Of course, that's just one of a million things The Coral does on their hyper-eclectic debut, a pop pastiche that jumps across a dozen genres during the course of its 40+ minutes. And though the just-out-of-their-teens sextet, who come from a "nondescript seaside town" outside Liverpool, are as diverse and well-polished as their fellow NME cabin boys The Vines, you at least aren't overcome with the urge to punch these kids in the face. After all, The Coral are much more talented, and singer James Skelly's confident, sneer-free vocals lend just the right amount of weight to the music. I'm guessing he'll sound even better after he takes up clove cigarettes and whiskey.
We first heard about The Coral back in September of last year when, during an interview, Clinic mentioned them to us as one of their favorite bands of the moment. The two sound nothing alike, of course, excepting that their influences are far too numerous to list. One thing I can say with some certainty, though, is that The Coral must have grown up digging through their mums' Merseybeat vinyl and dads' psych-rock collections: the first spaceshot note on the album cribs from Pink Floyd's "See Emily Play", and the bridge to "Goodbye" references it a bit, too, though while sounding predominantly like a Turtles song. Elsewhere, the folky "Simon Diamond" sets the life of the professional wrestler to a bouncy remake of the old traditional, "John Barleycorn Must Die", and extra guitars whiz around like bugs, with Nick Power's organ needling home the period feel.
With a quick-stepping rhythm section and two horn players in the band (Bill Ryder-Jones on trumpet, Paul Duffy on sax), The Coral also take a reasonable stab at British ska-pop; "Dreaming of You" sounds like Jim Morrison fronting Madness. It's a likeable single, but it would have blown away like so much fluff twenty years ago; and while it proves that the band is capable of turning out well-produced dance numbers, the most disposable tracks-- like "Bad Man"-- mark them as this close to becoming England's answer to the Cherry Poppin' Daddies.
So as weird as it may seem, it's on the sea shanties that the band finds its voice. For whatever reason, they really open up on the nautically themed tracks: "Skeleton Key" is a massive beatdown where the pounding drums and jittery guitars set up a bellowing chorus; the verse-only opener "Spanish Main" makes them sound like genuinely scary men of the sea. And even on a quieter numbers like "Shadows Fall", the reggae beat and laborers' harmony vocals blend well with the sax part, psychedelic frills, and shuffle.
Sometimes the band seems more curious than inventive. They're swollen up with ideas but don't always have an original hook or clear idea to attach them to. There's definitely a lot to like throughout this disc; the band has boatloads of talent, and the eclectic spread gels much better than you'd expect. But they're at their best when they're more raucous than clever. If the sea shanties work for any reason, it's because they're labor songs, tunes about working hard and playing hard. That's a great lifestyle for any young band, and a better goal than just ripping off the 60s.
