**
(Nothing)
Review: Russell Baillie
Like the Cure's Robert Smith before him and Nine Inch Nails' Trent Reznor after him (and on whose label he's ended up), it's the grim personal worldview of The The's Matt Johnson that has defined his one-man band and music.
And that's been as much about the delivery
- in Johnson's case gravel-voiced conspirational whispers and megaphone barkings remain a speciality - as his lyrics railing against the big bad world and various self-loathings.
And by the sound of it on this, his sixth album after seven years, not much has changed Johnson's demeanour, though the musical approach here is certainly effective in its taut, barbed and occasionally bluesy guitar attack with occasional acoustic urges.
But the 12 songs don't leave much of mark - whether it's the self-contemplating likes of SoulCatcher or the attacks on Kentucky Fried Genocide in GlobalEyes or the anti-consumerism diatribe of SwineFever.
Fans feeling nostalgic for a good berating by the now New York-based Johnson will find plenty to be happily harangued about. But really, The The's comeback is only so-so.
