I sense a few of us aren’t exactly fans of this lot either…
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[4.38]
Katherine St Asaph: One of my housemates made a casserole last month and left the dish out after he finished. Over the next few weeks, it became a reservoir for what can only be described as death water, thick with seston including but not limited to: hamburger drippings, expired milk, beer, tequila, the last few drops of pomegranate juice, pickle brine, dryer lint, rainwater somehow. We’d all check back twice a day to find it still persisted, ever more decrepit, because nobody could work up the nerve to suggest that perhaps all parties involved, human or otherwise, would be better off if someone got rid of the dish already. In related news, Elbow is still making music.
[4]
Martin Skidmore: I’ve always found Elbow immensely tedious, and this is no exception. It rambles on for a while in old-fashioned style, as if they would like to be Talk Talk but lack the ideas and tunes, then eventually goes away. I can’t understand why anyone cares about them.
[2]
Iain Mew: They’ve been my favourite band for more than ten years now, but Elbow have still yet to make a really amazing lead off single since their first album. This sticks fairly rigidly to the formula established as far back as “Fallen Angel”, achieving a kind of bruised romanticism with Guy Garvey’s choirboy roars peeking through from layers of fuzzy guitars. They’ve pretty much perfected it, and the realisation that the neat little rows in question are of houses, rather than bones does make for a great kick of sentiment, but this type of song still isn’t what they do best. The single edit particularly does “Neat Little Rows” no favours, robbing it of any dynamism while the brooding middle section of the full song turns the return of the main riff to a joyous leap forward, rather than just another slight step on the way.
[7]
Doug Robertson: The soaring ambition which is occasionally evident in Elbow’s music is normally weighed down by leaden sludge, but at least there’s some sense of reaching for the stars. But now, having achieved a modicum of commercial success, it seems that this sense of striving has left them, leaving behind only an uninspired trudge through the pages of Q magazine to try and hold your interest. It doesn’t succeed.
[4]
Josh Love: I’m extremely forgiving of Elbow’s formula, but even I can admit something’s lacking here. We get the usual plodding, workmanlike rhythms, the usual rousing refrain with better-than-average lyrics delivered in Guy Garvey’s eternally burnished baritone. Still, at its best Elbow’s music genuinely soars, and this one’s earthbound throughout. Kinda feels like a b-side, no?
[5]
Alfred Soto: Decent keyboard hook, sub-British singing.
[4]
Jonathan Bogart: When postpunk works, it’s because there’s emotion behind the dry repetitive figures and cryptic monomanias. These guys have never felt anything but academic to me.
[5]
Mark Sinker: I like the phrase “wind in yer necks”, but it’s the one thing here that doesn’t feel gracelessly hammered home. Do these guys ever breathe in?
[4]