fourth-biggest seller last year (behind Shania, Boyzone and, er, Abba's
Gold), and it's easy to hear why: Travis play sentimental pub rock at its warmest, with gorgeous guitar hooks and boy-next-door sincerity. On their debut album, Travis got away with an anthem called "All I Want to Do Is Rock" that wasn't even stupid; on
The Man Who, they pull off the same trick with the ballad "Why Does It Always Rain on Me?" Any hint of irony would sink the song, but Fran Healy's choirboy tenor lifts the whole production off the ground.
Musically, Travis could pass for Radiohead minus the science fiction, as Healy's vocals curl around the big folk-rock chime of excellent puppy-love ballads like "The Fear," "As You Are" and "Slide Show." "Writing to Reach You" sounds a lot like Oasis' "Wonderwall," which makes sense, since Fran sings about longing for an ex-lover while hearing Oasis on the radio. ("What's a wonderwall, anyway?" Fran asks, and surely he speaks for all of us.) The lyrics are all about girl worship, but that's the key to Travis' appeal. Like the other big U.K. bands of the past few years, such as Catatonia, Stereophonics and Gomez, Travis ignore ironic London chic, championing the hearty provincial virtues of tuneful emotion and earnestly fumbled guitars. With Pulp muddling through spiritual chaos, the Verve broken up, Oasis standing with their heads up the asses of giants and Elastica still making us wait for that difficult second album (they say it's coming soon, but they say the same thing about Christ, and he stands a better chance of getting on the radio), Travis are clearly the kings of Brit pop. If you have any weakness for sad-eyed Celtic troubadour lads, The Man Who will feed your jones and invite you to stay for supper. (RS 839)
ROB SHEFFIELD
