Expectations can be a bitch: If 1990s hadn't released such a fresh-sounding debut, maybe this follow-up wouldn't feel so stale. Cookies introduced us to the Scottish trio and surprised listeners with its cheeky wit, perky hooks, and hedonistic attitude. All of which only serves to highlight Kicks' comparable lack of laughs, spontaneity, and ease. Frankly, though, even if listeners could wipe their collective memories clean of Cookies' legacy, this album would be hard to distinguish from the throng of other UK-based bands storming our shores armed with herky-jerky guitar riffs, modish 1970s punk influences, and skinny-tie strut. Which doesn't mean that Kicks is a bad album, just that it's an indistinct one.
In fairness, there are still some great songs here. Even when his jagged sound has been buffed to an unnecessarily glossy sheen, frontman Jackie McKeown has an acerbic tongue and a percussive sense of melody that can't be blunted by overproduction. "Vondelpark", the album opener that chronicles a pot-fueled trip to Amsterdam, makes stoner tourism sound funky. And with its psychedelic guitar solos, the track gives a self-aware wink to the hippie-ish musical styles so associated with its lyrical content. It should come as no surprise that the two songs that are credited solely to McKeown-- "Kickstrasse" and "Everybody Please Relax"-- are the best of the bunch. The former, a sassy swagger of oversexed vocals and overheated distortion, represents 1990s luxuriating in their Rolling Stones fandom, complete with some disco/R&B backing vocals (courtesy of Long Blonde Kate Jackson) and hints to classic American soul songs (namely "Respect"). The latter-- an ode to L.A. replete with Scientology references and dreamy, bright 60s pop allusions that break through the glammy guitar chug like the California sun through the clouds-- makes the best use of McKeown's sharp wit and pop culture acumen.
Still, on too much of the album the band's charismatic leader is content to share his spotlight, ceding vocal duties to both of his bandmates on half of the album's 12 tracks, and relinquishing songwriting responsibilities completely to bassist Dino Bardot on two of the record's most lethargic and corniest songs ("Local Science" and "Sparks"). 1990s shouldn't be penalized for embracing a more communal creation process-- it's nice to see a group trying to move beyond being seen as just the project of a captivating frontman and his sidemen-- but the fact is, these growing pains are audible.
Perhaps, like fellow Glaswegians Franz Ferdinand (with whom 1990s share a common lineage-- sneering pop-punk outfit Yummy Fur included members of both groups), this band will follow this misstep of a sophomore album with a revitalized third one. And perhaps time is all this trio needs to revamp their sound into something fun again. Because Kicks is not the follow-up that Cookies deserved, but its handful of winning standout tracks also suggests that its predecessor wasn't simply a fluke.
