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If you had to place The Most Terrifying Thing after one listen,
chances are it wouldn't be in Liverpool, and in all probability not the UK
either. No, for me the first place that springs to mind is Seattle, due to
a couple of traits essential to the music of this quartet.
The first comes from singer Chris Price, whose voice sounds
something like a combination of Counting Crows and early Eddie
Vedder, and is one of the band's most marketable qualities. The second
is a little less complimentary - a tendency to rely on the quiet-loud
formula that has characterised rather too much rock music of this ilk since
Nirvana. More worrying than this, though, is the opening track's
alarming tendency to do a Nickelback with the lyrics; "I don't
expect you to understand, but I was programmed to be alone". It's just as
well the navel gazing ends there, or we might have been considering the
frightening thought of Britain's answer to Chad Kroeger.
If you like the Canadian rockers, my apologies. Stick around though, as
you'll like what you hear on this record, only with arguably much higher
quality. Once into their stride, The Most Terrifying Thing show a pleasing
tendency to rock out with natural abandon, no airs or graces needed.
Programmed demonstrates this in an agreeably powerful coda that takes up
the mantle, embellished by Silent Type's impressive guitar work, found
again towards the close. This is one of several songs that benefit from
Price's direct vocal singing, and when he complains; "I feel left out,
no-one knows this", you feel his pain.
The band clearly know a good intro when they hear one, and some of the tracks
punch out a solid beginning as a statement of intent. Recent single Things
Always Change is a case in point, but here as elsewhere there is also a
fragile side. Price's voice cracks with emotion when dealing with Pain &
Problematics - and also on Always In The Way - which may have an awkward word
setting but is curiously effective. Sometimes it all gets too much though,
and an attempt to funk things up on Tiamo falls flat, seemingly a tale of a
couple who can't decide if they're better off as friends but ending up
dropping between the two.
The only problem with this is it feels like music that's been around for
quite some time. Plenty to commend the songs for sure, but the musical
language would have seemed much more relevant in 1995. Eleven years on, and
solid though the riffing is, it feels just a touch weary. A bit more
rhythm, for sure, but the central part of the album in particular remains
earthbound.
This shouldn't put you off from investigating the band though, as the
positives outweigh the negatives comfortably. Tracks like Silent Type
genuinely lift the senses to a higher plane, and if the band can build on
this promise, their development will be interesting to chart. One to keep
on the radar.
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