Well, first I have to apologise to everyone concerned with this review. The week I was sent this CD, my PC got a real bastard of a virus, and I was left a luddite, unable to send any sort of correspondence. Sure, I could’ve hand-written this, but that’s old news! Contemporiiiise, man. But still, sorry everyone.
What does this have to do with anything? Well, the situation I’ve just noted is what sets me apart from ITM? favourites We Were Promised Jetpacks – while I, and many thousands of bands, rely on the internet and technology in general, WWPJ, like the cream of the UK’s best bands, have been creating a great reputation for intense live shows and displaying an enviable DIY ethos, which is how they’ve extended and transcended from indie hopefuls to a seriously promising band. Credit to ‘em.
And so the record handed in front of me was ‘These Four Walls’, and I have to admit it took a while to make a definite assessment of it. When it clicked though, I realised how intensely professional this band is. The production has left nothing to chance, yet still exudes power and a controlled measure of aggression, while showing mature, emotive tendencies. WWPJ seem to have mixed and matched the best qualities of their peers: you can immediately hear the Scottish growl in the vocals, and the ability to possess a pendulum swing from noise to sensible, tight melodies – see The Twilight Sad. There’s the ability to create atmospheres of emotion, quite like Glasvegas but without the stadium rock pretension and sang much better. There’s even an essence of Orange Juice – interesting lyrics and scything guitar hooks. This isn’t a game of spot-the-influence, however, it’s only an insight into the beginnings of WWPJ’s musical landscape, from which they have created an individual sound world.
You can hear WWPJ’s heart-on-sleeve live show has been transplanted onto CD (massive feather in the cap for Ken Thomas and the rest of the production team), Typical of a Fatcat signing, the smell of stale beer and sweat lifts off the melodies, and one can almost hear distant mutters of approval in a deep-rooted phonological loop as ‘This is My House, This is My Home’ begins. The CD is a live show. I’m there, you’re there.
This record drags a little in places as WWPJ stick to their game plan a little. There’s nothing wrong with a constant structure, but there’s something more ostentatious waiting for album two, I can feel it. There’s still a layer of shell covering this band, a shyness that needs to be broken out of, and some song similarity reflects this. It’s not a lack of originality so much as a good idea spread with perhaps a tad too much zeal.
Still, this is a debut to enjoy. Its pleading, echoic vocals, guitar versatility and raw, unabashed emotion is as pleasing to the ear as an album could get in 2009.
