During the Black Plague "physicians" thought pigeons placed above a patient's head would somehow suck the illness out. They also bled people. However, neither of those nostrums tops the absurdity of Morcheeba dubbing their first sans-Skye Edwards album as The Antidote. After a string of increasingly flawed LPs, the enticing siren Edwards bolted, leaving the schlubby Godfrey brothers in the dust with their mediocre backing music. So how do Paul and Ross replace one of the sexiest voices of the past 10 years? They throw in former Noonday Underground singer Daisy Martey; an Angela Lansbury replacing a Marilyn Monroe.
Not to start a fight, but Edwards possessed a soulful purr that wooed the staunchest critics into penning bizarrely detailed sex fantasy reviews. Martey is a hammed-up Natalie Merchant. Even worse, the Godfreys curb their toasted Internet CafŽ electronica for tuckered-out 1960s and 70s nostalgia. We all threw tomatoes when 2002's Charango killed our high, but now even that poorly rolled joint delivers the far-out vibes that the painfully sober Antidote lacks.
Opener "Wonders Never Cease" doubly offends with its seemingly self-important title and hokey Edie Brickell artsiness. "Ten Men" only continues the bohemian posturing, meshing Renaissance Faire guitar lines with a slack-jawed alt-country tempo. I mean, the whole thing has the professionalism of Michelle Branch. Don't fret though faithful "trigger hippies," you'll still get your psych, only now it's watered down, attached to the beginning of tracks as curt snippets of yesteryear. Hear that sitar? Of course you don't, it stopped playing when the hunky tonk guitars came in.
Try as you might, searching for vestiges of the ol' Morcheeba is futile. Press releases try to plug this album as some freewheeling journey back in time, peppered with sharp-toothed blues and bouncy Bacharach melodies. Fat chance-- Martey's got neither the bite nor brio for such deft reincarnation. Sadly, this is your mama's Morcheeba, totally sanitized and sexless, even when supposedly tapping the era of drugs, rebellion, and free love. They could've at least changed the band's name, for legacy's sake. Somewhere, Skye Edwards must feel as if she was just ejected from a burning plane.
