Abel Tesfaye's dark, twisted album is at odds with the glossy pop world he's been thrust into
London Highbury Upstairs At The Garage
For one thing, they're missing the affecting mix of influences that make [a]I Am Kloot[/a] much more than just another band who know the power of silence...
Starting with similar roots to Shack, the terribly named Mancunians, I Am Kloot, take things slowly and gently. They're not about to ram their presence down anyone's throat and won't even rise to the bait of the irritating chattering hordes gathered at the back, knowing it's their loss.
For one thing, they're missing the affecting mix of influences that make I Am Kloot much more than just another band who know the power of silence. Indeed, despite being together for less than a year (incredibly, this is their London debut), I Am Kloot already write songs verging on classics.
Frontman Johnny Bramwell crams into each song the sort of prosaic lyrics normally expected from Morrissey, but couples them unexpectedly with soft jazz rhythms ('Sunlight Hits The Snow') and dramatically plaintive Burt Bacharach-inspired melodies ('Storm Warning'). "This is kind of lovely really," Johnny murmurs wistfully at one point. And he's not wrong.
The Cavan teenagers attack album two with abandon, largely at the expense of quality
A still-vital John Lydon rages towards retirement on a saucy, scuzzy new album
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Oxford's finest flit between gnarly rock and frustrating slickness on an often-brilliant fourth album