It's been hard to get excited about rock and roll lately, what with the regular coronation of self-important, emo-flavored clans whose sound and fury (and eyeliner and top hats) signify so little.
The fact is, if you showed up at some fête and saw one of these hipster outfits performing, you’d probably call a friend — "Hey, I'm at this party and you’ll never guess who's playing … The Smirks!" — but after a couple of songs you'd also probably drift off to make more phone calls.
If The Fratellis were playing, though, you’d turn your phone off. You might even dash it to the ground and stomp on it for good measure. This would be unfortunate only because The Fratellis now offer several of their infectious tunes as ringtones.
NME recently named this Glasgow trio the Best New Band in Britain, which is rather a shame since that U.K. publication's reputation for lavishing hyperbolic accolades on cool-but-underwhelming bands has created something of an Emperor's New Clothes syndrome. A 2007 Brit Award probably won't help the situation.
Rest assured, however, that this is not your typical Next Big Thing guitar-thrashing import. You might have heard one of their songs on an iTunes commercial, but neither are they a symbol for the fragmented world of downloading. In fact, they've made a mighty fine album, Costello Music(Cherrytree/Island/Interscope), that embraces the best of the past while paving new ground. No surprise, then, that classic-rock guru Pete Townshend has embraced them and even sat in for a TV performance of one of their songs.
According to their press bio, the three met while working various vertiginous rides at a traveling carnival, and their songs duly suggest the whirling, kaleidoscopic, hormonal rush of the midway, with all its sugary delights and seedy dangers.
Expertly produced by Tony Hoffer (Beck), Costello is a rarity in these overpacked, underdeveloped days — a solid, utterly satisfying disc. Among the standouts: the churning opener, "Henrietta" (their first U.K. single, about an amorous fan with a jealous husband); the irresistibly bouncy domestic single "Chelsea Dagger"; the zigzagging, tribally exuberant "Flathead"; the stunningly sweet "Whistle for the Choir," with its big, heartsick refrain recalling the sincerest of the sweater-clad Merseybeat mongers of yore; the propulsive, ridiculously catchy "For the Girl"; the dark, desperate and seductive "Doginabag"; the breakneck "Creepin' Up the Backstairs"; and plenty more besides. The sound is lively and spacious, garnishing the band's smart dynamics with classic reverb and other sparkly touches.
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