(Epic / Independiente)
American music writers may instinctively dash off Radiohead comparisons with any British rock band with intelligent lyrics, but Scottish indie rock band Travis are far too important, both commercially (2 million UK copies sold, which to put in perspective is almost one-and-a-half times what Britney Spears sold over there) and artistically (Brit Award winners) to be analyzed merely by comparison. Perhaps the best rock album of 1999, The Man Who’s sold the world over, and it finally receives a belated American release just in time to support the band’s current tour with Oasis.
Unlike their tour mates, Travis never go in for loud stadium-rocking tunes. The Man Who was named after an Oliver Sacks book on synaesthesia, the condition in which senses are confused so that one can “hear” colours, for instance, and Fran Healy’s vocals on the album are so delicately beautiful it seems you can almost feel them on your skin. Somehow Healy manages to sound vulnerable without being precious or self-pitying. Perhaps it’s the counterbalancing of pained lyrics (the title of their first single “Why Does It Always Rain on Me?” says it all, really) with catchy choruses. Or maybe it’s the occasional moment of sunshine through the rain, such as the guitar introduction for “Writing to Reach You,” which obviously alludes to Oasis’ optimistic “Wonderwall” before the lyrics proceed to question the happy jangly sound (“what’s a wonderwall anyway?”). When the wrenching lyrics of “Driftwood,” the album’s best song, (“Just driftwood, hollow and of no use/Waterfalls will find you, bind you, grind you”) hit you, an almost instinctive shrinking away takes place.
The members of Travis are apparently fun-loving Scots in real life: they do a hilarious cover of Spears’ “Baby One More Time” when they perform live. But this album eschews all that, and succeeds in being perfectly, poignantly heartbreaking. A