Album review: Stellastarr*: 'Civilised'

STELLASTARR*: 'Civilised' (Bloated Wife)

The music industry can be a bloody cruel bugger at times. No matter how gifted, original or downright cool your band is, sometimes, things just don't work out. The mysterious, shady individuals that make the wheels go round on the gargantuan rock/alt machine truly cannot be fathomed; your band may have all the ingredients that are supposedly needed for success, or happen to be making a particular brand of music that's proving to be a gold mine at the time, and yet the executives just don't wanna hear about it. You find yourself ignored, consigned to playing no-name pubs in the arse end of nowhere for the rest of your days, fending off reams of pissed-up fortysomethings who think "you've really got something" and that "you could really go far." "Oh yeah?," you ask through gritted teeth, "Well, you go tell that to my dole officer, mate."

While New York City's Stellastarr* (the asterisk is important, in case you've never heard of 'em before) aren't quite this destitute, their brush with the industry has proven frustratingly fruitless and fleeting. The major label that signed 'em put out two records - 2004's eponymous debut and 2006's 'Harmonies for the Haunted', at a time in which the band's sound, indie guitar pop oscillating between spiky and jangly, taking in the melodic sensibilities of bands like The Killers but having the darker edge beloved of acts like Bloc Party, We Are Scientists and Interpol, was what all the cool kids were listening to. By all rights, with singles as gorgeous as 'Sweet Troubled Soul', 'Love and Longing' and 'Somewhere Across Forever', Stellastarr* should be absolutely huge by now, playing Academy 1s across the country, if not teetering on the edge of arena stardom. It's an absolute crime that a track as majestically poppy as 'My Coco' isn't an indie dancefloor classic, sitting comfortably next to 'All These Things That I've Done' and 'I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor' as an anthem for the noughties generation. Unfortunately, somewhere along the line, things went horribly wrong for Shawn Christensen and co. Blame poor marketing, lack of publicity, limited distribution, whatever you like: the fact remains that the reason cannot really be pinpointed. Their failure to translate to the mainstream is inexplicable, and third LP 'Civilised', released earlier this month, is just further proof of this fact.

The band have put this record out on their own, having been abandoned by their label, and perhaps this is for the best. The DIY ethic puts them at a distinct advantage: 'Civilised' has more room to breathe than its predecessor which, at times, seemed a little like it was weighed down by compromise; by the feeling that they needed to write more 'epic' songs in order to crossover to the audience much loved of the hugely successful Snow Patrol and Coldplay. Indeed, the abundance of ballads and slow-movers on 'Harmonies for the Haunted' seemed to suggest that the band were being nudged towards the mums and dads, the crowd that has lined Gary Lightbody and Chris Martin's pockets with gold. Here, there is very little of this polish. 'Civilised' owes much more to the messy aggression of 'Stellastarr*', unleashing reckless guitars at every opportunity. 'Robot' is a wall of amped-up noise, featuring a single repeated refrain from Shawn, and it sounds positively thrilling. The track has the spine-tingling urgency of 'Pulp Song' and 'Jenny', helping to remind us all why we fell hopelessly in love with them to begin with.

Naturally, there are moments of pristine pop perfection too. Lead single 'Graffiti Eyes' is a wonderfully angular beast with delicious harmonies; 'People' glistens with the sparkle of a thousand Smiths, Cure and R.E.M. records; 'Move On' comes on like the finest Stone Roses song that John Squire never wrote, Shawn's elated melody soaring with the majesty of Ian Brown's vocals for his actual band (we don't count all that solo shite), before morphing into a four-to-the-floor stomper that would make Bloc Party proud. Indeed, many of Michael Jurin's riffs have the sort of sprawling elegiac quality of Russell Lissack's best work, and the tracks are littered with them, underscoring the words rather than simply leaving it all to the art of chord-strumming. This makes the record sound so much more interesting: 'Sonja Cries' derives most of its power from the twinkle toes plucking that drives it, complementing Shawn's bittersweet vocals so poignantly.

Such sounds give the album a highly evocative feel. Tracks like the beautiful 'Tokyo Sky' have the power to transport you from the mundane four walls of your bedroom to somewhere far more exalted, feeling positively cinematic. You can envision yourself travelling through the streets of Tokyo, looking in awe at the sheer size and scale of it all, or driving along its snaking, neon-splattered streets, roof down, album on, soaking up the atmosphere. 'Civilised', as with all of Stellastarr*'s albums, sounds metropolitan. This is the noise of the city, with all its intense thrills, myriad possibilities and crushing comedowns.

The album is perhaps lacking anything truly astounding; much of 'Civilised' has been done before, and it never really escapes from the trappings of the sugar-coated spiky indie-rock sound that the band have cultivated for themselves. Still, this is no bad thing, as the style is a delectable one, producing a series of tracks that take you to a world far beyond your own, that sound simultaneously intense, august, uplifting and bittersweet. Once again, there are singles galore, with hooks you just won't be able to resist sinking your teeth into. And so what if no one else has the gumption to recognise them? Stellastarr* are now, and will probably always be, one of the most stunning bands we have. (8/10)