‘Angels’ is what you might call an “atmospheric” album. That said, Pure X’s third LP seems only to fit such a descriptor by virtue of its failing to be, well, anything else. Sure, there’re melodies and lyrics, but both are so vague you’ll have a hard time noticing either. Sometimes-rhyming inanities are delivered alternately in a limp, strained tenor and an equally strained, even limper falsetto.

I think he was gazing across a “valley of tears” at one point, an image which might (just) have passed as clumsily poetic if only he had seemed to give even marginally more of a shit than I did. Occasionally, the simplicity and emotional numbness of ‘Angels’ call to mind Kevin Drew at his most downtrodden, especially if imagined filtered through Kevin Barnes’ awkward sexiness. In fact, make a concerted effort and you could find verses, even choruses; given time I managed to unearth a handful, but to a regrettably meagre payoff. It’s all work, no play. Dull boy.


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