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January can seem to be simply a four week long hangover; a cold, bleak stretch of broken resolutions when the ale and mince pies merrily consumed over the festive period have become merely extra inches on the waistline. But never mind, because here are Keane with their latest offering – surely they’ll banish the winter blues with a lyrically inspired, musically daring slice of 21st century rock’n’roll? Er, not quite.
Alas, it’s business as usual from the Hastings plod-rockers who, like Razorlight and Snore Patrol persist with the commercially copper-bottomed strategy of sounding like U2’s little brother band. Keyboards swirl solemnly over a mid-paced rhythm while singer Tom Chaplin does that Bono-patented trick of signalling emotion by gasping for breath like a fat, wheezy child coming up for air during school swimming lessons. Undeniably catchy and put together with the self-consciously musical care guaranteed to win approval from those who like ‘proper’ songwriting, but still dull, dull, dull.
