I’m still trying to figure out how many listens it’ll take for Travis’ fourth LP to kick in. The elements that made 1999’s The Man Who thoroughly engaging and 2002’s The Invisible Band intermittently enjoyable—Fran Healy’s dead-earnest vocals and melodic twists, the players’ sturdy, gimmick-free performances, the earthy authenticity of the music—are present on 12 Memories. Nonetheless, very little coheres or catches the ear. Perhaps the four Scots finally had enough of the endless comparisons to Radiohead and Coldplay—but coming up with an album as lethargic as this one isn’t the smartest way to separate themselves from their distinguished contemporaries.
The approach Travis employs here makes perfect sense on paper; throughout the album, the band hews to ambling tempos set forth by four-square snare patterns and strummed acoustic guitars, sparingly adorned by simple keyboards and vocal harmonies (the sort of approach favored by The Beatles in the mid-’60s), a tactic that would seem to play to the band’s crispness and subtlety. But with spare settings like these, every touch must count and the melodies must lift—in short, something needs to happen—otherwise the results will simply be aimless and dull.
The album opens promisingly enough, as drummer Neil Primrose punches out an emphatic midtempo groove, colored by piano and cello, setting off Healy’s voice with lovely muted tones—but the song proceeds without a discernible hook. The backing vocals are halfhearted and the quicksand metaphor is so shopworn it practically squeaks, causing the tasteful touches to seem random rather than focused. “Beautiful Occupation”—a spring-loaded burst of Bush-directed anger containing an impassioned vocal from Healy, with rousing vocal support from his bandmates in the choruses—suggests Travis is revving up for some serious action. But it’s a false promise. On “Re-Offender,” a heartfelt look at domestic violence, he blunts the impact in the very first verse with the doubled-up clichés “Keeping up with the Joneses … Going through the motions.” Healy should know better. Immediately afterward, the would-be anthem “Peace the F— Out” is presented with a bewildering lack of urgency; the soccer fans singing the refrain in the coda sound far more committed to the sentiment than the band does. From that point onward, the points of interest are few and far between.
Breaking away from the march of deliberately paced music, the swirling, three-four grooves of “How Many Hearts” and “Love Will Come Through” provide welcome relief, but neither offers a payoff—they just swirl. “Somewhere Else” is dressed in a melodic motif lifted intact (inadvertently, I’m sure) from Seals & Crofts’ “Summer Wind,” of all things, but that’s the song’s only remarkable aspect. Particularly undistinguished are the nearly inert “Paperclips” (too bad, because it has the album’s strongest melody) and the thematically and melodically pedestrian “Mid-Life Krysis” (a really bad idea, from the spelling to the premise). The only track that measures up to Travis’ previous efforts is “Happy to Hang Around,” on which Healy presents a lyric that descends from puppy love to unease and anxiety with edgy conviction, and the welcome dramatic tension he generates is amplified by a ferocious guitar solo from Andy Dunlop. So it’s not like they don’t have it in them any more.
The players aren’t the culprits here; with the previously noted exceptions, the performances of Dunlop, Primrose and bassist Dougie Payne are as spot-on as ever. But they have fewer opportunities to cut loose than in the past and, even if they were called upon to crank it up now and then, it wouldn’t be enough to breathe life into a group of songs puzzlingly short on hummable melodies or satisfying resolutions. It’s downright shocking that Healy, the band’s lone songwriter, who came up with the unforgettable “Why Does It Always Rain on Me” and the infectious “Sing,” brought so little to the party this time.
Believe me, this is not the sort of conclusion I wanted, or expected, to draw about this fundamentally likable band, which once offered such promise. I hope Travis finds its way again, before it’s too late.