This debut carries you on pillowy reverb and ribboned guitar to places only a handful of bands since Simple Minds have visited
There are few bands as enamoured by their own dreams as Manchester’s Money. Channelling the super-wonderstruck sound of ‘A Northern Soul’-period The Verve, they don’t so much play songs as imagine them, and this debut carries you on pillowy reverb and ribboned guitar to places only a handful of bands since Simple Minds have visited. They’re magical, not least in their ability to conjure that British combination of epic and vulnerable without recourse to fey wetness (read: Snow Patrol). Their secret weapon is frontman Jamie Lee, who despite a very London upbringing comes off like the last of Britrock’s great northern romantics: a dark theatrical man in the Ian McCulloch mould who, whether over piano torch songs (‘Black’), oceanic indie (‘Cold Water’) or psychedelic rock (‘Bluebell Fields’), ponders the world with a hunger not seen since Richard Ashcroft banged half of Holland’s LSD supply.