6 / 10
He might have the last laugh, after all. Not that you'd be able to tell, of course, him not being the kind of boy it would be a pleasure to take to the circus, and not that you'd call it a laugh, exactly. Still, some kind of triumphant flickering of the vital signs might well be in order for Bernard Butler, once reviled by his former bandmates, filed away in many minds under 'D' for 'denim' and maybe 'dull', and now releasing his second album to follow the modest golden success of the first. Suede, meanwhile, are rhyming "mouse" with "house", while McAlmost is little more than a pink-satin blip in the popular conscience. Somehow, the one with the cloudy charisma and the interest in guitars has been touched by the hand of longevity.
As victories go, it's hardly on a Roman scale, yet now everyone's got over the miracle of this quiet frown-and-fringe actually opening his mouth and singing, Butler's talent is clear and unfogged once more. 'Friends And Lovers' is an elegant, classy album, full of songs of quality. And if that doesn't make you want to curl up under a nice warm blanket and go to sleeeep, then you clearly have synapses of steel.
This is problematic. Because, for songs like the learning-to-love-again grandeur of 'Cocoon' or the annexed Abbey Road harmonies of 'Let's Go Away', you would happily give this record a mortgage, a character reference, even the keys to your house when you go on holiday. Your heart and soul, though? Your time and desire? Not for pretty domestic hushes like 'Everyone I Know Is Falling Apart' and 'You'll Feel It When You're Mine', which tap 20-something commitment issues with a certain maudlin style; not even for the Jim Steinman-produces-The Verve 'derangement' of 'Has Your Mind Got Away', which takes Butler's epic rock tendencies to the operatic dimension. While his old acquaintances hang around the pop market with the flash trash and, yes, bitter glitter, Bernard is the M&S of musical endeavour: well-crafted, reliable, properly stitched. As hard as you tug at the seams of the California-style MOR of 'No Easy Way Out', or the Bowie yelp of 'I'd Do It Again If I Could', there's no real emotional give, just the hallmark of Solo Artist Quality sewn in the middle.
There might be lyrical honesty, there might be guitar immensity, but there's something just not happening here. 'Friends And Lovers' isn't so much the sound of all passion spent, as carefully invested in a savings account. Unfortunately, it's low interest.
7
To read all our reviews first - days before they appear online - check out NME magazine, on sale every Wednesday
For the latest music videos and backstage interviews, check out our sister site, NME Video.
Comments do not always reflect the views of NME, or IPC Media, for guidelines visit our Ts & Cs page