January 25, 1999

Tragic Magic

Beware, ye [a]Gomez[/a] and all who croak in their wake, the lure of the demon technology, lest ye become [a]Dubstar[/a]....

7 / 10 Beware, ye Gomez and all who croak in their wake, the lure of the demon technology, lest ye become Dubstar.

Such was the fate of Madder Rose, grand masters of the frivolous pony trek moods for much of the early-'90s until, after two albums forged from the tumbleweed skittering around the desert side roads of grunge, they were entranced by the mystical black box with the tiny drummer inside and recorded 'Tragic Magic' in 1997. It was awash with their trademark campfire melodies but underpinned by the electronic shufflings of Portishead in leg irons. Trip-clop, some called it. A bold leap out of the 1870s, said others. Unmarketable toss, said Atlantic Records after its disappointing US release, shoved it to the back of a dark cupboard and put out a billion Corrs albums instead.

All hail Cooking Vinyl, then, for emancipating this unutterably charming record from the U-bend of The Man. Prefaced with two new tunes - 'Narco' and 'Jailbird', both old-skool US chunk-pop clutching their stetsons to their coyote-savaged hearts - 'Tragic Magic' is a downbeat delight, a slick and occasionally foonkeh bunch of torch songs for the terminally lonesome. Almost as if they know that electricity is an unnatural and evil force which mortals shouldn't be meddling with, the breakbeats are phased out soon after 'My Star' and 'Real Feel', and normal service is resumed with a tear and a twangle. 'Hung Up On You' is their most accomplished evocation of pedal-steel heartbreak to date, Mary Lorson skipping woozily through a tale of bittersweet lost love like Mazzy Star overdosing on Sunny Delight. Meanwhile 'Peter And Victor' finds Billy Coti mumbling his way through a confession of small-town murder with understated panache, as carefree and psychotic as Ian Brown might be if he ever grew a brain.

You can only assume Atlantic listened to the first 15 seconds of this album before throwing it off the stereo in favour of Jewel's musical Valium which they then decided to release upon an unsuspecting public. The result, until now, was a tragic waste of magic

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