When the hell did Idlewild become uncool? Mentioning them to some new pop upstarts recently and the doubtful frowns took me aback. I stood up to them though, matriculating the fact that Roddy Woomble and the boys have always been merely on the borders of super-success, never really crossing them because they weren't careerist mercenaries.
Idlewild's evolution from poet-punk upstarts to spectral pop purveyors in the mist of heady industry acclaim is a story of blinding integrity. So many paths beckoned with pound signs, and after refining their sound to a swooning T on Warnings/Promises Woomble scampers off to forage deep into his roots and make a beautiful folk album.
Now the band are back with a track that parps along in the same wistful kind of glory as Warnings' leading tracks, Woomble informing it with his quintessential riddly garble. Place it between a twisting ballad and a full throttle angular punk blast on an LP, or between My Chemical Romance and The Kooks on daytime MTV2, and it'll glow like a beacon. Undoubtedly our greatest successful band, it's good to have Idlewild back and firing.
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