Travis
The Man Who (Sony)
by Marc Hirsh

originally published in Space City Rock, Spring 2001

While I generally try to give myself credit for second-guessing my actions and tastes, stepping out of the here and now and looking at everything within the context of a greater pattern that in most cases hasn't fully developed yet, there are a number of albums that I manage to get excited about because of the potential that they represent, rather than what they actually are. This means that I go around singing the praises of, say, Material Issue or Ben Lee, equating a few stellar tracks with overall greatness. And while there's nothing wrong with the artists themselves (or, in many cases, the albums, even), my boosterism gets so engrained that I'm eventually just supporting them because I've always supported them, and I inevitably become slowly disappointed because I've essentially lied to myself. Occasionally, the artist will actually call my bluff and raise the stakes but, more often not, I praise these bands much more often than I listen to them.

Travis falls firmly into this category. I think. Of course it's still too early to tell (which is part of the nature of this whole problem), but after a few spins of The Man Who, there are exactly three songs that I can safely state are as great as I want them to be. The opening "Writing To Reach You" is an earnest yearning for connection that's also good-natured enough to contain one of several mild jabs at tourmates Oasis ("what's a wonderwall anyway?"). "Why Does It Always Rain On Me?" is a great dour pop song, hinting at a darkness that never comes, which only serves to make it even bleaker. "Turn" is grand drama, anchored by a chorus in which singer Fran Healy lets loose with a full-throated wail that pierces through the orchestral majesty provided by just two guitars, one bass and a drum kit.

And that's it. No alarms and no surprises. Possessed of a very subdued but warm electric sound, Travis is neither as fey as fellow Scots Belle & Sebastian nor as rockist as obvious heroes Radiohead, the T. Rex-ish guitar solo in "As You Are" notwithstanding. They basically hit on one tone - comfortable melancholy - and ride it out. Their goal is not to rattle but to soothe, and even when a chorus needs more distortion than the verse, the band provides a very quick and subtle swell, one which seems to say, "This part was quieter and this part was louder and we don't want to make a big deal about the difference."

The first time I heard "Turn," my introduction to the band, I thought I'd finally found the Remy Zero song that could give me some sort of entry into the two albums of theirs that I'd bought and just couldn't penetrate. Wrong band (though the two have been spotted touring together, so draw your own conclusions). But, very possibly, the right opinion. I will be watching to see what possibly great things Travis accomplishes next. But I will be watching my watching them.

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