EVERYTHING about Sheffield’s Crookes oozes class. Formed in 2008, they dazzled with youthful shows of bouncy, optimistic charm, indie-pop catchiness, tingling riffs – and songs of literate lyricism as sublime as it was playful.
The trademarks of their early singles and first two albums remain: finger-popping verses, anthemic choruses, leavened by introspection and self-deprecating delivery, all presented with the freewheeling style of boulevardiers, dripping with wit. But now George Waite (vocals), Daniel Hopewell (lyrics, guitar), Tom Dakin (piano, guitar) and Russell Bates (drums) reveal other depths, perhaps inspired by the isolation of the atmosphere at the studio in the Italian Alps where they recorded.
It’s a mature band in their stride – self-assured and unafraid to delve into the dark: disappointment (Don’t Put Your Faith In Me); not belonging (Outsiders); sentimentality and melancholia (Holy Innocents and Echolalia). But they are equally at ease when belting out an infectious riff (Play Dumb, Soapbox) or an off-kilter love song (Marcy). A captivating third album.
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