The Crescent

The world needs another Stereophonics clone like Greenland needs air-conditioning. But music has always been exempt from the economic law of supply and demand. Enter, therefore, earnest Mancunian hopefuls The Crescent who, with their eponymous debut album, tread a path so strewn with the scrumpy cans and grubby cagoules of previous travellers, it’s a wonder they make it to the end at all.

The record starts as it means to continue, with the big, workmanlike, anthemic ‘On The Run.’ Thirty-five seconds in, when singer Wayne Whitfield gives his incipient yelp, you’d be forgiven for recoiling in terror at what seems to be Kelly Jones’ twin brother spraying the mic. There’s no bloodline connection, but Jesus. Peas in a pod, vocally.

The song itself is not bad, and definitely not great. Likewise most of the album. Things look up a bit on the fifth track, ‘Test of Time,’ where the hallelujah production and arrangement are finally justified by the quality of songwriting.

Another dip thereafter – and these are serious dips, where the only way to distinguish between subsequent songs is by the two-second gap – until the moderately quirky, ballsy ‘Told U So’. There’s a bit of The Who here (always a good thing) and, more importantly, the beginnings of an idiosyncratic melodic sensibility. This is maintained on the final track ‘Stay On,’ a melancholy ballad which makes up for its lack of hooks with an engagingly off-beat 3/4 rhythm.

And there’s the rub. Performances are note-perfect, as is the mix, but as we are reminded nine out of ten times a Next Big Thing is touted by labels or press, that is not enough. The Crescent is lively, genuine and profoundly unimaginative.

Oh well. At least they’re not Welsh.