The Thrills - 'So Much For The City' (Virgin)
4/5
By: Toby L
The Thrills' immediate ascendance, in hindsight, was inevitable, albeit wholly necessary.
As, only in the past year or so, have music-fans begun crawling out of the woodwork to finally own up to their once-treasured adoration for all things sunny, Beach Boys-y and romantic of the 60s: a dreamy, timeless musical-era where sentimentality seemingly counted above fashion-trends. Yes, Brian Wilson was king, the seaside was the place, and the tone of your creative soundscape was that of uplifting, as opposed to dreary miserablism.
Oh, how things have changed. Or have they?
For, living in an age where five, respectable, youthful, Irish lads - more akin to Burt Bacharach than The Clash, we hasten to add - could waltz into the top-20 on two successive occasions with ease is indicative of some form of hit-parade upheaval. The Thrills are more punk than any Strokes wannabe tribute-band, if only for the fact that what they're producing is so achingly different. Melodious, song-based works designed to warm and touch, spliced with rusty, The Divine Comedy-esque guitars and whirling keyboards, capped off with luscious harmonies. The trendy-mags should have been aghast with fright, but - instead - they were instantly in love. Game. Set. Match. The world is won over.
And, if there's one prime achievement that the quintet's debut album - the quaintly titled 'So Much For The City' - is set to garner, it's that such an initial embrace from the listener is set to manifest into a lifelong obsession.
'SMFTC' is all the things we hope for from our promising, 'tipped' bands: immediate, consistent, and - most of all - intelligent. This hasn't been done by half-measures. Whether dripping in strings (the lush, mildly OTT, but no less joyous 'Old Friends, New Lovers'), revelling alongside blissful pedal-steel (the instantly adorable 'Don't Steal Our Sun', or cabaret show-quality to 'Say It Ain't So'), or just simply pulling off the sort of magic only a bunch of true, decent songwriters can muster as a collective (the riveting, sleepy-then-jaunty 'Santa Cruz (You're Not That Far)' or partially naοve, recent hit, 'Big Sur'), the five-piece always strike pay-dirt.
But it isn't always a jovial game of aural volleyball. The band score themselves highlights when sleazing it up a notch, and conjuring the harmonica-doused, stoned haziness of 'Hollywood Kids' or a closing 'Til The Tide Creeps In' - the true signs of a markedly impressive group turning classic with instantaneous effect. But wait a few minutes, and a secret-addition of a debut-EP favourite - 'Plans' - sweeps out with flawless delivery, that to be any more shimmering or gorgeous would be but to, quite possibly, defy the basis of our existence.
The Thrills: in every sense, a band so obsessed with the glory and beauty of the past that, now they're here with us, we ourselves no longer have to be. Just pray they don't go all reggae on us on that next one.
Artists in this article: The Thrills
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