Keane - 'Hopes & Fears' (Universal-Island)
4/5
By: Matt Tomiak
You can almost hear the cynics licking their chops with glee: a bashful trio of well-scrubbed, East Sussex ex-public school poshos, you say? About as conventionally rock n' roll as a mug of Horlicks, yes? Specialising in delicate, fragile piano-based laments and pensive lyricism, indeed? And they don't even use a single guitar...? This could all get very messy.
Yes, there's even a chap named Tim Rice-Oxley who plays keyboards and piano in the band. The last well-heeled act featuring a member with a double-barrelled surname was, if your correspondent recalls correctly, Kula Shaker. Eek.
Thus, it's all rather agreeable that Keane appeared to have shrugged casually in the
direction of the doubters and produced one of the year's most staggeringly mature debut albums in 'Hopes and Fears'. It's an utterly irresistible collection of effortless scope and grandeur, at times heartbreaking and vulnerable; elsewhere confident and adept.
Keane don't want to change the world. But they do want to make classic, seamless, accessible pop music. They write songs about nostalgic rendezvous, the end of childhood and bittersweet memories of relationships. And people will hate them for it.
More's the pity. Boldly opening with erstwhile smash-hit single and festival anthem-in-waiting 'Somewhere Only We Know' (possibly Tom Chaplin's finest vocal performance on the LP), Keane's quality control level is remarkably well-developed. For, at least 75% of this record might genuinely be described as 'great' (see: the sweeping, elegiac euphoria of 'Sunshine'; hammering rouse of 'This Is The Last Time'; and just slightly infectious 'Bend & Break'). The last quarter of 'Hopes and Fears', meanwhile, throws up the odd surprise - both 'On A Day Like Today' and 'Untitled 1' have what 'the kids' might very well refer to as an 'ambient trip-hop thang' going on. Blimey.
So - fantastic tunes, a fantastic voice. And a fantastical aggravation to those poor blinkered people who insist that music of worth is only made by psychotic, wild-eyed, virgin-sacrificing Satan worshippers. Imbeciles.
Artists in this article: Keane
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