Holloway Boulevard

Anyone who ached with Shane MaacGowan on the Late Late Show will not be surprised to find him missing in action from this new album apart from some co-writing credits. While the Popes with Shane were always destined to suffer in the shadow of The Pogues, sans Shane they come down another ratchet or two.

Mind you, they've turned in an album with much to recommend it, even if tracks like 'Hills Of Connemara' and 'Walk Tall' explain why the word naff was invented. The lyrical themes range over the usual drink, sex, religion, being out of it and being in it up to your eyeballs, and while there's some humour, you have to dig for it.

Shane can be rowdy and boisterous but he can also do subtle, of which there's nothing much here, and there's little on Holloway Boulevard to discourage the view of the Popes as London's answer to the Saw Doctors, especially after the accordion-fuelled title track and 'Jukebox'.

'Vaya Con Dios' is The Mavericks after a lengthy binge and 'Sleepless Nights' has the decadent grandeur of Tom Waits dribbling all over it before it shifts up the gears for a good old knees-up.

Knowing how Van Morrison feels about those who copy him I would prefer to be absent when he discusses the fetching waltztime 'New Rose' with the lads, 'Last Call' is as rambunctiously cajun-inflected as you could wish and there's more of that swamp thing on the excellent 'Waitress'. The no-nonsense rockin' 'Chino's Place' credits a rare vocal contribution from McGowan and they successfully turn up the heat on 'Hillbilly Soul' and 'Pump Action Paddy' too.

The Popes (with Shane) released an album called Crock Of Gold and the new effort could easily have turned into a crock of a different substance altogether. Thankfully it didn't, but it was a close one.