(Atlantic)
Herald rating: * *
Review: Russell Baillie
If our memories serve us correctly, Brits Elastica - led by pouty Justine Frischman - were caught in that Big Day Out where it rained a lot. Yes, that was a long time ago, but then again so was their 1995 self-titled debut album which got them here in the first place.
This is only their second album, arriving Stone Roses-like after some personnel and personal changes (Frischman is the ex of Blur's Damon Albarn) and various problems of a rock'n'roll nature.
It's quite good, though. Curiously, it's even more of an embrace of their British post-punk and art-punk influences than their popsmart debut.
Or maybe that's just the notion suggested by having the Fall's Mark E. Smith - yes, still alive - turning up on How He Wrote Elastica Man.
And it also deepens their debt to the likes of the Stranglers and Wire elsewhere, and they cover Trio's Da Da Da for good measure.
The Menace's 13 tracks fuzz past in an enjoyably serrated sub-40 minutes, the jagged guitars occasionally giving way to jittery electronics.
Like the debut, Elastica are still at their best when their staccato-guitar hooks are barbed with a disdainful sneer, whether it's on Nothing Stays The Same, opener Mad Dog or the delightfully titled Your Arse, My Place.
But for all that, The Menace lacks the zing of Elastica, and you have to wonder how a 13-track album with one cover and so many two-minute songs can be five years in the making.
<i>Elastica:</i> The Menace
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