The Futureheads

The Futureheads
Sire / Ada, 2004

“BEEP BEEP! You should be old enough, you should be – You! Should be old enough! You should be old enough! You should be! YOU! YOU! You should be old enough!"

You know, they’re right, but I just couldn’t resist. Anyone lucky enough to own this album will retain a sympathetic grin for my indulgence long after a hundred other readers have groaned and passed onto the next review. But here’s some good news for those still with us – The Futureheads’ self-titled debut has been released in the US, so we no longer have to pay for its import in pounds. Beep beep! (PS: I’m not sure the words are actually "beep beep", but I enjoy imagining as such and I’m fairly sure the band wouldn’t mind).

It’s not often that a contemporary punk-pop group warrant comparison with the genre’s progenitors. I mean, who wants to embark upon the humiliating task of tracing Sum 41’s influences? The Futureheads’ debut album, however, slides into a cloud of impressive references. Like The Clash and Buzzcocks before them, these Brits know that punk can eschew politics without becoming trite, doesn’t always have to be angry to be relevant, and can be accessible without losing its energy. Topics covered with an unapologetic naivety include that eternally dreaded first day at work, the nervous thrill of moving cities and the sustained loyalty of robots (it’s because they have a longer life-span, you see).

Despite the welcome inclusion of a doo-wop vocal harmony to vary the record’s pace, The Futureheads’ sound blurs each track together at first and benefits greatly from repeated listens. Each spin will move these boys a little closer to your heart, and your mother could fear a lot worse. The band was formed by tutors and students from a Sunderland charity organisation aimed at getting kids off the street by teaching them musical instruments. Isn’t that adorable? Well, get this – added to the US release is a rendition of Kate Bush’s 'Hounds Of Love'... and it’s really good. Hey, I’m surprised too.

Andrew Ramadge is away. This review first published in Beat in 2004.