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What's this then? Eleven years after mutually
calling it a day, Mark King and his gang of
whiter than white funkateers return, an addition to
the long list of bands you thought would never reform.
Not the most fashionable of groups even in their
heyday, you could be forgiven for thinking the going
will be tough for them second time around. On the
upside their return conveniently coincides with a soft
rock revival of sorts, headed by bands like The
Feeling. So could they be on the verge of a return
to public consciousness once again?
On the music offered by Retroglide, the answer has
to be no. Mark King and Boon Gould have
co-written an album that offers little in comparison
to what's gone before, and comes across as melodically
uninspired. No Running In The Family here more a
slow, heavy walk.
Initial signs are misleading. To start with the
music seems less obviously geared towards the
mainstream, and that's clear from the extended solos
afforded in the fired up opener, which promises much
with a surprisingly funky approach. Sadly cause for
optimism proves misguided.
At least King's voice has aged well, retaining the
full, mellow tone that gave the band its distinctive
sound. His famed bass playing doesn't get enough of an
outing here though, so while the slap makes itself
heard on Sleep Talking it only occasionally prods its
way through.
That's because there's too much going on up top.
Guitar textures are stodgy, while some of the inner
parts add unnecessary weight to the sound. A leaner,
funkier approach, briefly glimpsed but never realised,
would surely have brought the songs forward more and
added more of an edge.
In addition, everything's too long. When an eleven
track album clocks in at just under an hour the reason
is usually a nod to the progressive, or more than a
few instrumental indulgences. Unfortunately here it's
hard to detect either of these, and songs like the
semi-ballad The Way Back Home cling to the middle of
the carriageway for their entire duration, flat and
uninspired. Likewise the title track, its pleasant
melody given little place to go over a leaden beat.
All Around takes all of five minutes before the first
profound statement, King's "I don't recognise you any
more" unexpectedly moving when left alone at the end
of the song.
The implications from this are that the package is
for fans only, but even they must be more than a
little alarmed at the lack of direction in a song like
When Your Ship Comes In, an overextended guitar solo
preceding a limp chorus that fails to secure the
uplifting qualities it aspires to.
It sums up the whole album rather aptly, and rather
than feel like a fresh return to form, Level 42's
return is curiously without event.
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