Doves

On their last record, Doves loomed up like part of the latest swell of British bummer bands
that began with Radiohead. But The Last Broadcast starts, musically at least, on a glittering
note: "Words" is all rippling sunbursts of guitar and ringing bells. The chorus runs, "Words --
they mean nothing, so you can't hurt me"; the overall effect is one of bright defiance.
"Friday's Dust" is a beautiful bring-down, especially when a clarinet rises up out... More >

I don't have the stomach to go check my Toto and Journey records; in fact, I don't have my Toto and Journey records. But the burden of proof is on the perp. Technically proficient, melodically resourceful, sonically up-to-date--Toto and Journey were all that. They also rocked moderato and sang as if thoughtfully plumbing their Caucasian feelings. Admittedly, the Brits' squarer sense of form boxes their corn up more discreetly, and their reassuring lyrical generalizations address matters of the spirit more than affairs of the heart. Also, they're not yet huge here, which means so much to young people seeking identities they don't have to share like Legos, although older people pining for their pop youth would just as soon they turn into the Beatles (sigh). Nevertheless, this is as vapid as it is expert, and if it ever does get huge here, a lot of slightly older people are going to wonder what they were thinking. (Grade: B-)