Even the curious and rather melancholy sepia toned sleeve is mysterious... a moment in an unknown subject's life captured in time. Welcome to the odd world of The Son(s), a strange, shadowy presence - much vaunted by knowing bloggers with a interest in Scottish music, yet detached and distant from any sense of a scene or network. It remains to be seen if this publicity-shunning behaviour will pay off - I detect a minor backlash from some of the more serious-minded types already in fact. But whether or not we know who is involved or indeed how many Son(s) there really are, the simple truth is that they have delivered a remarkable and accomplished debut album which appears to have satisfied and rewarded the massive curiousity around the band.
The album kicks off with the slick but spiky soul of "Dogs Boys & Men", the track building through layers of joyous sound before jittering into a chunky, noisy guitar outro. Impossibly catchy hooks tumble from the song, and this sets the tone for much of the album. Drenched in harmonies which would make a Beach Boy smile and full of clever instrumental twists and tricks, the sound is polished, clean and carefully arranged. In fact, if it's possible, things might just be a little too perfect in places. Somewhere prior to the middle of the record the pace slackens and the songs begin to blur a little into a sheen of sweet harmonies and washes of strings. It's a little like eating too much ice cream - it hurts the teeth just a little, but you don't want to stop. Things tighten up though in the form a trio or particularly strong songs - starting with "Sold Down The River", ushered in by a shimmering wash of sounds, driven by a relentless piano and acoustic guitars and with a little judiciously applied cello, not for the first time the vocals have a strange but not displeasing hint of a young and still giving-a-shit Elvis Costello about them here. As the track swoons out of view, the sound of the sea heralds the arrival of "There's a Hole In The Middle of The Sea". A modern day shanty, plucked gently on a guitar while the now familiar chorus of voices twist around a central, simple vocal. For me this is perhaps the album's highlight - and the best expression of the fusion of polished modern production and warm organic acoustic tunes. The triad ends with "Count Your Feet (Version)" which appears initially to built around the bassline of the theme from gritty seventies cop series The Sweeney. Cracked and pained vocals soar about the distorted crash of percussion until a choir of baritone voices join. There are careful and light touches of Americana here, but they're never allowed to dominate the mood.
Album closer "Mars Just Plied Her With Gin..." is perhaps the most straightforward composition here, but it still impresses hugely with its woozy, bluesy harmonies and dizzy swoon into a proper, grown-up guitar solo alongside a chorus of "It's only when you get this drunk that you can feel the world spin...". And drunk is pretty much where we end up, intoxicated by the slick harmonies and beautifully constructed layers of instrumentation. Like all the best episodes of drunkenness there are things you'll forget and perhaps wince at tomorrow when the memory returns - but mostly this album is the perfect antidote - spectacular, complex stuff which pays off repeated listening.
The Son(s) is out now via Olive Grove Records.
The Son(s) - Mars Just Plied Her With Gin...
Lost::MikeGTN
I've had a home on the web for more years than I care to remember, and a few kind souls persuade me it's worth persisting with keeping it updated. This current incarnation of the site is centred around the blog posts which began back in 1999 as 'the daylog' and continued through my travels and tribulations during the following years.
I don't get out and about nearly as much these days, but I do try to record significant events and trips for posterity. You may also have arrived here by following the trail to my former music blog Songs Heard On Fast Trains. That content is preserved here too.
