Travis
The Invisible Band

Now I reveal a little secret.
My nickname (with which I sign everywhere online) is not a tribute to the famous Talking Mule, nor (since we are on a site called "Debaser") to Francis Black. No, not even Francis Ford Coppola.
Mine is a tribute to Francis Healy, one of the most beautiful pure voices produced by Great Britain in recent years, and a songwriter often underrated but in my opinion definitely head and shoulders above the bloated Chris Martin, just to give an example.

"The Invisible Band," the third album by Travis released in the summer of 2001 (two years after the triumphant entry into the European charts with "The Man Who") will always be remembered, when talking about the career of the Scottish band, as the album of "Sing," the historic earworm of that year, helped by a video that became part of the collective imagination.
The success of "Sing" (a sort of soft lullaby ballad supported by a hypnotic banjo: alright, who doesn't know it?) had an extraordinary reach even in Italy, where the equally epic single "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?" had gone unnoticed and pushed Travis to consecration in the most famous mainstream circuits.
A paradox, if you will: there's nothing that can be as far from the glitz, glitter, and starlets of show business as this Scottish group, which rose from the desecrated ashes of Britpop and evolved into a style that (even if we could discuss it for years) anticipated for quite some time the much-praised "New Acoustic Movement".

Travis have re-proposed in a modern yet retro key (a special characteristic of British music) the gloomy memories of Glasgow in the '80s of Deacon Blue and Del Amitri, the urban insecurities of more "extremist" Scottish bands (Belle & Sebastian, Arab Strap, Delgados), the nostalgic melodies of the Beatles (the McCartney side) and other rock legends (Bob Dylan, Byrds, David Bowie, Kinks). They have achieved that formula tried by many but succeeded by few: coming from the people, reaching the masses and at the same time remaining simple, comfortable, if you will still "commercially virgin," despite the hits.

"The Invisible Band" is, ultimately, a concept album about the difficulty of staying true to oneself and maintaining one's projects, one's "design for life," in regards to the people we love or live with. That's why in "Sing" Fran urges his girlfriend to sing, to bring out her voice; he vents in the nocturnal and solitary "Dear Diary" and talks about "flowers growing at our window" ("Flowers In The Window").

Nigel Goldrich's production makes this album a collection of little pictures where moments of the past are relived from an "invisible" perspective, as if, turned into a ghost, Fran Healy sings about his torments, constantly changing space, time, and place: thus "Side" and "Pipe Dreams" are dreamy and abstract visions of a sunset, "The Cage" and "Safe," with Healy accompanying himself solo on guitar, are the sometimes unreal tranquility of a remote forest, "Follow The Light" is the starry night of San Lorenzo, "Last Train" is the last farewell before leaving far away, "Afterglow" are the waves of the sea in winter, "The Humpty Dumpty Love Song" (the song most reminiscent of U2) transports the mind into an indefinite limbo traversed by the infinite final stretch of the strings.

Evocative, romantic, pop songs but at the same time, in some cases, sophisticated: Fran's voice is at the highest levels and the band supports it with ease.

The future of Travis, with this memorable album, seemed bright and radiant: it would be the serious accident of drummer Neil Primrose that cast the first real shadows on the group and lead to a dark album like "12 Memories." But it's still worth rooting for them.