Supergrass

Let's get it out of the way right now, in case you're one of those people who reads the first and last sentences of reviews and nothing else: Supergrass is a great band, this album is brilliant, and the fact that I had to get it sent to me from overseas by my poor long-suffering mother is truly depressing. It's been nigh on six months since this record came out in foreign climes, but there's no sign of a general U.S. release on the horizon. That's a pity, because this easily matches or betters any British band's release in 1999.

It's possible that no one in the United States has quite forgiven Supergrass for suddenly becoming a "serious" band after their first album IShouldCoco. The initial impression--that they were an endearingly wacky CoolBrittania combination of the Rutles, the Monkees and Benny Hill (with a healthy slice of the Goodies thrown into the mix)--was roundly quashed with In it For the Money, a fun, energetic but (tellingly) mature record which went great guns in the UK and ex-colonies, but failed to ignite American audiences to any extent. Apparently, Steven Spielberg once wanted Supergrass to have their own Monkees-esque TV show; In it For the Money probably changed his mind rather rapidly.

So, here's (cliche alert, sorry folks) the "difficult third album": significantly eponymous, typically short on liner notes and long on nifty photos (the lads guzzling beer, looking unshaven, dashing about the countryside with their instruments, and so on), complete with an added member (keyboardist Robert Coombes, Gaz's brother) and enhanced CD-ROM capabilities. So, how does it sound?

They've always had a knack for picking a killer pre-release single ("Alright," "Going Out"), and they didn't miss the boat here either. "Pumping on Your Stereo" is an absolutely glorious, draining blast of glamrock meaninglessness; the constantly repeated "Can you hear us pumping on your stereo?" is surely a rhetorical question, because I dare anyone to play this track quietly. The fact that the verses make no sense at all in context ('the whiter your eyes, the bigger the lies, yes it's true-oooo-oooo-oooo'? Whatnearth are you going on about Gaz?) is irrelevant. By the time it's over you feel like joining in the wacky recorded hoots and applause yourself. (For those of us lucky enough to pick up the single, the B-side is hilarious, a softly groovy little number with the quietly and incongruously harmonised chorus, "Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough/you're gonna get your fucking head kicked in." Bless them.)

Elsewhere, it's all pretty much great: well-written, catchy pop songs with perfectly chosen harmonies, 'lalalas' and 'oooohs', and handclaps, combined with nifty little production touches--yes, that *was* a backwards guitar solo intro and some timpani you heard in "Shotover Hill." And in case I forgot to mention it, this band has some chops *and* some grunt; their slow, subtle intros and verses ("Moving," "Eon," the groovily organ-driven "Mary") have huge, bouncy, battering-ram payoffs, due in no small part to Danny Goffey's excellent drumming. (Elvis Costello knew what he was doing when he borrowed Danny for some recent work.) If only a few of their lyrics make any impression on me intellectually (are they *too* wry, perhaps?), it doesn't stop me singing along lustily with whatever I can understand. Which is probably the point.

So, in sum (for those who skipped the middle part of the review): even if you have to emigrate, you need to get a hold of this one.