Originating in St Ives [note - not true!], and now based in Nottingham, The Chemistry Experiment have been together in one form or another since 1987. There have been line up changes, a premature break up, and new roles within the band. This selection is their latest production.
Some of the vibes are clearly experimental, which allows them to develop their sound without inhibition. There's a sensibility in these tunes that derives from the leftfield tradition of indie pop. The range of style borders on the tongue in cheek. But combine the sensitive elements of the band's song writing with drum machines and keyboards, and you get a unique sound.
There are dance rhythms here, together with eccentricity and a laid back feel. My favourite track is the beautiful “You're The Prettiest Thing”, with disco arrangement. Not far behind is “Glue and Paper”. “We Were Never Wrong” is a lesson in pop sensitivity.
They may be unlikely to fill Madison Square Garden. But that isn't what they're aiming towards. Off the wall indie, coupled with laid back beats moves them towards their own place in rock's rich tapestry. A fascinating one.
Inspired by Tom [sic] Burton's "The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy", a tragic tale of parents who find themselves positively horrified by their child, this debut album from The Chemistry Experiment thankfully doesn't follow a similar route. All their children (songs) appear to be well loved. They infuse genres as diverse as folktronica, disco and prog-rock with lots of orchestral interludes and a very lush production. Couple all this with a Jarvis Cocker sound-a-likee and this is music for the masses, but agit prop it definitely ain't. Agit pop maybe. Like Pulp ? Then you'll love this. Not on my iPod though.
One assumes this is a band familiar with smoking jackets and the playing of wine glasses. This debut LP proper highlights their assured, but reserved, sophistication. Gentle brass and hollowed out torch keyboards wind down heavy evenings on ‘Starlite Ballroom', while ‘pop-nugget ‘You're The Prettiest Thing' gets mesmerised by the slow turn of a disco ball. Wispish flute crops up on ‘Good Morning' and plaintive violin likewise on ‘Stopped Clocks' amongst the tock-tock glock. On top of, Steve Kirk has a fine smoky, glottal croon that adds richness to their melancholic folk-soul, which hides an electronic glint behind drooping eyelids.