Turn

The last time I committed words to paper on the subject of Turn, some 18 months ago, they were a band in a state of flux. About to lose their second bassist in short succession and puzzling over which direction to head next, they produced a performance that suggested they had it in them to surprise us all and take the Turn story to a new level.
Out would go the spiky guitar pop, in would come a more reflective songwriting style, befitting Ollie Cole’s love of the likes of Elliot Smith and Rufus Wainwright. The question then seemed to be whether their audience were prepared to go with them.
The question now is clear: what happened? Louis Walsh is singing their praises and a track from this their third album has found its way into the new Samantha Mumba movie; you don’t need to have heard a single note of the record to realise that this isn’t the about-face that some had expected.
In fact, confronted with the darkness they’ve turned swiftly on their heels and gone charging into the light. It’s fitting that the album’s artwork should be so overwhelmingly white, as this is the brightest and shiniest that Turn have ever sounded, every element of their music buffed and polished to within an inch of it’s life, with even Cole’s trademark Kells twang airbrushed out of the picture.
It’s their safest record to date, yet also their most rounded with Cole delivering an unfaltering run of fine songs that suit the poppy presentation down to the ground. Which is all well and good, but there is still a frustrating lack of surprises.
Listen to this record two, maybe three times and you’ll feel that you have got the measure of it, until the stunning closing burst of ‘Wildside’ and ‘Little Bird’ suggests that maybe the original vision wasn’t completely buried. After so many false starts no-one can blame them for not wanting to rock the new record company boat but the opportunity was there for Turn to take a massive leap of faith. Instead, they’ve kept their feet firmly on the ground.