Fans of Alfie, a waifish Manchester four-piece, like to fete the band for their ‘dependability’. This is a polite way of saying you adore something because it isn’t completely dreadful.
For their third album, Alfie set out to prove their devotees wrong by delivering the stinker you always knew they had in them.
Certainly, they do not shrink from the task, touting leaden loser-rock and lumpen sub-Coldplay histrionics.
You will find greater originality – and more engaging tunes – at a ‘Battle of the Bands’ evening at the next pub you walk by.
Occasionally, like a shiny penny in a tub of effluent, a glint of originality bobs to the surface. Single ‘Your Own Religion’ posits an engaging opening guitar line before losing its way en route to the chorus; ‘Look At You Now’ seems aware, vaguely, of the possibility of melody.
Elsewhere, we are left to flounder neck-deep in indie-dreck. Alfie are not short on weak points: the most glaring, surely, is vocalist Lee Gordon. Apparently, he is custodian of the Alfie ‘spirit’, a font of unflagging enthusiasm.
Which is sweet, but scarcely an excuse for the strangled yelp that passes for his singing. Half-way through ‘Crying At Teatime’ I wanted, badly, to punch him on the nose and so will you.
As the album limps towards a close, Alfie stage an unexpected rally: ‘Wizzo’ trafficks in matey punk-pop; ‘Where Did Our Loving Go’ chugs by agreeably; and ‘Kitsune’ could theoretically be played on your radio without causing it to pop a sprocket.
Artless and drab, Alfie are proof that good intentions and a vague grasp of songwriting can lead to unsavory consequences. For their next project, perhaps they will revert to being average. Sometimes it’s better not to try.