The City That Sleeps
Let’s be fair, piano driven indie has become a laughing stock lately with culprits such as Scouting For Girls. Few bands will retrieve the genre, let alone go near it. So it is with some surprise that A Silent Film begin their debut album with a glockenspiel melody. Regardless of the title, 'Sleeping Pills' bursts into life with an air of adventure, expertly supplementing compelling lyrics of border crossings and guns in violin cases. Even by Julie Julie it could be easy to render their efforts as aligned to Coldplay’s recipe for success; replicating Chris Martin’s penchant for doubting, ever searching lyrics. Soaring vocals ebb and flow, giving a sense of substance to elevate the engaging background din of searing guitar and drums.
'Thirteen Times The Strength' barely deviates from its predecessor, giving the impression that A Silent Film are content with playing it safe. Evidently pleasant in the same way that you would take Keane home to meet your parents; familiar and polite enough to impress but just a touch too drab. Thankfully, at least 'One Wrong Door' decides to gamble, showcasing a Hope of The States esque talent for the dramatics. A military drum presides, while intermittent violin present a favourable canvas on which Robert Stevenson’s vocals can dominate. The track bears evidence for the eloquently emotive yet leaves a legacy for the rest of the album, marking the highlight from which you could expect more from the following and be constantly disappointed.
For all the arresting jauntiness of 'Lamplight' it seems the band struggle to keep up such a positive tempo, lacking when it could easily be invigorating. It takes tracks like 'Gerontion' to suggest the confidence of lead singer Robert Stevenson, with such an assured voice coating each beat like honey. Whilst the seeming ease in which Stevenson consistently hits high notes should ascertain comparisons with Keane’s Tom Chaplin, the same could be said for his rapid-fire, flowing delivery attracting a likeness with Biffy Clyro’s Simon Neil.
Little can deflect away from Stevenson’s voice; smouldering in grandeur yet with emotion marked by its absence. Not even the creeping, galloping melodies in 'Feather White', nor the sinister lyrics, not even the police radio commentary of a discovered casualty under the ice. Like much of the album, 'You Will Leave A Mark' promises much yet delivers little. Beats pulsate throughout, layering upon each other as if to prove the expert production values, yet when you expect a peak the track peters to a close.
'Ghost In The Wate'r presumably carries on where 'Feather White' left off, elegantly implying that the band may be better suited to ethereal than enthralling with Stevenson’s vocals and piano melody drifting sublimely in and out of focus. 'Aurora' closes the album on a whisper, when it could have been so much more.