January 21, 1999
London Kensington Imperial College
All that remains is for them to turn themselves into a triumph of content over style, their gestures into genius...
Like their suits, The Webb Brothers are cut from a fine cloth. Their 'Does he or doesn't he?' hair crisped from the drier, their Brian Jones pouts noted and admired, the sons of Jimmy Webb have come to see if they can isolate the MOR chromosome, and triumph.
Kissed by the Californian sun, they already hold most of the cards: their father composed the delightful 'Wichita Lineman', and added elegant melancholy to the '60s psychedelic bloodbath. They themselves have composed a single, 'I'm Over And I Know It', that mooches with a pinch of the same style. All that remains is for them to turn themselves into a triumph of content over style, their gestures into genius.
A tricky business that is too, when your bass player has his hair cut by Cadfael, but they try. A succession of Justin's beautifully polished changes, Christian's pained vocalising, and what emerges is that rather than reanimating the spirit of a greater songwriting era, they have defrosted, Austin Powers-like, the sounds of several '60s also-rans. Their songs not allowed to fully develop, they deprive themselves of even being Zager And Evans.
'I'm Over And I Know It' is the exception, majestic and swooning and very, very long, but by now we've started to notice the half-inch of exposed ankle on those suits and the flaws in their cunning plan. Perhaps they just weren't tailor-made for these times, y'know.
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