Sodastream Reservations by: Mark Simms Fri:02-Feb-07 Label: Trifekta Year: 2006 WB rating 73 out of 100

Karl Smith (vocals, guitar) and Pete Cohen (double bass, backing vocals) have served up a meal that not only feels cold, but contains an immense mixture of sorrow and heartache.

‘Warm July’ is the entree in this ten dish meal. The slow deep sounds of double bass and soothing viola create an intimate and dark setting – where the dining area has seating for just our ears, the cooks, and no-one else: “It's already too late to bring you flowers.” It’s easy to imagine Smith standing outside in the rain, flowers by his side. His desperate voice and the sound of viola mix together, creating a feeling that there will be “no warm July” anytime soon. This is Smith longing, wanting something that is no longer within his grasps.

Smith and Cohen try to find listening ears from the misty and dark gloom of the kitchen, where they have prepared their dishes.

‘Anti’ is the second course. The oven must be broken, as the light strokes of guitar and slow bass feel cold to the senses. Here Smith tells of trying to get through all the rain soaked mornings and noises in his head. He and Cohen are taking a lonely trip down a murky stream and inviting us along for the journey: “I’m on my knees and I’ll beat this wall and cry.”

The oven now fixed, our next dish arrives warm and appetising. More upbeat than any other track on Reservations, ‘Twin Lakes’ is covered in a sauce of soothing guitar and plucky bass. A tiny light is now switched on above our table. Despite the façade of a catchy melody, this illinium above our heads begins to flicker and fade after a dry consumption: “One true song that I never meant anyway.”

One last flicker and we are again left in darkness.

‘Tickets To The Fight’ is garnished with the heavy sounds of Cohen’s musical saw. These sounds emphasise Smith’s pain soaked voice, as he tries to poke his head out through the gloom, so that he may see even the faintest glimmer of light: “I'll try to be a man.”

In ‘Anniversary’ this anguished voice turns up a notch and the musical saw is now joined by the reassuring chimes of piano. The two sounds dance in darkness led only by the words and voice of our wordsmith: “When the night passes over my bed I know you're not far from me.” There is a sense of hopefulness in Smith’s voice and lyrics – a feeling that it isn’t all over yet. As ‘Anniversary’ continues, the piano and soft sounds of French horn give the feeling that Smith is starting to release his grip, as he can longer do it all by himself: “I have tried and I won’t be holding on.”

A deafening crash is heard from the kitchen. A saucepan falls from Smith’s hands to the floor.

No more words are needed. ‘Michelle’s Cabin’, the delicate sounds of guitar and musical saw, creating an atmosphere of hopelessness and regret, where only silence will let out what Sodastream are trying to say.

They aren’t out of surprises yet, as they lead us as blind sheep with no idea where we will be by the end. I’m not sure that even they know.

With the music sounding very similar to ‘Michelle’s Cabin’, ‘Firelines’ is back to words conveying feelings. Smith is keeping things to himself, afraid to let anyone in: “Now bury me with the things I wouldn’t share.” The aromas of Sodasteam’s sounds and lyrics float up through the nostrils, into our head. They arouse thoughts about the difficulties sometimes of just getting through life: “These things come to try and test our caution shells.”

The deep and turbulent sound of double bass is back in ‘Reservations’ and we begin slow and brooding: “I stand here in uncertain times.” The melody builds up and starts to sizzle, as Smith, unsure and lost sings “come back my way now.” He is now almost out of the gloom, in reach of a light switch in the kitchen. The resonance of harmonica blends well, the resulting dish more palatable as we get closer to the bottom of the plate.

‘Young and Able’ is the final serving. It has been an emotional sitting. It’s too much for the cooks now. The pain no longer creeps out of Smiths voice – it spills. Rain starts leaking through the roof, continuing to dampen our evening.

A dark and personal meal, the scents of Sodastream’s cooking float around long after it has been devoured. As we depart, the doors close. Smith and Cohen wave goodbye from the darkness.

“We don’t live in the light.”