THE CORAL
Magic and Medicine
(Deltasonic)
FIRST ALBUMS that are as alive with ideas and musical variety as the Coral’s eponymous 2002 debut come along all too rarely. The Mercury Prize-nominated CD suggested that the band were a law unto themselves, capable of sounding like a reggae-inflected Teardrop Explodes one minute and psychedelic moptops delivering carousing sea shanties the next.
Though they claimed Oasis as an inspiration, the Coral firmly eschewed dadrock’s tiresome clichés. But there was concern about how they would fare over the long haul. Did they have the songwriting substance to last? Would theydisappear down the road of Scouse obscurity previously trodden by their neighbours the Las and Shack? Could their self-professed musical “attention deficit disorder” be held in check long enough to develop a distinctive identity?
It is hard to imagine that a group as single-minded as the Coral pay much heed to their critics, but Magic and Medicine has more than enough depth and cohesion to silence the doubters. It is a decidedly darker album than its predecessor, with the singer and lead songwriter James Skelly emerging as a master of brooding reverie, glowering paranoia and wistful longing.
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American influences (Dylan, Love, even Simon and Garfunkel) abound, but the songs are unmistakably parables from an Irish Sea-lashed northern town. There is native folk wisdom (Pass it On), middle-aged suicide (Bill McCai) and a gorgeous thwarted love ballad (Liezah).
The Coral’s love of variety still shines bright, but they have reined in their excesses and realised that it can be more effective to leave something out than to cram it in.
Their oldest member is only 23, but the Coral have put the tempestuous vagaries of youth aside and a stronger, more thoughtful, band has emerged. Magic and Medicine sets a standard that their peers will be hard-pressed to match.
Gavin Martin (Rating: 4/5)