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When I picture the wonderfully evocative ‘English Riviera’, several images come to mind. Old canal boats snaking themselves through rural waters, Pimms and lemonade shared on a scorched grass canvas and, of course, a liberal use of after sun in the days following such carefree merriment. Admittedly, the thought of an electro-pop four piece taking to a virginal white bandstand for the afternoon didn’t feature in such idealistic notions. Yet with their third album Metronomy give plenty of cause for a reassessment of my attitude to the British summertime.
Those anticipating a return to the instantly gratifying form of 2008’s ‘Nights Out’ may be initially disappointed. The brash hooks of ‘Radio Ladio’ and ‘Holiday’ are M.I.A., replaced with a soothing tranquillity that washes over in the wistful synth lines of ‘The Look’ and ‘The Bay’.
For what ‘The English Riviera’ lacks in immediacy though, it makes up for in intelligent and carefully affecting songwriting. Metronomy have always been a groove-centric outfit but where the slinking funk and slowly transcendent chord shifts of ‘She Wants’ shines is in the confidence emanating from a new-found restraint.
Rather than packing 10 equally toe-tapping hooks into the same track, this song as with most of the LP’s offerings, takes a duty of care and attention to fully reveal its charms. As the ‘English Riviera’ gradually unfurls its luxurious bounty, you’ll find your moments of passing fancy consumed with the gasped vocal refrain of ‘Everything Goes My Way’ or the kaleidoscopic percussive rhythms of ‘Corinne’.
In truth, ‘The English Riviera’ isn’t a perfect record. At a combined length of 12 minutes, the closing adieu of ‘Some Written’ and ‘Love Underlined’ draw out an excessively protracted demise. More importantly, it is an au revoir that lacks the genteel tone that predominates the album giving the air of a footnote rather than a sign off proper.
To let such a blemish spoil the largely unfettered delights of ‘The English Riviera’ however, would be to turn down a Flake 99 because it doesn’t come with chocolate sprinkles. Like the first weeks of sun-tinged spring this is a record to cherish. Its rarity is nowhere near as important as the hazy revelry it inspires.
