Statues

The kitchen sink philosophy can be incredibly attractive to musicians. The theory goes something like this: take your average track, add some funky digital effects, scratchy, flavoursome samples and a million-piece orchestra and, as Bob is indeed your uncle, you must surely end up with a cracking tune. Well, that’s the thinking at any rate.

On their fourth album proper, Moloko have plumped for the kitchen sink approach. The digital effects box has been raided, the music layered, tweaked and stylised, and no less than 53 musicians have been pressed into service for the brass and strings instrumentation.

The excess ornamentation makes for a cluttered-sounding record that at times verges on irritating. Moloko never simply get a groove going and stick with it. Instead, they segue, seemingly interminably, through ever more unlikely permutations of the core arrangements, while using Roisin Murphy’s vocals to hold the whole mass together.

A similar tactic didn’t work particularly well for Garbage on beautifulgarbage and it proves even less effective for Moloko. Often, even the basic components of the songs seem to be working against each other. Starkly emotional, despondent and revealing lyrics are paired with pounding disco beats and digital gimmickry. Murphy sings about heartache in a tone that sounds like she is far too haughty to even consider discussing a toothache. The effect is disconcerting.

Some of the more glitzy ’80s disco effects also seem twee and clichéd. Surprisingly, given their cool cats reputation, Moloko prove far less adept than bands like Phoenix at updating these retro elements and making them work for them.

That said, great individual components shine out from many of these ten tracks. The chorus line of ‘100%’ is hypnotically catchy, and the hook of first single, ‘Familiar Feeling’, is also resonant and compelling, even if the song as a whole never quite matches up to the quality of older recordings like ‘The Time Is Now’, ‘Indigo’ or ‘Sing It Back’. The strings-led closing section on ‘I Want You’, meanwhile, is loose, funky and inspired.

The sheer quality of Murphy’s voice also impresses. The singer possesses a fantastic range, wonderful control and a strikingly unique tone, which melds a weird kind of detached grandeur with a sly, sarcastic knowingness.

The best songs are those which mimic and complement that idiosyncratic vocal style. On the natty ‘Come On’, Murphy delivers feisty, biting lyrics against funky, minimalistic grooves and a hypnotically rhythmic beat. Made in the mould of an earlier Moloko track, ‘Fun For Me’, the gently insistent hook of ‘Blow X Blow’ also proves to be the perfect foil for Murphy’s tones.

The originality of Moloko’s musical vision is evident at every stage of this record. In a world where most dance bands strive desperately to ape the sounds of the latest hit pumping out of the radio, Moloko stand out ten-foot-tall from the crowd. They are relentlessly original, occasionally slightly bonkers and always willing to experiment with song structures (as evidenced on the first single) and challenging sounds.

But the price of that experimentation can be extremely high. The atmosphere of this record is cold, sometimes glacial. Like Radiohead on their uneven, if occasionally inspired Kid A, Moloko often give the impression of being locked into their own weird little world, lacking the ability to communicate outwards.

At best, they have created an album that will be admired, but seldom truly loved.