Seafood - 'As The Cry Flows' (Cooking Vinyl)
4/5
By: Tim Dellow
I've always been drawn to Seafood. Not necessarily by their music, nor by the number of bands they've supported, and certainly not by that abysmal name.
No, I've been drawn to them because of their attitude, their persistence and the fact that despite losing a founder-member, record-contract and their self-esteem to a thousand average record reviews, they've made such a dignified album.
Pride in the face of adversity is a quintessentially British trait. Starting out as Fierce Panda hopefuls, Seafood became a perfect band to grow up with - their combination of Sonic Yoof licks and country urges linked to their down-to-earth, unpretentious nature. They were just nice guys; send 'em a demo of you and your mates recorded on a boom-box, they'd write you out an e-mail of constructive criticism and the address of their label. Take your younger sister to an over-18's gig and they'd sneak her in the back, letting her hang out and share the rider. But nice guys finish last. And after their first and last album for Infectious flopped, the band had to take stock of where they were.
Step one. Destroy all traces of a fake American accent (except of the unrepresentative single 'Good Reason'). Step two. Instead of flying to NYC to record an overtly rawk pastiche album with the singer from Girls Vs. Boys, return to the producer of your debut and record quality songs in the English countryside. Step three. Recruit new guitarist from Billy Mahonie, allow him to overcomplicate your song-structures and bring some fresh ideas to the pot. Invite Ed Harcourt to lay down some unobtrusive keys. Take care.
The lyrics have matured beyond belief, bitterness reserved only for the aforementioned single. The quirky, pastoral, romantic tone breaks up decades of collected dust with shards of pure spring light. This is a new band, and their best album by far.
Personally, I can't believe it. I'm dumbfounded that it's that good. But it really, really is. Seafood are one of the most criminally underrated bands of our time, and this album deserves a place on your shelf, perhaps between the Pixies and Steeleye Span. A watery globule runs down your cottage window, dried into a watercolour line by the warmth of opener, 'Dreamt We Ruled The Sun', while the following 'Heat Walk Against Me' evaporates any lingering droplets, inviting in the first smell of summer.
Centre-album: a slew of strong tracks, powerful yet controlled melodic beauties like 'Kicking The Walls', in which singer David Line exhales an infectious line for the perennial pop unbelievers. A liberal dash of prog illustrations, counteracted by the rustling Americana of 'Milk and Honey' in which the band hoedown in a homage to their absent friends who will never actually go anywhere. California dreaming, mooching about, moving to Cincinnati, just lying in the sun.
'I'm not expecting for the sun to shine, to brighten up this life of mine,' they sing on 'Orange Rise'. But Seafood are making their own fire, generating their own warmth and huddling together, showing their solidarity against anything that you care to throw at them. It's already a lost classic.
Artists in this article: Seafood
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