Interesting fact: there’s a 12 second difference between the radio edit and album version of The Mojo Fins’ single ‘Always Now’ because they had to cut out a high-intensity barrage of such breathtaking obscenity that it would make even Joe Pesci void himself in an uncontrollable bout of fear and disgust. That’s not true, sadly – but wouldn’t it have been fun? You bet. Back in oh-so-mundane reality, however, those extra 12 seconds are filled with much the same gentle vocals, chimey guitars and ooh-wah melodies that saturate the rest of the Brighton band’s pleasant, if thoroughly conventional, lurve song. In fact, ‘Always Now’ is pretty mainstream stuff – you can see why The Mojo Fins went down well at Glastonbury – and your mileage will vary depending on how much of an insult you think ‘middle of the road’ is. Glass half full; the single is undoubtedly easy on the ears, possesses a certain sentimental charm and has enough of a folksy tinge about it to distinguish The Mojo Fins from all those other white boys with guitars, as St. John of Peel was wont to say. Glass half empty; you could hardly claim that it distinguishes them that much. This should be a good thing in terms of sales – after all, Coldplay may make the world’s most insipid music, but each night they sleep atop great piles of soft, yielding money – but this reviewer would personally prefer a bit more pep and ginger. There’s nothing wrong with The Mojo Fins, but if I can remember what ‘Always Now’ goes like tomorrow morning I’ll eat my stylish hat.
Fresh from the seas around Brighton, the Mojo Fins debut album is released in memory of former bandmate Jon Chandler who died in a road-traffic accident in 2007. ‘First Conversation’ is a great opener with keyboard chimes, speedy percussion matched by gentle backing harmonies, as Stephen Brett sings like a sound-alike of the Manic Street Preacher’s James Dean Bradfield, another man who knows all too well of the pain of losing a front-man and friend. New single ‘In The Script’ nods to John Fogerty in lyric but forges its own path of semi-folk pop with up-tempo beat employing more key changes than a Westlife CD, but the discourse that risks its easy-listening credentials succeeds in exposing the band’s strengths, particularly agile guitar work. The odd track unfortunately carries a coffee-chain ambience but most are closer to Magic Numbers territory with real, uplifting pop-rock. ‘Trick of Light’ is simple, standout and slightly Ryan Adams in tone, painting a picture of a grey Brighton with people still sunbathing. The lyrics are colourful and unmistakably personal given the band’s circumstances but skip any wallowing to deal with dejection with the hope of another chance. The glass has never been so half-full.
