Album review: The Proclaimers

THE PROCLAIMERS: NOTES & RHYMES
***
W14 Music, £12.72

IN AN age of bells and whistles, internet-bred overnight sensations, ever-changing ways of accessing and processing music and volatile times for the recording industry, there is something very straightforward and reassuring about The Proclaimers, two instinctive musicians whose long-term fortune seems assured simply because they write great songs which can touch an audience.

It's an evergreen and gimmick-free approach. Add to this the Reid twins' conscientious work ethic, and you have a traditional, almost old-fashioned recipe for success. And it's quite a work ethic. In the late 1990s, Craig and Charlie took extended compassionate leave from the pop hurly burly in order to grieve for their late father. But since returning to the fray with 2001's Persevere, they haven't stopped, churning out album after tour after album.

Meanwhile, their back catalogue has remained firmly in the public domain, thanks to their "re-interpretation" of I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles) with Peter Kay and Proclaimers über-fan Matt Lucas for Comic Relief 2007 and Dundee Rep's wonderful Sunshine On Leith musical, based around their songs.

The Proclaimers have set their own bar particularly high with their preceding albums. Notes & Rhymes is their fifth album in a fertile eight-year run – but the first one to slightly disappoint. All the key Proclaimers elements are there – the celebration of love in its many forms, the political directness, the diversity of musical styles, the flashes of humour and the strident harmonising – but the songs don't quite resonate as strongly as before. At points, Notes & Rhymes even feels a little Proclaimers-by-numbers.

It begins on familiar territory, with a rollicking, rockabilly paean to falling in love. "There is misery somewhere, but I don't know and I don't care, since you took it from my shoulders" the pair declare on the title track. In their book, love is not a matter of life and death, it's far more important than that – hell, they say they dig it as much as rock'n'roll.

They then expand on their theme on current single, the rousing ballad Love Can Move Mountains, sung with their signature passion.

In comparison, Three More Days is not their most scintillating number, though its subject – anticipating the moment when you can return from distant travels to waiting loved ones – must be close to the twins' hearts, given the amount of time they plan to spend touring America this year. Like A Flame is a much finer example of their tender, heart-on-sleeve love ballads. Lyrics such as "my love has a name and it's yours and it burns like a flame" fall just the right side of sentiment, helped along by a sincere delivery.

Sing All Our Cares Away, however, tends to the mawkish in its portrayal of downtrodden characters. Although musically and lyrically in their ballpark, it was actually written by Damien Dempsey – a sort of one-man Irish Proclaimers. Had it been their own song, it would have slotted comfortably into the Sunshine On Leith musical.

The album's other cover version – Moe Bandy's It Was Always So Easy To Find An Unhappy Woman – reflects their enduring appetite for old school, maudlin Country songs with a keen, observant edge. Wages Of Sin, meanwhile, is a big, brazen rhythm'n'blues production with clamouring brass and a chorus of ballsy female backing singers, which is so up front that you half expect the Reids to execute some James Brown-style knee-drops as it builds to its gospelly crescendo.

I Know is similarly bold in its straight-talking examination of guerilla warfare and the rise of the suicide bomber. And while they're on the subject of the 21st century condition, Free Market is a straight credit-crunch blues, etched out on ukulele and coloured with pedal steel guitar, featuring the Reids' non-havering, colloquial response to the worldwide recession: "Survival of the fittest is a swizz." Neither track is their finest political statement, but they add spice to the mix.

The mournful Shadows Fall is the darkest cut here, tackling the spectre of depression in the family, while trying to offer a chink of hope: "Shadows fall right on them, but there's light to their left and their right." They are in similarly thoughtful mode on the closing piano ballad On Causewayside, which ruminates poetically about the very bricks and mortar of their home.

Notes & Rhymes is a robust collection, and as welcome as an old friend, but it is rarely inspired. No matter – at The Proclaimers' current workrate, there will be more of that along directly.