Sometimes we have reason to question our Pop Stars who - however much we respect them - appear to be descending to the level of spouting bollocks, frankly. Blur's party-lovin' bassist Alex James once seemed afflicted with this condition when he unequivocally stated his love for some obscure Welsh outfit called Murray The Hump. Who? We murmured, shaking our collective head and wondering which institute Mr.James was heading for.
Typically, though, Alex hadn't lost it at all, and in fact he was way ahead of the game as usual. Murray The Hump may not have set the charts alight (even in Lichtenstein, if memory serves), but they did spawn a bloody fine band: namely THE KEYS.
So people, we have before us The Keys' cunningly-titled eponymous debut and it's one of those quiet little crackers that may not top every year end poll, but you'll return to for yonks to come.
Quickly, let's recap on the facts. The Keys are Matthew Evans, Gwion Rowlands and Sion Glyn. They're three unassuming, but damn talanted lads from the Welsh valleys and they come augmented by drummer Elliott Jones and also sometimes by pedal steel, percussion and vibes. That they have a way with this gentle, psych-pop malarkey will become very apparent indeed by the time you reach the end of "The Keys."
Now let's debunk a couple of other misleading signposts. Firstly, pre-album single, "Love Your Sons & Daughters" (good though it is) is something of a red herring, stylistically. It's the only thing here that goes for a riff-sharp, Kinks-y template, although both the clod-hopping garage riffs of "Simple" (clock those self-deprecating lyrics: "This song is delicate, spun with 3 chords/ It was my intellectual property, but now it's yours") and the dark, nagging invocation of lengthy closing track "Animus" would have appealed to the likes of The Creation.
However, these are the exceptions rather than the rule, and it's the whirly organ-assisted, Gorkys-style trundle of "Driving School" that's closer to The Keys' heart here. Indeed, much of the album finds them revelling in balmy pop soundscapes, with cool tracks like "Gurl Next Door" and "If Not For You" containing wonderfully clever, cut-price Beach Boys-type harmonies and the breezy "Strength Of Strings" (not the Gene Clark one) dominated by those delicious, swooping Hank Marvin guitar breaks. Talking of which, the band go the whole hog with the immortally-titled "From Tense To Loose To Slack" - which invokes Calexico's desert vibes despite being closer to Abergavenny than Arizona in spirit - and nicks an excerpt from The Shadows' "Apache" en route. Even better, the brilliant Mariachi brass on this one is played by one Aled Jones: one can only hope he's outgrown that cassock by now.
|
The Keys' keen knowledge of pop's landmarks almost leads them into trouble a couple of times. For instance, you can't tell me the cheeky buggers don't know that "Don't Go Weird On Me, Babe" IS The Byrds' "Don't Doubt Yourself, Babe", although it was a Jackie De Shannon tune originally, so they could plead mitigating circumstances there. "All The Drugs In The World,", meantime, apes The Beatles' "Here, There And Everywhere" and rubs it in gleefully by further approximating the melody during the guitar break.
Even here, though, they do it with so much aplomb you end up smiling instead of exploding and end up coming away with an enormous feeling of well-being. Ultimately it's no surprise the album's back cover depicts a rainbow breaking over the valleys, as The Keys' music is every bit as vivid, colourful and just out of reach of the everyday. Mr.James, we belatedly doff our cap in your direction.
|
