I thought The Pale Fountains would be too sweet for my sugar-free diet. The Scout fixation is taking the clean-cut image overboard and I’m ready to reject, but these Liverpool lads are incredibly beguiling.
Harmless they stand, inoffensive they play, but infiltrating they stay. My mind of clay turns to chalk. Limp and wimp waver on my lips and are swallowed again.
“It takes me back,” I hear more than once. Mutterings of “Ah yes, just like Love,” are heard. Their simplicity and acoustic guitars win hearts.
I’m wide-eyed and enjoying myself. They’ve found a groove that moves in the right direction. Lilting and lyrical, they aren’t sickly – they’ve got a raw innocence that bites. One lonely trumpet lights their fire. Radio Two lives again. Jose Feliciano raises his head.
The Pale Fountains have got a good combination – unspoiled and substantial. They bring back the romance that teeny mags have violated. I’m convinced.