The Coral
Magic and Medicine
Deltasonic
2003
6.5
Ah, The Coral. Here’s a band who can make you believe that guitar-based indie-rock can still sound thrillingly creative and alive. Their eponymous debut threw whacked-out psychedelia, sea-shanties, polka interludes and relatively orthodox balladry into the blender - and reaped considerable critical praise with the strange concoction that emerged. But despite their admirable willingness to experiment, it remained a curiously frustrating album to actually listen to.
Why? Put simply, there weren’t enough songs to pull it fully into the territory of the classic guitar record. Each track may have been gloriously unstable, pulling in a thousand directions and potentially falling apart in glorious, Quixotic lunacy at any given moment, but as far as actual songwriting was concerned they were found wanting. Only the single “Dreaming of You” boasted a crystal-clear pop melody backed up with the focus of vision to see it through to a logical, but still charming, conclusion.
Has this been put right on the follow-up, Magic and Medicine? Well, it’s certainly an improvement. The Liverpudlian lads are certainly not sitting still with this album: it’s as far out as you’d expect. Song-wise, they’re still developing the melodic nous that could see them making something truly special, very soon.
“In The Forest” is a strong opener - full of ghostly organ and eerie ripples of guitar. James Skelley is clearly developing a great voice - richly melancholic, with a wonderfully thick Scouse accent that he’s not afraid to use. “Don’t Think You’re the First” is more typically crazed stuff: starting out like The Doors (except not as skull-crushingly awful) before losing itself in a hazey melodica and warbling flute.
Things get even stranger from here. “Secret Kiss” features more Doors-y organ and clipped guitar built around a hypnotic, Floydian motif. “Milkwood Blues” is a dirty stoner jam, climaxing with some terrifically discordant violin. Closing track “Confessions of A.D.D.D.” is a Love song submerged in electronic frippery, not dissimilar to Super Furry Animals.
Thankfully, there are also a handful of deft pop songs that give “Magic and Medicine” the edge over its predecessor. “Lieza” is a sweet acoustic tune, like the Beatles at their most twee, and “Bill McCal” is a jaunty number close in spirit to “Dreaming Of You”, although not quite possessed of that instant thrill.
The album reaches its peak two-thirds of the way through with two superlative tracks in a row. “Eskimo Lament” comes first, drenched in sombre piano and plucked guitar, before the arrival of gorgeous harmonies and trumpet flourishes. “Careless Hands” then finds Skelley sounding more like The La’s Lee Mavers than ever on a rich, mysterious ballad; the surprising, tangential detour into a frenetic outro is the album’s real magic moment.
The Coral have yet to deliver a consistently satisfying long-player, but they’re still ridiculously young, and time is on their side. This adventurous, entertaining, frequently infuriating record will suffice for now.