Milburn - These Are The Facts

have grown up. A bit like that artsy kid at secondary school who went on a summer holiday to France listening to Oasis and came back with a black polo neck and a shitty moustache clutching a Northern Soul collection. And doubtlessly, Milburn are going to divide schoolyard opinions in much the same way, because whilst they’ve developed an air of sophistication, it’s difficult to be convinced.

For the most part, the crashing guitars of debut ‘Well Well Well’ that earned them comparisons to fellow Sheffield types Arctic Monkeys have been dismissed, and for that matter, so are the irksome attempts at youthful parochial wit. But make no mistake, ‘These Are The Facts’ sits well and truly in the canon of British kitchen-sink guitar rock a la Kaiser Chiefs, which the album’s maiden single ‘What Will You Do (When The Money Goes?)’ acutely demonstrates. Musically speaking, it’s trapped in the sound of old R ‘n B bands such as The Yardbirds and The Shadows, which in itself is no bad thing since such areas have remained relatively uncharted by today’s indie fraternity. But, ultimately, and despite being a cracking dance floor number, it’s an exercise in style over substance. The song’s lyrical content, a self-reflexive peek at the financially precocious situation a hard-working northern band must no doubt experience, is really nothing more than another axiomatic social observation up there with ‘Living For The Weekend’. If we were being cruel, we’d call it patronising, but such a claim would be unfair since the album’s overall sentiment is far too naive to be guilty of such a charge.

And in fairness, the rest of the record, despite a couple of dodgy moments, is not half bad. The organ on opener ‘Lo + Behold’ is a fantastic touch, for example, and whilst the previously referenced sound of The Shadows et al isn’t a necessarily sustained effort, there’s definitely a commendable retro vibe to the album nonetheless. The melodic gang chants on ‘Count To Ten’ and ‘Wolves At Bay’ portray a sensibility that harks back to late Fifties and early Sixties, as do the sharp Hank Marvin guitar sections that creep up every now and then.

Yet for all this, there are elements of a past life best forgotten. The disjointed carnival anthem ‘Cowboys And Indians’, which serves as an unwelcome reminder of the artist prior to his departure on that all important foreign exchange, shows best that whilst Milburn might have the label investment to afford these new high-falutin’ ideas, you can’t change past perceptions. Indeed, much of the middle part of this album flounders in the mire for far too long to convince us that they’ve progressed at all. However, persevere and you’ll discover that they have moved on, just not as much as they’d like us all to think.