Sleepy country-tinged indie-rock tickles the ear, but struggles to get out of bed and get its act together
By Ben Wood
Starter Car are an understated, country-tinged South London indie-rock posse led by transplanted Glaswegian singer songwriter Oisean Burnett. On their debut album, the band is augmented by violin from Tugboat Captain’s Sophia Bartlett and banjo from Symbol Soup’s Michael Rhea. Their sound is a warm accessible jangle, with sonic nods to the shrugging insouciance of early R.E.M., the occasional dissonance and unease of the mighty Sparklehorse and the soaring guitar interjections of Dinosaur Jr. But it suffers somewhat from support-band syndrome – the initial sound is appealing, but apart from a couple of standouts, the songs don’t necessarily lodge in the brain.
Nevertheless, every song feels like a warm bath, until you get to the lyrics, with Burnett’s slightly hesitant vocals telling tales of doubt, lassitude and anxiety. Relatively upbeat closing number Kicking aside, this is bedsit dread territory, but with 90s slackerdom’s punky residue replaced by shrugging resignation. The likes of Safety Net (“Give me a reason not to die / I can’t be bothered with the fight…“) reek of decay and inertia. This may be emotionally true but it’s not always inspiring to listen to. Afterlight has retooled 90s slackerdom and syphoned off the residual punky attitude. Maybe this is what it feels like to live in our shitty era if you’re young and have a heart. Even kicking against the pricks feels redundant.
Opener Throwing Down is an anthem of troubled hedonism, the narrator feeling unmoored when away from his partner and slipping into bad habits. An earworm guitar riff combined with banjo and background vox combine to create a pleasing take on Neil Young in mid-70s country rock mode, like a Zuma outtake through a more modern indie lens. The lyrics have a nice line in humourous Evan Dando-esque self-effacement too: “I don’t like my brain but it’ll have to do…Circling round the drain / taught me a thing or two…” Following this strong start, the rest of the album settles into a more laidback groove. Sometimes this sounds perfectly nice, at other moments a tad underwhelming.
The pleasantly drifty Avert is a hymn to inertia, glistening pleasantly thanks to gently funky drums and sweet harmonies. Watered Down also feels sad and helpless, the extra violin in the mix pointing out the fact that the album’s country touches are sometimes too subtle. It would be good to hear the band really lean into these influences, a la Steven Adams’ great early Broken Family Band records of the 00s
Wisecrack features a fingerpicking folky intro, while More Me sees our narrator trying to be more authentically himself (a knotty concept and no mistake). But it poses the question: how do you summon up confidence out of thin air? Dumb Luck has the best title on an LP of very generic song name (the band really should have spent longer thinking of them).
Know What to Say is a livelier cut, where the band threaten to go down swinging for once. The album’s dynamics could have done with another couple of uptempo numbers to provide a bit more pep and this is a welcome change of pace. Having said that, Stranger’s slow acoustic strums and violin combo makes for a satisfying wallow. Speaking as a Gram Parsons superfan, it’s absolutely fine doing slow, wallowy sad songs, you just gotta make ’em beautiful.
Kickin’ ends things with more urgency, one of those patented Jesus and Mary Chain / Spiritualized, drugs/not drugs songs (“Craving something to take away the pain / but I want back in…“) Like the opener, it’s a tantalising hint at what could have been, on an album that sounds consistently pleasing but could do with more edge, attitude, weirdness.
Still, the first series of Blackadder wasn’t all that and then the second was a masterpiece! And the first albums by Radiohead and Blur were pretty average, so there’s still all to play for. The better moments, and the overall sound, show that Starter Car have something to work with – if they can develop a bit more character and lyrical bite. 6/10
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