The Electric Soft Parade
The American Adventure

The British music press is dispiriting in hailing new next big thing with every flutter of wings. It is equally dispiriting (and costly) to find out that yet another hoax has been foisted upon us, much to the chagrin of us buyers and the delight of everyone else. Specifically, I am referring to the debut of this duo from Albion, that "Holes In The Wall" which received, among other things, several nominations in the style of the Mercury Prize and the like, and led a certain Carlo Villa (who is this?) to clog up email inboxes in the pioneering delusion of having preceded everyone with his infallible talent scout instinct (sic!). A record not actually bad, but rather typical in the standard of the multitude of British pop-rock. But as we know, the world is full of clay giants and the destiny for many is marked from the beginning. In fact, I don't believe that the return of such clamor benefited the ESP much, in terms of economy and popularity, with this second effort of theirs. And it's a shame!

Nine tracks for a total of thirty-six minutes deliver a fresh group that energetically veers towards a crystalline electro-acoustic pop of the best British tradition. There is no trace of the Brit-pop crumpling of the previous work where it was difficult to find an averagely good song that raised the barely sufficient level of the album. I have no trouble evoking Radiohead during the "The Bends" era or the best Doves and South in their respective debuts. At times, one even glimpses the same transversal pop path of the XTC workshop. I won't list the tracks one by one because all of them would deserve a special mention, but the semi-acoustic ballad "Wrongest Thing In Town" would not look out of place among Mr. Yorke's finest gems. In the era of digital media where everyone rushes to fill the disc to its total capacity, almost as if quantity were synonymous with quality, I want to pay particular tribute to the attention to timing. There's no need to make lengthy albums; even thirty-six minutes like in the days of vinyl are enough to prove you're not just another next big thing for the trash heap.