The Coral has to be the most prolific band in rock these days. Releasing three albums in three years is, by today’s standards, astonishing. After releasing their self-titled debut to rave reviews in their native England in 2002, the band quickly followed up with Magic and Medicine (Deltasound/Columbia) in August 2003. Now, with a third “mini-album” already on shelves in the U.K., Magic finally gets its stateside release this week.
And it has the Coral doing what they do best, playing their own distinct brand of jovial, psychedelic folk-rock. Indeed, much of Magic, with a handful of perfectly tidy tunes, is as buoyant and fun as the band’s debut.
But there are also some signs that the Coral still have some work cut out for them.
The six members, whose ages range from 19 to 22 years old, hail from Merseyside, on England’s west coast. There was a lot for critics to write about: their youth, their endlessly eclectic mix of influences and their uncanny ability to craft catchy ditties like the brilliant breakthrough single, “Dreaming of You.” Quickly, the Coral became the flavor of the day for the fickle music press.
But behind all the praise was a shadow of doubt. As exuberant and endearing as the debut was, some still dismissed the band as a novelty, a late ’60s throwback destined to quickly disappear into a cloud of pot smoke.
With Magic and Medicine, they certainly don’t vanish. But, despite their attempts, they also do little to move beyond the notion of novelty.
The album’s best moments are right in line with their previous work. The record’s lead single, “Pass it On,” is this album’s version of “Dreaming of You,” a marvelous little song that comes in, gets the job done and leaves before it even hits the two-and-a-half-minute mark. Likewise, “Liezah” is a blissfully bittersweet acoustic folk number. And “Bill McCai” is a deft lamentation on the loss of youth.
One of the album’s real strengths lies in James Skelly’s vocals. Skelly moves from scowly to sweet and sings just loosely enough to enhance the songs’ lively textures.
The album’s instrumentation is, as expected, eclectic. The rhythm section of Ian Skelly on drums and Paul Duffy on bass propel the songs with spirited grooves, while Skelly, Lee Southall and Bill Ryder-Jones fill in the guitar work and Nick Power adds keyboard textures.
But it seems that the pace at which the Coral release their music has taken its toll on Magic’s more ambitious numbers. These songs haven’t had the chance to mature and ferment, leaving many sounding confused or unfinished.
“All of Our Love,” for instance, is a meandering mess of distortion, pianos and slowly plucked guitars.
The closing number, “Confessions of A.D.D.D.,” is emblematic of the album. For the first couple minutes, “Confessions” is typical Coral, giddy and very likeable. But as the six-minute opus progresses through guitar solos and brass interludes, it becomes clear that, while three-minute radio-ready tunes seem to come very easily to the band, they have yet to master the denser, longer, more complex forms they are aiming for.
Given then that much of Magic sounds unfinished, it begs the question: would it benefit the Coral to slow down a bit?
They certainly don’t seem to think so. Rather than slow down, the Coral have maintained their frenetic pace. They recently released Nightfreak & the Sons of Becker, a mini-record recorded live over a week in the midst of touring. The Coral’s strategy, it seems, is to be as prolific as possible, releasing lots of music hoping to hit more than miss.
But Magic and Medicine seems to suggest that may not be the wisest idea. What may benefit the Coral the most right now is to take their time on the next record, to allow them craft the type of songs they clearly wish to make. Four of the band’s six members are still under 20, and they’ve already released three records. Now they just need to realize they’ve got plenty of time and plenty of talent — there’s no need to rush things.
Communication senior Tim Orland is a writer for PLAY. He can be reached at [email protected].
