WELCOME TO THE SOUND OF mid-'70s West Coast America - a vision of loon pants, frog pockets and cries of 'Like coowul!'
Welcome, indeed, to the world of Ether - three fresh faced young lads from, oh yeah, South Wales.This is rock'n'roll as time machine and travel agent rolled into one, but would you want to make such a journey? On the strength of this evening you'd probably be better off staying in and fixing those dodgy shelves.
At the heart of all this is Rory Meredith - chief songwriter and something of a puzzle. After all, how did a man with the voice of Ruth Madoc on helium end up singing like Woody Allen fronting Silver Sun? Who knows? But he makes a pretty slick job of it and that's the real problem.
Just like Ben Folds Five, Ether are a band who implore you to just 'feel the quality of that pastiche' but leave you as ignorant of its makers real selves as the most faceless techno. Ironic really, because in the International Language of Weller these are what are known as crafted songs. So middle -eights are in their place and all is right in Ether's world. Ours, meanwhile, is experiencing some irritation.
Sure, Bedroom and current single She Could Fly are catchy but then so are Barbie Girl and coldsores. Yes, they are swoony, yes they have yearning harmonies, but - Jesus! - that voice could extract secrets from SAS veterans.
And that, in Ether speak, is one heavy bummer dude.
Martin Boon
Review Page 45
NME November 22nd 1997
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Last Updated 06/10/98