meanwhile, is again underpinned by McCarthy's Jah Wobble-style bass, but despite Miles' invective, it's tempered by a distinct musical mellowness, with mellotron and guest Geoffrey Kelly's Traffic-style flute. It's good, though, as are "Another Comic Tragedy" and "Was I Meant To Be Sorry?". Both of these are classy, older'n'wiser Stuffies: Miles surprisingly subdued and doubtful on the former and credibly hurt on the latter, which is fashioned from that classic, Dodgy-style Brum pop mould and buoyed up by swirly organ and sweetly effective harmonies.
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More of this, and "Escape From Rubbish Island" would be quite a comeback. But at the halfway mark, confusion sets in. Miles would no doubt argue it's the mark of an intuitive band trying out whatever the fuck they fancy, but to these ears it doesn't hang together at all well.
There's nothing horrible within these last five tracks, but several are large pegs shoved unceremoniously into round holes. The worst offender is probably "Head Count" which comes on like it wants to be an out-take from Roy Budd's "Get Carter" OST and finds Miles singing like Dave Gahan (unh?), though both "One Step At A Time" and "Love's Ltd" fare little better. The former sounds like a failed attempt to update ye olde indie/dance crossover circa 1990 with organ stabs, Johnson's funky drums and Treece's sweaty wah-wah, but it's forced at best. "Love's Ltd" does actually have a certain charm and - with its' uileann pipe motif - could almost be a "Golden Green" for the mortgage generation, but I'd question concluding the album with it. It's a whimper rather than a bang.
OK, so they've still got the keening stadium pop of "You Don't Know Who..." and the Who-style dust-kicker that is "Back To Work" in reserve, but even these are performed with one eye on the clock and when Miles sings: "Same old, same old format, now it's back to work and no worse for that" on the latter, you're liable to take him at his word. And The Wonder Stuff never sounded like it was simply a 'job' the first time around.
Nonetheless, "Escape From Rubbish Island" is still a very acceptable return from a band who once exuded the best of talented British arrogance before the Gallaghers turned up. For all its' faults, it's heartfelt, melodic and in tune with the plot. Pissed-off 37-year olds could do an awful lot worse.
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