Well this is quite simply the album I’ve
been waiting for. Samantha Urbani’s uber-cool Friends finally release their
debut album this Jubilee bank holiday Monday- well done Lucky Number, we knew
your Britishness would be good for something- to the full spangliness of stars
in the Sunday media supplements and lengthy blogger comment (see….what you’re
reading). For some reason it seems like aeons since second single ‘I’m His Girl’
was first released (although it’s actually only eight months ago), but perhaps
that’s because a lot has changed for that band who, on playing their first UK concertback in October 2011, had played only a handful of gigs in local Brooklyn venues
and had barely formed long enough for their story about the band’s name to be
more than a recent recollection. But, since then, ‘I’m His Girl’, freely sold on
7”at that gig days before release, flew off the shelves, and return gigs at The
Lexington and XOYO this February sold out. The latter gig was filmed for Youtube,
and despite being a little bit over-played for the cameras, it helped confirm
the band’s joyous live reputation. Somehow, it feels as though the
Brooklynites couldn’t get this album out soon enough. Urbani’s evident enthusiasm charmed many and irritated a few, but a bigger, 1000 strong throng headed to
the seriously big venue, London’s Scala on 9 May, her band beating their headline
capacity best by selling it out. Today (literally-ish), they eat swordfish with The Independent. Things just got serious.
So now that Manifest! aptly manifests on the
horizon, the album delivers a topical title brimming with potential. We start at the chronological germination, first release ‘Friend Crush’,
which is reassuringly at the top of the bill. Its breezy, stomping off-kilter
pop was one of the best singles of last year in my view (we featured it hereski).
Its younger boobier ‘I’m His Girl’ cousin is here too, but unfortunately not
its lesser-boobier but even funkier sister, Ghost Town DJs cover ‘My Boo’. Are
these the highlights of the now filled out repertoire? The Guardian seems tothink so, yes.
But that is not to say that it’s so. ‘Sorry’s
percussive rhythm rivals ‘Feelin Dank’. Tropical touches and over-done chants
make this a little song you can listen to over and over again, that belies its
carefree triviality. But perhaps the biggest argument for Friends with this material
is ‘A Thing Like This’. When Urbani thrashed this out at the Hoxton Square Bar & Kitchen in October, where literally no one in the audience would have heard this
song, my friend and I only looked at each other in knowing excitement: we knew we
had just found a fucking awesome band. It’s one of those rare moments. The
crowd injected with a sort of groovilicious liquid, girls started dancing, boys
watched them dancing as they started dancing themselves, and secretly hoped
Urbani would give them a cheeky sensual pout. This sort of carefree stuff doesn’t
usually happen at gigs for cool people in London. So, with its translation to record, it should, if I was Lucky Number, have been Friends’
first single on/around the album’s release by virtue of it being radio-friendly
(and representative) best foot forward. Sweet as a button, tough as a nut, it slips and slides with a synth-heavy, bass-heavy arrangement that epitomises their
sound. Urbani sighs sensually, swoons delicately and confidently. She’s sexy
again. And you can hear it. And the band is sexy too.
‘A Light’ is another funky number. One of
the more serious groovers, crumply lo-fi production gives Urbani a dampened
touch, giving way to eminently danceable ‘Ideas on Ghosts’. That is three
seriously danceable tracks in a row by the way, in case I should have made that
clear. If that level of result makes Friends more self-conscious trying-too-hard
than disconnected whatever dance-groove effortless tropical-pop, then so be it.
The fact that this album isn’t rougher around the edges shouldn’t be held
against it. ‘Ruins’ is clearly the attempt at off the beaten track, rocky
rebelliousness, and really it doesn’t quite work. But fortunately, the band
have stuck to what they know best: much like their American sitcom namesake, using
every living moment to dance (ok, maybe not that bit) and have fun. Live
favourite and closer, Swedish sung ‘Va Fan Gor Du’ retains its immediacy and
swings around with the half-drunk stupor you just wanted from it. Finally ‘Mind
Control’ wades in to pull down the curtain.
There are small signs that Friends’
luminous ascent from formation to fringe-of-the-mainstream may be gently
stabilising. The band play 500-capacity Dingwalls in a couple of days, not a venue comparable to with the Scala, and Matthew Molnar, on bass and keyboards- although I don’t
want to say it- has looked more than a little tired or bored (well....both) at recent gigs, perhaps due to
the amount of touring. But, to judge longevity on these things would
be ridiculous. I’m going to see Friends play Rough Trade East on Monday 4 June when this album is released. Because for all Manifest’s sophisticated
fun, they retain the looseness on record to keep me intrigued; the hooks to
keep me horribly hooked. And will the band continue to jostle for their ‘tropical
pop’ DIY ethic to be seen and heard? As long as they’re having fun, you can be
sure they will.
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