Snow Patrol
Final Straw

THE REVIEW

Returning from Scotland, those damn British Airways made me wait a whopping three hours in London for the much-anticipated London-Pisa flight; so to pass the time, I take a walk around the airport, stop at the HMV chain, and discover on a shelf a whole series of albums highly recommended by English magazines; stuff like "album of the year," "album of the month," "10/10," etc. One of these indeed catches my attention, thanks to a decent cover; it's "Final Straw" by Snow Patrol, a group hailed as the top revelation of 2004 by English magazines (alongside Keane). Now, I don't get fooled that easily, so there's no way I'm buying it, but when I get home, I download it straight away.

Beginning: “How To Be Dead,” oh no, it starts off really badly; little acoustic guitar like “I want this track to be on MTV,” colored by ultra-melodic electric arpeggio like “I want to sell 4 or 5 million records,” and, above all, that incredibly irritating voice that's halfway, I can imagine, between the lead singer of Train and the one from The Calling; I'm sorry, but after the first chorus, I stop and move on.
"Wow," second track, it starts off better; bland and standardized structures and rhythms, as throughout the album, but there's a hint of distortions, and rather crude and crackling ones at that, almost reminiscent of a certain Indie Rock, but then… here comes the voice again. This time it doesn't sound like the bleached blonde from The Calling, this time it mimics Creed who mimic Pearl Jam. Third track, “Gleaming Auction”: could I have downloaded it wrong? It's exactly the same as the second one... Hmm... fourth, “Whatever’s Left”: could I have downloaded it wrong? It’s the same as the second and third… Then, no! Here the voice more than Creed/Pearl Jam, resembles Gavin Rossdale of Bush, who also imitated Kurt Cobain! You know, those voices that suggest the singer is suffering inside at that moment, but really, a lot... Fifth, “Spitting Games”: the same as the others? Not at all! Here's the decisive turn towards pop that reeks of a single, a classic track pandering to MTV. Sixth and seventh, respectively “Chocolate” and “Run,” finally (so to speak) the inevitable syrupy teenager ballads worthy of a Blue album that remove any doubt about the album's quality. I'll spare you the rest because the coordinates are the same. In any case, after the 40 minutes of the album pleasantly wasted down the toilet, I haven't answered the absolutely mysterious question of why “Final Straw” is the revelation of the year. However, I understood one thing: don't trust British music weeklies! For every genuinely good record they recommend, they pull your leg with ten others.