Review Summary: For Tomorrow: A Guide to Contemporary British Music, 1988-2013 (Part 44)
The United Kingdom is located in the major portion of the British Isles, between the Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea. It’s position in the north Atlantic weather pattern means it’s situated directly in the path of prominent jet streams from the Atlantic getting intersected by warm and cold air. The warm air contains moisture and as it sweeps across the hilly landscape of northern England it rises, cools, condenses and dumps loads of rain.
So, Fran Healy lead singer of Travis, this is why it always rains on you and your Scotland formed band. It seems to be so constantly overcast that, in the immediate wake of Cool Britannia’s failure, it inspired a wide swath of rain-core bands with no interest in being shiny, Union Jack waving rock stars. Instead it was tempered guitars and sensitivity. The pendulum had swung back in the other direction.
If Post-Britpop did hang onto something from Britpop it was it’s rampant commercialism. Every post-Britpop group had their money song and it was always a big heart ballad “Wonderwall” rip. Travis’ was called “Why Does it Always Rain on Me?” The song didn’t become a major smash until it was performed at the 1999 Glastonbury festival where, after 9 dry hours, the clouds unleashed a downpour right as the first line was sung. The incident spurred word of mouth and sent the album it hails from,
The Man Who, which had debuted at number 7, from 19 to number one.
Nearly everything that makes
The Man Who good also keeps it from being great. It’s pleasant, safe, tuneful, unchallenging, mellow, and bland. Thankfully, Fran Healy’s rounded tenor is well suited to convey the difficulties of being white and sad while Nigel Goodrich works his vast arctic magic, submerging the record in loads of frigid reverb just before that would become every indie band’s shortcut to atmosphere. Opener and album highlight “Writing to Reach You”, get’s the album’s modus operandi on the table right away. “Every day I wake up and it’s Sunday,” moans Healy. A line about “The radio is playing on the usual/And what’s a “Wonderwall” anyway?” is either a winking nod to self awareness or a total lack of it being that at stratospheric success of
The Man Who (9x platinum) is at least made possible partly by “Wonderwall”. “Driftwood”s brushed drum part is the most overt reference to Oasis’ game changing hit but the song’s pearly guitar line and crisp cello means the song easily holds it’s own. The quietly menacing “The Fear” communicates a palpable sense of dread with it’s muffled atmosphere and tense guitar break. Fran Healy excels at penning the patient melodic swells that characterize “Turn” and “Why Does it Always Rain on Me?” that give the songs immediate staying power without being over eager.
The Man Who does contain a small handful of duds that don’t sink the record but make for a difficult spin cover to cover. Chiefly “Luv” turns 5 minutes into 10 while “She’s So Strange” is a transparent rip of Oasis’ “She’s Electric” (Which, of all the Oasis songs to steal…). But the major overriding flaw in
The Man Who that prevents it from ever advancing beyond being simply “enjoyable” is that the whole album takes place at such a muted, downbeat latitude that it never truly takes ahold of you and demands your attention. It just hangs around, sounding fine when you tune in but willingly hanging out in the background while you do some chores or homework. It’s a shame the pretty convincing rocker “Flashing Blue Lights” is relegated to a bonus track because it would have really given this album a jolt of energy.
The Man Who might change your life, but as soon as someone introduces you to
The Bends, there’s no going back.
