For the most part, you can’t feeling a little bit sorry for Chicane.
Robert Jackman 2007
Nick Bracegirdle – Nick to his close friends; Chicane to the wider world – must be feeling a little miffed.
You see, back in their heyday, Chicane’s relaxing beats were synonymous with this time of year – for Balearic party-goers, Chicane’s tracks were as important to the morning-after ritual as a clutch of Paracetamol.
But, since 2000’s Behind The Sun, Chicane’s musical output has completely dried up.
And, now, much to Bracegirdle’s frustration, the summer he finally gets round to releasing Somersault, Chicane’s long-awaited follow-up album, turns out to be the wettest summer for decades.
It’s already ravaged Glastonbury and tormented followers of Wimbledon – but is the rain set to be the proverbial spanner in Chicane’s comeback plans?
After all, it’s hard to imagine “Come Tomorrow”, the album’s second single, going down too well in this climate. It’s a stellar track, but, with its humming synthesisers and lazy, elongated vowels, it might have to make do with being the chill-out anthem of the-summer-that-never-was.
Opening track “Stoned In Love” should fare a little better, thanks to a surprising appearance from Botox playboy Tom Jones MBE – hardly a regular on the golden sands of Ibiza, Chicane’s spiritual heartlands.
Admittedly, there are some tracks that’ll take more than a shift in atmospheric pressure to save them (the worryingly vacant “Arizona” for example), but, for the most part, you can’t feeling a little bit sorry for Chicane.
For, on the whole, Somersault is a pretty steady album, albeit a little uninspiring at times. And, with things as they are, along with the mountains of BBQs and suntan lotion which clutter supermarket aisles, Somersault probably won’t be flying from the shelves too quickly.