The Treasure Box

They're back. With a bang. Never ones to do it colour by numbers, The Cranberries waited 'til their third trip to the studio before encountering the difficult album syndrome. And now that To The Faithful Departed has finally well, departed, Dolores & Co. can get back to doing what the 'Berries do best: writing divine melody lines and conjuring vocals that sometimes sound like they've come from some Elysian field and at others, are nothing less than demonically possessed.

The Cranberries took a three-year leave of absence from the business, an act of bravery that most outfits wouldn't dare dream of, and while they mightn't merit a purple heart for it, the gamble has paid off handsomely. Bury The Hatchet sees them back at the ranch, guns blazing, horses chomping at the bit, and best of all, bellies hungry for a chunk of cow pie.

'Promises', the first single release, is more than a tad misleading, if it's a thermometer reading of the album you're looking for. Strident, stubborn, and bland, it tries too hard and stands out alright, but only as a weak track in the line-up. Elsewhere, there are far more challenging and adventurous seams worth mining, and most of them lead back to the core of Bury The Hatchet, which is a far more mature attitude than The Berries have demonstrated to date.

Now, it seems that they're not trying to prove anything anymore. Like so many of their predescessors who felt themselves under siege (everyone from Brian Wilson to Damon Albarn) they reacted by thrashing and flailing aimlessly. Now though, real life has re-entered the arena, they've had time to smell the roses, and the conclusion seems to be that even the coffee smells OK these days.

'Animal Instinct' is a gorgeous opener; an acoustic guitar-driven commentary on domestic relationships, it's a pitch perfect marriage of Dolores' trademark razor-sharp vocals with the rest of the band's penchant for catchy bass lines and straightforward percussion - a fine calling card.

Shifting landscapes are remarkably captured on 'Copycats', a wry telephoto lens-take on the candyfloss world of pop that rules today. With lyrics that tell it like it is ("Everyone wears the same clothes now/And everyone plays the game"), and driving, muted guitars punctured by cocky percussion, this is Cranberries with attitude - but one that's more considered and worldweary than vehement.

Real life impinges everywhere else too, with lyrical preoccupations ranging from child abuse ('Fee Fi Fo') to, unsurprisingly, motherhood ('You And Me'), the perils of peer pressure ('Shattered') and the comforts of emotional security ('Dying In The Sun'). But while the lyrics reflect a far more relaxed mood, it's the cool-headed arrangements that leave their mark. Take 'You And Me', with its classy ice-cool brass lines and veiled sequencers underscoring one of the catchiest melodies on the album.

Maybe one of the keys to The Cranberries' triumphant return is the decision they've taken to sit at the production desk, alongside Benedict Fenner (who's played knob-twiddler for the likes of Brian Eno and Laurie Anderson). This way, the personal moods and nuances of the original songs are far less likely to get lost in the mix.

Fourth time round, The Cranberries are best listened to with the shutters wide open and the headphones cast aside. Because this is music for grown ups. Or at least for people who like their music to last beyond the current Warholian 15 minute diktat.

Welcome back 'Berries. Reunions can be such sweet things.