Field Music The Week That Was by: Ed Butler Wed:30-Jul-08 Label: Memphis Industries Year: 2008 WB rating 76 out of 100

There is a school of thought that the name of a band is easily corrupted. The purity of a band’s name exists only if the players remain consistent; any change in a band’s incarnation without altering the title converts band to brand. The name of the band is a selling point, a means of accessing a previously acquired audience, while dispensing with the need to impress them with passable music.

It is a policy that Sunderland’s Field Music appear to have embraced, as Peter Brewis follows his brother David’s lead, releasing his solo recording under another assumed moniker. Damon Albarn set the precedent last year with The Good, The Bad and The Queen being both album and title, or perhaps the band having no name at all; here Brewis records under the pseudonym of The Week That Was, although there is little doubt about the record’s origins.

While the entire band play on this album, writing credits are solely attributed to Brewis, P, and the change is subtle, yet has a profound influence on how The Week That Was plays. The album, in contrast to past excursions as Field Music, is hugely percussive; Brewis’ love of 80s synth sounds and beats is on proud display from the first note. Peter Gabriel’s totemic beats inform opener ‘Learn to Learn’ the echo of hammer hitting the skin of the bass drum leading to layered keys that recall Roxy Music. However, the melody, strings and marimba that complement this furious rhythm are undeniably Field Music.

In fact, Brewis’ biggest achievement in taking on sole writing duties here seems to have been to create the impression that it is business as usual, but with Daniel Lanois sitting in the producer’s chair. Where once there were organic piano parts layered one over the other, now there is synthesized keys over piano over distorted guitar. And this is no bad thing.

While The Week That Was is undeniably a Field Music project, the newfound percussiveness fundamentally alters the feel of the album. Where once the guitar jabs that open ‘Learn to Learn’ would sound jittery, here they feel appropriate, while the rolling keys earn added menace. Conversely, on ‘The Airport Line’, the juddering beats serve to make the tinkling harpsichord all the prettier, Brewis’ vocal melodies meanwhile gaining added melancholy as he sings “I won’t pretend I’m sure there’s something in you”. Meanwhile, the almost medieval string breakdown is uniquely fitting.

However, this shift away from Field Music’s traditionally more organic sound leaves a gap, diminishing that which was the band’s greatest asset – prettiness. While some songs still have stirringly chirpy melodies and string sections that remain stirring in parts, the tribal beats and inhuman fuzz that besets some of the keyboard sounds irrevocably alters the feel of what would, in a lighter syrup, be a winning piece of mordant pop.

Brewis deserves considerable plaudits for taking his sound a step further in his solo incarnation, adding a maturity and introspection to the music, complementing similar emotions that were already present on Tones of Town and Field Music. It is a difficult balance he tries to strike. Tones was a modern classic of quintessentially English pop music, reveling in its unabashed catchiness, while still conveying themes and musical divergences that rewarded repeated, and deeper, listens. Here, without that initial striking hook, the search for depth and meaning becomes a touch more forced, the result being that the thrill of discovering the hidden poignancy is diminished.

When at his best, as on the driving closer ‘Scratch the Surface’, and the pop aesthetic becomes paramount, Brewis’ true talents are exposed. The classically understated British nihilism of the lyric ‘We really shouldn’t bother’ is revealed upon the third or fourth listen, the first three having been spent tapping feet and nodding heads. The mournful ‘It’s All Gone Quiet”, by comparison, while undeniably moving, lacks the lush melodic garnish that made Tones of Town such a gem.

Of course, none of this is to suggest that The Week That Was is not a thoroughly engaging, rewarding listen. At its best, it is a record that stands comfortably alongside the band’s collective works, but if Field Music taught us anything, it was the magic of wrapping gently sadness in a pretty package, if only to make it sadder. Wearing his emotions on his sleeve, Brewis perhaps just isn’t quite English enough.